Near Death Experience

It was your typical day in suburbia. She packed up her gym bag and the children and headed out the door for her morning routine. This morning Her Chef said he'd accompany her to a new "spin" class.  She was excited for a little gym date.

After changing into her workout gear, she headed to the cycling room. The only bike left near Her Chef was the one directly behind him. She climbed on her machine knowing it would be a familiar view with him in front leading the way.  And that's the way she preferred it (mainly so she wouldn't be self conscious about all her bits and pieces jiggling about).

The instructor (who, if she was a dog breed, would most likely fall under the chihuahua variety- small, lots of energy, cute, but kind of bugs a little bit) started the class with a nice uphill, meat out of the seat, warm up climb. She felt her heart starting to work. Chihuahua barked "crank up that resistance" and her quads started to burn. "Run, run, run" came the commands and she could feel her body temp raising and her skin start to itch from the heat. Next her heart started to beat out of her chest and she wondered how much longer she could keep up the pace of Her Chef.  She looked at the clock. 3 minutes into the class. 47 more to go.

Mother of two, loving wife. Here lies ol' Nikki Handeland (on the couch). They still don't know if it was a heart attack or just sheer revolt from every muscle in her body.  They're pretty sure she'll walk again...someday. And that someday will most likely be tomorrow when the lure of two hours of child care calls.

The End.

Tuesday's List: New Year's Resolutions

Last year, my Sasquatch of a niece (I say that with love) posted something on her facebook page about not understanding why people make New Year's Resolutions. I think her point was somewhere along the lines of why people waited weeks, months or even an entire year before they decide to make a change for themselves. I understand her point...but nevertheless...I am one of those unfortunate souls that only does self reflection and attempts of self betterment twice a year. Once is New Year's. The other time is Lent.

So let's get on with it already:

Nikki's New Year's Resolutions.

(Uhg.)

1.  Actually use the re-usable grocery bags that are piled high in the laundry room right next to the pile of plastic grocery bags to be recycled.

2.  Be nicer to the maid so maybe she'll clean more than once a month.

3.  Sign up for and actually participate in NaNoWriMo. Thankfully, that's not until November.

4.  Floss daily.

5. Write real letters a couple of times a month to my peoples.

6.  Make an effort to brush my hair daily so as to be a good example for my little friends.

7. Create.

(Not to be confused with procreate. Mainly because they do not make maternity sized straight jackets.)

That's it. I was going to add something about making more dinners and eating right and exercising and spending less time at The Boutique and being more patient. But let's not over do it. There's only so much self betterment a gal can try before she finds herself at the bottom of an empty wine bottle wondering if she's good enough. 

Happy Resolving my friends.

My Mudda

She's a nice lady. I like hanging out with her. I like to call her numerous times a day just to tell her stuff like "I've discovered apple jelly and there's no turning back."  She likes to call me after she's gone somewhere new for dinner so she can describe to me in detail everything she ate. Once, she ended up at an NRA event for women and she spent more time explaining the variety of meats and cheeses they had on the buffet than how she even ended up at such an event.

She hates having her picture taken. And she will probably want to have words with me after she sees that I've posted her picture for all the world to see.  She will forgive me, just like all the other times.  The worst offense was when she so graciously came to help me for two weeks after Bear Cub was born. I was so full of pregnant hormones that I "allegedly" told her her hair looked stupid (amongst other verbal travesties). And apparently I was so mean the entire two weeks (that I begged her to come for) that she was crying tears of joy on the way to the airport. On the way there, I proceeded to tell her that she didn't think she was going to get off scott free from dealing with a monster daughter? That she had it easy during my teenage years. Now it was just her turn. Then she got on the airplane and I cried for two whole hours.

I was thinking about that time as I dropped her off at the airport this morning. So I verbally vomit on her the entire ride hoping she would be so engrossed in whatever came out of my mouth that she wouldn't remember that terrible event. I think it worked, because she was not crying.  That or she was just so nervous about making her connecting fight in Hotlanta that she couldn't focus on my past transgressions. Either way, she's nice and I'm glad she's My Mudda.

Car Karma

Every time I am attempting to get a really good parking spot, and one just opens up right when I pull into the lot I say "Car Karma, Baby."  It's kind of like when good things happen for My Chef, he says "Clean Livin', Hunter" (sometimes he likes to refer to me by my maiden when he is pointing out that he has had a few more years of "clean livin' under his belt than I do).  I digress.

It was Christmas Adam and My Mudda and I were running up to the mall for a little last minute shopping. I see a GREAT spot and squeal "Car Karma, Baby!"  In all of the excitement of being shopping with no children and an adult to discuss things with, I hardly noticed that I was coming in to the spot at a bad angle. My Mudda tries to point this fact out, but I feel my eyesight is better (fact) so I wave her warnings off.

The next thing I notice is the car in the adjoining spot starts to rock a little...like some massive truck was running up on it's fender. DOH! Oh no way, oh no way, oh no way. Immediately I have a flashback from 10 years ago when I was driving a 15 passenger van (belonging to my employer) with a few close friends (co-workers) headed to the local laundromat. I was paying so much attention to the dump truck on my left that I hardly noticed the UPS truck on my right and the "Nik, nik, nik, nik, nik" warnings from my friend.  I ended up sideswiping the parked UPS truck and am still not really sure what did more damage - running up on the truck's fender...or backing off of it. Either way, the van I was driving had a dent from the front tire well to the back of the sliding door. That's a long way on a 15 passenger van.

Every time I find myself in a situation where there is a split decision to be made, I do just that. Split. Once inside the mall, I was calling myself "The Bump and Runner." It wasn't like I HIT the car. I just bumped it, and kind of nudged it, a little. Was there a mark? Maybe. Would it buff right out with a good car wash? Maybe. Did I stick around to leave a note? No. AHHH. I am a terrible person!

Two hours later, when we emerged the safety of the mall, we noticed that my windows were not bashed in nor the tires slashed and there were no key marks down the sides of the truck. It was then that I decided that I owed the Car Karma - big time. It being the last of the holiday shopping, the traffic around the mall was terrible. I let people go in front of me as often as I could to repay the world for my foul actions.

The next day was Christmas Eve. And as a new tradition, My Chef and The Taz baked Santa a nice batch of sugar cookies decorated nicely with a big purple R.  The Taz and I, with Bear Cub in tow, took a batch of freshly baked cookies over to our neighbor. On the way over, I feel a little lighter in my step. Our sweet neighbor is Indian and probably actually believes in Karma. We are doing a nice thing and bringing her cookies. This may be my shot at righting the wrong I did the day before! (Did My Chef bake the cookies? Yes. Was it his idea to take cookies to the neighbor? Yes. But was I the one actually delivering the cookies? YES!)   And just in time for Santa!

So this Christmas as I was giving thanks to the Lord for the birth of Christ and for His forgiveness, I found myself also thanking Him for an Indian neighbor and praying that the owner of a certain green Jeep had the same forgiving heart. Is that bent? Maybe.

Tuesday's List For Santa

Christmas List:

If Maggie could talk her Christmas list would include the following:

1.       Someone to find my nuk in the middle of the night

2.       A puppy

3.       A puppy

4.       A puppy

5.       A big banana for breakfast every day for the rest of my life

Rylee’s list is always the same when asked what she’d like Santa to bring:

1.       A Doll

She doesn’t grasp that Santa can bring more than one present, but if she knew about lists, then she’d probably ask for:

1.       Anything purple

2.       Candy

3.       Anything Maggie is currently touching

Troy’s list would probably go something like this:

1.       52 rounds of golf

2.       A little girl that goes to bed at 8:00pm on her own with no fighting

3.       An 18 month old baby who was potty trained

4.       52 foot massages from his loving wife

I was thinking about my list, and all of the things on it seemed dumb.

1.       A frilly apron. (Really)

2.       A bookshelf

3.       World Peace

Well I guess World Peace isn’t dumb. But then I thought what do I really really want? And in my heart of hearts I just want My Tazmanian Princess and Bear Cub to live long happy lives. To know real love and to pour it out on those around them. To not live with fear or sickness. To be each other’s best friends. And mostly, to go to bed without a fight.

Merry Christmas Friends.

Day One of Round Two

This is my first day on my second try around as a stay at home mudda. It seems to be going OK. Bear Cub has only thrown four tantrums and I haven't even tried to hide in the bathroom. All in all, a success. My very own mudda comes here in less than 36 hours. As a little treat for her visit, Bear Cub and I are going to preform an abridged version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Bear Cub will play the part of Cindy Lou Who:

Our version will go something like this: Grinch (played by yours truly) is lodged in the fridge pulling out all sorts of delicious treats and the roast beast, when enters small Cindy Lou Who with big pleading eyes. Upon seeing such a sorry sight, Mudda Grinch gives Wee Who all of her delicious treats and sings that song Ah Voo Door Ay. Then we will take a bow and possibly a long nap.

Day Four

It is Day Four without my wing man.

This is us at the recent holiday party.

Man, do my teeth look white or what. Guess I shouldn't have been so hard on you-know-who the DDS.

I have that cheesy grin on my face because I am bending my knees a little so Troy will look taller.

Troy has that cheesy grin on his face because he knows that I'm bending at the knees

and he just called me a "stupid-head."

I spent quite a bit of time "smoothing" out my hair and thought it looked much smoother when we left the house for this party. I did get the sweats a little bit upon arrival because I did not have the correct understanding of "casual" when dressing for this party. Getting the sweats will start to fuzz up the base of my hair, which makes it very wide. I will be considering The Brazilian Blowout that Jennifer Anniston gets to make her hair smooth before my next social outing.

Things are more fun when he's not in Texas.

 For instance, I have someone to talk to and therefore do not dwell on the width of my hair.

You may recognize THE jacket from the recent list:

 Things I won't be bringing to What Not To Wear should I ever get on that show.

I wore it as a top, not a jacket.

I may have just said this, but things are more fun when he's around.

Yup

These are my last few days of just hanging out by myself before I embrace the stay-at-home mothership.

And as you can see, I am making good use of my time.

Day Three

The Handeland Girl Cries Wolf

It is Day Three without my partner in crime. And like any other night that I am by myself and need to contain the children and minimize the destruction, I put them in the tub. It's an over sized tub, so for them, it's more like going to the splash pad than a chore. A win-win for everyone.

Some nights you have to be cautious with the little one. You know the saying "Does a bear poop in the woods?" Well around this house, it's "Does a Bear Cub poop in the tub?"  Yes, my friend. She does. (If this subject matter is not your cup of tea, stop reading now, because it's not going to get any better.) But tonight, as I was feeling pretty smart, I did not draw up the bath until the wee one had had her evening constitutional.

I plopped The Taz into the water first and she immediately sits on the edge of the tub and says "There's a huge poop in there."  I tell her "No there's not, just get in." She informs me that she was just pretending like the other night.  The Taz likes to recreate funny scenes from our life. Funny to her is when I am in hysterics. Last week, when I was not as smart and tossed Bear Cub in the tub before her evening constitutional, The Taz thought it was super funny as I was hootin' and hollerin' "CODE BROWN! CODE BROWN! Everyone out of the tub NOW!!!"

Her re-enactments were off and on for the next half hour. I had stopped double checking her broadcasts and started picking up tiny little articles of clothing that had been strewn about. When I went to check the prune level of their fingers, there it was. Right on the seat ledge of the tub. The Bear Cub's yule tide log. Mocking me and my smarts. I look down into the water to assess any additional damage and sure enough, the wee one was splashing around small bits of brown.

Two thoughts crossed my mind. 1. Tonight's bedtime story will be The Boy Who Cried Wolf  and 2. My letter to Santa is going to include something about a poop-less night.

Dear What Not To Wear

Tuesday's List:

Items of clothing I will hide in the neighbor's garage if I ever get on the show What Not To Wear:

1. The Black Vest

Whenever I pull this out of the closet, Troy says "Well Hello Old Friend." Because he knows how old it is and how much I really like to wear this.  There may be a picture of me wearing this very vest on a ceiling tile of a certain mexican/pizza joint in Northern Minnesota. 

2. Ol' Blue 

Another fine piece of clothing that should not end up in a trash bin. Ever.

This picture was also taken in 1999. I've worn this pullover every winter, at least twice a week since. I am wearing it right now. After a gagillion washes, it's still like new. Now that's craftsmanship. I am sure that every friend I know that lives in Minnesota has a similar picture to this. Even Maggie has a picture with me wearing this and she's only 1.5.

(PS- I may look like I am smiling, but really I'm saying nice words so

the lama doesn't try to eat Maggie's little fat finger.)

3. THE Jacket.



As in:

"Troy, have you seen my jacket?"

"Which one?"

"THE Jacket."

This little gem has been waiting patiently in my closet. Waiting for me to lose a little bit of the love handles so she could zip up again. (Ol' Blue is not as discerning when it comes to my weight flux, and I love her for that.) I am sure the fine people on What Not To Wear would tell me to toss this in the bin only because sometimes I like to wear this as an actual top and not just protective outdoor wear. 

That's it. Just those three little things. They can have everything else. All 6 paint splattered shirts, the three pairs of mom jeans I own and even my favorite pair of salmon colored corduroy pants.

Day One

I've just sent My Chef off to the airport. He will be spending the week in Dallas learning about fancy ways to track the yogurt and baked goods he sells. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I will be installing a lock on the pantry door. Here's why:

Industrial sized boxes of delicious treats. You can't just open a box and make a little 24 serving batch. You have to have 59 of your closest friends over....or a membership to the YMCA and countless hours to spend there. Wait a minute....maybe I don't need 59 friends to visit after all.

And right next to the boxes of cake/brownie mixes:

Endless samples of granola bars.



I most likely won't have any trouble taking a pass on the granola bars as I have yet ANOTHER visit with the infamous Mole-less Enrique Iglesias D.D.S. today. We are going to have an honest conversation about why he can't seem to get my tooth fixed.  It's going to go a little something like this: "Ok. Listen. I'm a happily married woman. And quite frankly, your not fixing my tooth properly, just to get me back in your chair, is very unattractive. I don't think I am going to even mention you to my single girlfriends." (He doesn't need to know that my single girlfriends live 8000 miles away.)  I may wait to say this after he fixes my tooth. It's takes a delicate touch to scold someone when you need something from them.  Not that I'm not up for the challenge. I have a 3 year old and have to employ this tactic daily.

Ah HA!

Just as I suspected. There are absolutely no comments on yesterday's blog about what gets people motivated to work out. Which leads me to believe that Thursday's discussions on healthy eating and whatnot should be scrapped. WORD!

Thanks people.

PS- TLP- this does not let us off the hook for the week's challenge. Just so ya know.

That's all I've got for today. It's Saturday, and I try not to "work" on the weekends. :)

Dang...Part Duex

It occurred to me earlier this morning that three weeks ago I wrote about Thursday's being the day I would discuss healthy eating and whatnot. Let's recap what's happened in those three weeks:

1. Thanksgiving. I haven't officially called writing this blog a "job" but it is the closest thing I do that resembles "working" so I decided I would take a few "vacation days" around Thanksgiving time. As I was putting pumpkin pie in my face that particular Thursday, I was thankful that I didn't have to write about healthy eating.

2. The next two Thursday's were consumed with dental appointments. As I type this, I realize that I did inadvertently write about making healthy choices. Floss people. Floss.

3. I find writing about good eating habits just about as boring as keeping good eating habits. (Insert heavy sigh.)

Nevertheless, I said I would talk about the 9 good health guidelines...so here goes, even if it is Friday. The first week I wussed out and went with the easiest one. Taking a vitamin everyday. Which I am happy to report that I have taken said vitamin everyday since that post.  And as a bonus I have found that my fingernails are stronger and don't break off when I am cracking open a can of pop. (you win some, you lose some)

Next up.  Exercise.

This week's challenge is to workout at least 30 minutes each day. I have already challenged my BFF Tracy of Breezy Point MN to the task. (Now you have to do it TLP) We have been trying to motivate each other for about 10 years now. (We usually end up laughing about our failed attempts over a cocktail or three.) We'd like to know - What motivates you? (Please leave comments!)  Right now, Pink on my iPod is doing the trick.

Happy Sweating Everyone.

A Letter To My Dentist

Dear Mole-less Enrique Iglesias D.D.S.,

While I can appreciate that it may be hard to find pleasant patients who will try to crack some jokes and pay their bill in full upon departure; I find it inexcusable that you would provide less than exemplary work so that I should need to return to your office so quickly.  If you'd like for me to hang out with you in the future, I would be glad to run your x-ray machine and be put on the payroll.

Sincerely,
Drooly McDrooleson

PS- I think it's just flat out mean that you keep the blinds open in exam room two, leaving a direct line view to the Chipotle next door. M.E.A.N.

Social Debut

Well last weekend I had my first social outing in Orlando. Even though it was a really nice evening, and the people we met were welcoming and warm, I am not entirely sure I would call it a success. Let's recap:

The event was the annual Christmas Party for My Chef's work. It was at his boss' house. I think it was 8 employees and their families.  The invitation came about a month ago and was on cute holiday stationary and mentioned something about BBQ and casual and to bring your kids. Perfect. Any event with BBQ is within my comfort zone, so I mark the calendar with a fun star.

The night of the big event, I brushed my hair and spent quite a bit of time debating what to wear. I had a button down shirt on and some slacks. Then I remembered. BBQ. Casual. So I switched to jeans and a some kind of shirt. I am sure if video taped, I could have landed on What Not To Wear. (Which BTW- I am not-so-secretly hoping to get on that show.) Our children are sporting cute, yet comfortable clothes that I think they will be fine sleeping in, since we will be late getting home.

As we pull up to the house, My Chef points out a co-worker getting out of her car. She's wearing slacks and a sparkly shirt. The dread starts to creep in. Then, he points out another person walking down towards us. She's in a dress suit! I debate not getting out of the car. But the visions of shredded pork and cobbler were too much to bear. I tell myself that surely the other people with kids will be much more casual.

We are greeted at the door by the lady of the house. She's wearing a dress and pantyhose. I've never been to a casual event where the hostess was wearing pantyhose. Next up, a pregnant lady in her 8th month, wearing high heels. I hear children and think that I will just play with them in the game room the whole night. But sure enough, there's an 8 year old boy with more gel in his hair than I've ever even owned. And a pair of twins that look like they walked off the cover of Macy's Christmas Dress catalog.  Suddenly, we are the kind of people who show up to a wedding wearing blaze orange hunting gear.  I may have nodded too quickly when asked if I would like a glass of wine.

I decide that I will try to make up for my lack of dress etiquette by being super charming. I approach a small group of women, assuming they are talking about their children only to find myself in a discussion about what's next on their plates for cosmetic procedures.  I decide this probably isn't the best time for me to be charming. I wind up talking with the pregnant lady who also just moved from Minnesota. MY PEOPLES! She laughs at my first joke, so I do not leave her alone.

Then mid way through dinner, my sweet little Bear Cub bumbles over so I can get a whiff of her pants. It just doesn't seem like it would be a normal outing if I didn't end up in the bathroom with some sort of debate going on in my head. Do I leave the stinky diaper in the trash can and try to cover it up with wads of tissue? Do I just chuck it into my diaper bag to take home leaving the bag to stink up whatever room I  stash it in?  Do I walk across the house, leaving a trail of green smoldering stench in my wake, to ask the hostess where I should toss it?

I curse myself for not having a more organized diaper bag- equipped with mini trash bags, or zip locks or fancy sparkly shirts and a copy of Cosmo.  Maybe next time. Hopefully, next time.

What If?

What if the Unabomber and Bob Vila had a son?

Would he look like this?

This is my broheim.  This is the mass of hair that can hide a silverware drawer full of utensils. I bet in a week's time, he'll pull some wooden mixing spoons out of that beard...or maybe even one of his small children. Yes, someone procreated with this guy. He's not as unabomerish as this photo makes him out to be. In fact, I think that his growing out of the 'fro is so that his debut appearance at the Shave to Save event is all the more dramatic.  Shave to Save is a fundraiser that his company does to support the American Cancer Society. I don't think the unabomber would do something so nice as as raise money to fight cancer. Also, I don't think the Unabomber had eyes that made you want to bake him cookies...or at the very least, get a can of beer from the fridge for him.

Dentures by 50

It is sunny and 50 degrees outside and I am slightly over-caffeinated. Also, it is quiet in my house. It's almost a perfect day. Almost so perfect that I do not want to dredge up the awful experience I had at the dentist this week.  But, I think I may have promised or something, so here it is.

It was your typical first time at a new dentist visit.  Paperwork, x-rays, and (this is a new one) digital photos of my smile and inside of my mouth. Things were going swimmingly.  Now enters the hygienist. She puts my x-rays on the monitor and I mentally prepare my history lesson for her: The Life and Times of Nikki's Mouth. But before I get a chance to talk, she throws me off guard by handing me a pair of protective eye wear.

My mind starts spinning. What are these for? Racing through the possibilities - is shrapnel going to be flying out of my mouth? Is the pressure too high on their water squirter thingy? Why could I possibly need these. I was so wrapped up in my own mental tailspin, that I barely heard the hygienist yapping away at me while pointing to my x-rays. But her last words were like a shotgun through the noise in my head "Next thing you know, you're in dentures by the time you're 50." WHAT!

My eyes bulged as she continued on about the importance of a mouth cancer screening. I just nodded in agreement. I was swishing some sort of liquid that shows cancerous cells under a blue light; all the while thinking about the Dentures at 50 comment. Rylee will still be in high school when I am 50. She won't want friends to spend the night for fear that I might come down for breakfast without my teeth in. Ahhhh! My eyes start to well up.

I was just blinking away the potential for real tears, when the hygienist announces that "Doc" will be in to examine my mouth shortly.  The dentist goes by Doc?  Just like my dad, my dad who was a dentist? Immediately I had visions of my father taking a short break from his golf game with The Lord God Himself, just to shake his head in disappointment.  I brace myself for the brow beating that is to come.

Now my eyes are closed, as just blinking isn't going to do the trick. I hear the dentist sit down next to me, so I collect myself and open my eyes. DOH. I am staring right at his nether regions. A little flustered, I dart my eyes around and see that my dentist is a tall, mole-less Enrique Iglesias. I get a little nervous now and start to giggle like Beavis. I think he asked me how I was doing. I think I just replied that I liked the protective eye wear.  He smiled nicely as said "We use so many sharp tools, that you can just never be cautious enough."  I start to envision the scraping tools poking out of my eyes and am thankful for the distraction from the dentures scenario.

The rest of the two day ordeal is somewhat of a blur, except the 36 times I have brushed and flossed since I left the office. Floss the ones you want to keep people. Floss the ones you want to keep.

Tuesday's List...A Day Late

I've just realized that today is not Tuesday. Nevertheless, I still have a list:

Jobs I have applied for and the reasons I am glad that they haven't panned out:

1. Scam artist.

I think it may be obvious that I didn't realize I was applying to be a scam artist until I was emailed the company video. A video which never actually said what the company does, but did boast that all of the employees like to play flag football right before happy hour most nights of the week. A video in which, at the conclusion offered me a job as long as I owned my own cell phone.  It may also be obvious why I am glad that didn't pan out, but for those that don't know me...well, I hate flag football.

2. Assistant to a Hotel Sales Director and his second in command.

The Director's name was Juan. His second in command was Dawn.  If it had panned out, I most likely would have given myself the nickname DiMarco. And I don't really look like a DiMarco. So I'm glad that didn't work out. Also, Juan said that he thought having children was a nice "hobby."

3. Dental Office Receptionist

I went to the dentist today. I will spare you the histrionics right now (but will have more details tomorrow). I imagine that people are more willing to go to the gynecologist than they are the dentist. Grumpy people knowing they are going to be put in a headlock for the next 30 minutes to an hour are not the kind of people I want to interact with all day. Knowing this, I tried my hardest to be pleasant. But again, more on this subject later.


4. Dog Walker

This one I would actually like to pan out...and it still might. But, I imagine if it doesn't pan out, by next July when it is 182 degrees outside with 150% humidity, I will be glad I'm not a dog walker.


5. Personal Banker

I actually think I would be pretty good at this gig. But, apparently from the "screening" process, they expect you to brush your hair every day. So, for that reason, I am glad that didn't pan out.

6. Photographer

Maybe I should have waited to submit my application with some recent work I've done.
(See the recent post Holly Jolly)

A Heartbreaking Conversation

Every night before bed, my little tazmanian princess and I recap our days. I start with mine first. "Well, I was asleep, and then you came in and told me that it was daytime so I had to get out of bed..." Then I explain to her in full detail everything that happened from the minute my feet hit the floor, to the minute we sat down for that very recap.  Some days I am surprised at how little I can fit into my day.  Then it's her turn.

She sits in her little tiny bed, with her long legs hanging over the side. She tells me about how Grace took the last purple lollipop during Chinese class and how she told Grace that since purple is HER FAVORITE that Grace is not very nice. Not. Very. Nice. At. All. She's shaking her pointer finger at me to punctuate her point. Then she realizes that she is holding up one finger. So she starts to count. One, two, three, four... Sometimes she does it in Spanish. Then she sings me a song that has something to do with shaking a tree and a rainbow. I think they are two different songs, but she has mad mixing skills, so I applaud her musical vision.

Then, out of nowhere she throws her face into her hands and says "Oh My God."  She says it like she just walked to her first class in college with the back of her skirt tucked into her underwear. I am wondering if I heard her right? Then she says it again, like she has the best secret to tell me and can't wait until I ask her what it is. Now I am speechless. Then she says it again, like she's 23 years old. And for a million reasons my heart breaks.

I mentally scramble trying to figure a way out for her to unlearn this. How to change my 23 year old baby back to her 3 year old self. (As I type this, I realize I will be trying to figure this out her entire life.) I gently tell her that we don't say that.

Me: We say "Oh my lanta"
Her: Oh my wanta?
Me: Yes
Her: Do I have a wanta?
Me: MMmm hmmm
Her: Is it in the shed?
Me: Yup.
Her: And then the cows gonna kick it over?
Me: (with a sigh of relief) Yes.
Her:  Momma, we bof had a really rough day.
Me: (with another sigh) Yes, yes we did.

Holly Jolly

It's that time of year when I put fresh batteries in the camera and set out to capture what will be some sort of Pulitzer prize worthy Christmas card photo. One that will conjure up such feelings that the recipient will want to call their family and tell them how much they love them. One that will invoke one's sense of good will toward man.  A heartwarming, heartfelt photo that stinks of peace, joy and love.

Here's a sneak preview:

Week of Thanks

Well it finally happened. And just like anything else that you wait and wait and wait for, it happened while I wasn't even paying attention...or even remotely prepared for.

School let out early for the girls for the holiday. It was 82 degrees out when we picked them up so when The Taz asked if we could go swimming, it sounded like a good idea. We rushed home, threw on our swimsuits and walked over to the pool.  The pool was deserted, so we checked the clubhouse door for any notices to make sure it was really open. No note. We were just the only ones who thought 82 qualified for outdoor swimming.

Right about the time we were getting the teeth chatters and feeling a little silly, a mother and her daughter walked through the gate. The Taz, having no problem  making friends, runs up to the girl asking if she wants to play. We make introductions and talk about the weather.

Nice day for November.
Yes.
Thought we were done with swimsuits.
Yes. This is new for us.
Us too.
Really?

As the conversation continued, we began to compare situational checklists:

New to town.
Us too.
Two daughters.
Us too.
No family close by.
Us either.
I love facebook.
Me too.
My husband's in the food and beverage industry.
Mine too.

Around this time, I realized that she was digging around in her purse for a pen and scratch of paper to write her phone number down. I turned away from her under the guise of monitoring the children only to hide my  stupid "yessssssssssssssss" face.  My elation quickly diminished as I looked at my sad diaper bag knowing there would hardly be diapers in it, little lone a pen and paper. The whole success of nurturing this tiny encounter into a full fledged friendship would rest on my shoulders alone...and mainly my ability to not lose the tiny scrap of paper she had written her digits on.

On the walk home, I start imagining coffee dates and park pals. I imagine running into her at the grocery store and having a 15 minute conversation in the soup aisle.  My first friend in Floriday. Whoo hoo.

Two days later, Troy and I were at The Boutique, when I hear a familiar voice. It's my new friend. She is too far away for me to say hello without shouting. That's when I seize up. Suddenly I am 15 years old with no social skills. Why can't I just be cool and say hello? My mind starts racing. Should I ask her to do something now? No, not right now, but next week? Will she wonder why I don't have a shopping cart on Black Friday? Will she think I just troll the store because I have no friends.

One thing is for sure. I won't be able to tell her about this blog until after we've gone out for happy hour and she's said something completely embarrassing and stupid.

November 23rd

Tuesday's List:

Favorite Quotes From Conversations I've Had This Week

1. "Sometimes it's OK for you to look nice."

Troy Handeland - after pointing out that I had paint splatters on not only the shirt I am

wearing today, but most of the clothes currently in my dresser. 

2. "I think my hair makes me the most intersting person in the world."

Ben Hunter - said during a conversation about our Irish Afros.

For the record, he may be right. Last time we were on skype, he hid an entire

silverware drawer of utensils hidden in his hair.

As I type this, I realize that I have not talked to very many people this week. Dang.

Catch 22

It may be evident by this photo that I need a job.

It's a tin foil turtle dove.

But if I have a job, I may not have the energies (that's a Taz word)

to create such masterful refrigerator art sculptures.

Whatdoyado?

Made With Love

My Chef and I have a little routine that we play out every time it's my turn to cook. Sometime during diner he will compliment my culinary growth. I am sure this is to encourage the practice. It doesn't work, but I love him for trying. Then he follows up with the same question: What's your secret ingredient?  Knowing full well that my go-to spices are salt and pepper. However, sometimes when I am preparing a really complicated dish (read multiple ingredients using more than two steps), I will get fancy and use a McCormick seasoning packet. Regardless of the dish, my answer to his question is always the same: It's made with love.

Sorry if you just threw up a little bit.

So yesterday afternoon I might have been feeling a little guilty on accounta all the nights the past two months that My Chef has come home from a long day of work to me wearing pajamas with no plan to fix dinner.  I look in the cupboard and see my good friend McCormick Meatloaf Spice and know exactly what I must do.

As I am squishing the raw egg, beef and bread crumbs between my fingers I see some of it go under my wedding band. Out of the blue a warm nostalgic blanket wraps around me and I see my mother. She is taking off her wedding ring and setting it on the kitchen counter above the sink prior to washing her hands. As a child I would watch her make dinner. I loved watching her form the loaf, patting it on each side, making it nice and smooth. Then she would go to the sink to wash again and put on her ring. It's a simple memory. My mother making dinner for her family.

My heart swelled a little as I thought of her ring. The ring my father had designed for her. The ring that embodied the love my parents felt for each other. The kind of love I held out for and found years and years after my father passed away. The very ring that My Chef asked for along with my hand in marriage because he knew how very much it meant to me. The very ring that I was now getting raw beef under.

My dreamy trip down memory lane was abruptly interrupted by the cries of my hungry babies. I hurriedly dished out the meatloaf, which was more like meatcrumbles, along with it's under seasoned side dish of acorn squash. I set the table and we sat down as a family. Midway through dinner, My Chef thanks me for making a delicious dinner and asks me what is my secret ingredient. I smile and I mean it when I tell him. It's made with love.

Dang. Part II

So here it is, Thursday again. Time to discuss making healthy choices and check in on my weight loss progress. I think if you've read any of the last week's postings you'll agree that I need to check myself before I wreck myself.  If anything, there are several lessons that can be taken away from this past week.

1. Banking on getting the stomach flu is not really a good weight loss strategy.  Especially if part of that strategy is to eat half a pan of brownies in exchange for the calories you don't think you'll be able to intake due to the flu. Because you may not get the flu. And then you may stress yourself out thinking that there is some crazy reason you have a heightened immune system; causing you to eat the other half of the pan of brownies.

2. You know the saying about never grocery shopping on an empty stomach? I think we should extend that to never going grocery shopping with an upset stomach...yours or the baby you are toting along. Because you may just find yourself cleaning up your cart in the booze aisle of the store doing this kind of math: Alcohol kills germs. Wine is alcohol. It may take a whole bottle to kill the germs I am probably carrying around. 

3. Just because you were too busy staring at the wall to get up and bake cookies, does not mean you made a healthy choice. It may just mean you are incredibly lazy. And if you are incredibly lazy, then you probably didn't even come close to "exercising" in which case you probably would have burned more calories had you gotten off your patooty to do a little baking.  Either way, you should check yourself.

I think the most important part of this journey is not to beat yourself up. So, after checking myself and determining that I probably didn't make one healthy choice this week, and that I am currently on week 3 of making no progress whatsoever; I am going to go back to the basics.  According to my good friends at WW, there are 9 Good Health Guidelines. Over the next 9 weeks, I plan on tackling one each week. Because I am a ninny, I am going to start with the easiest one. Taking a daily vitamin. That seems easy enough right? Who's with me?

Disclosure: The fine people at Weight Watchers neither pay me to be a spokesperson, nor do they probably condone my giving away all of their tips. whatdoyado?

Siblings

When we were only four months pregnant with The Taz, Troy says to me "You gotta kinda wonder when we should have the next one." WHAT? This was out of left field because A. The sound of a child screaming in a restaurant would immediately send his eyebrows into the scowl position and B. we didn't even have a name picked out for the FIRST one. But, it did spark the conversation of how we wished we were closer in age to our own siblings.

My closest sibling. He's not a yetti. We are close now and like to talk about our Irish Afro's.

I try to explain to Rylee that Maggie is her present. That before she was even born, we planned on getting her a friend, a compadre and confident as soon as we could. And she was on board with that, at least while Maggie was just a large lump in my belly.

 She liked her at first. Then two days after we brought her home,

Rylee started calling her by another kid's name.

 Some days she tolerates her little sister. 

Her real best friend is in her left hand.

 I promised to let her watch Elmo if she'd hug her sister and say cheese.

Her eyes are on the tv to see if Elmo has shown up yet.

Somedays, there's just no masking how you feel about each other.

And then there are nights like this. When out of nowhere, Rylee says

"c'mon Maggie, I'm gonna wead you a book."

I'm glad we made her a little friend.

November 16

Tuesday's List:

I've had this page open since 7am. Here are the things I

would have, could have and should have done today instead of staring at the wall.

1. Baked cookies

2. Taken a better picture of this crazy bird that visits our pond.

It looks like part crow, part wild turkey.

We call it the Turcrow.

Seriously. What a crappy picture. This bird is crazy.

3. Picked up the 62 toys that have been on the living room

 floor since last Thursday and that I've walked past or

tripped over 78 times since Sunday.

4. Baked cookies.

5. Written some sort of facebook status update about staring at the wall.

6. Shoveled out the dining room floor.

(But then what would I do on Wednesday?)

7. Watched the Movie Preview Channel to see if there is

anything that I want to add to the Netflix Que.

(Can you believe there is a whole tv channel dedicated to just movie previews?)

8. Logged on to ParentsConnect.com to download fun Thanksgiving projects for

the girls to work on while My Chef prepares dinner.

9. Prepared dinner.

10. Baked cookies.

11. Tried to even kind of look for a job.

Yep, lots of things I could have done today instead of stare at the wall. But, today was not a complete loss because I bought  those silly little window cling-on things of snowmen and santa clauses and Christmas trees. I also bought two Christmas cd's. This year, the day after Thanksgiving, we will open our tote labeled BEWARE, CHEER INSIDE (which is on tomorrow's To-Do list to create) and put on our holiday music and start to make some family holiday traditions.

And the hits just keep coming....

Have you ever had one of those moments where you are caught off guard and you have to think quickly on your feet and you hope that you make the right move because whatever choice you make is going to determine how bad the current situation is going to get? I found myself in that situation yesterday.

I was on my way into the grocery store. Bear Cub was in tow. My stomach started to feel a little queasy. My little family was recovering from a bout of what can only be compared to Montezuma's Revenge.  I was the only one left unscathed.  I paused before the front door for a quick self-analysis and determined that my body was just telling me to pick up some cookie dough.

We cruise down each aisle, taking our time. I give Maggie the chance to tell everyone hello. She is in good spirits so we are in no hurry to rush back to the petri dish we call home. She's laughing, making race car noises and flapping her chubby little arms like a chicken. We are two rows from covering every inch of the store when she looks at me with big doe eyes. Her mood changes and I start to think she's ready to be out of the cart.

She does want out of the cart. Before I know it she is standing on the seat reaching for me with pleading in her eyes. She was not crying or whimpering; she was just begging with those big blue eyes for me to save her. Then I saw it. Right there on the back of her dress and on the seat of the cart. Mustard. Only we hadn't made it to the condiment aisle yet.  My nostrils flared and my mind raced. Where's the diaper bag? In the truck? Do I try to check out? No, it's Sunday, too many people. The smell is horrific. What do I do with the cart full of food? How do I get her cleaned up? What. do . I. do?

I push the cart to a register that was just closing and tell the woman that I need to do a quick diaper change in the parking lot. She assures me I can leave the cart right in her lane and it will be there when I get back. We get to the truck and the only things in the diaper bag are a cereal bar, a swim diaper and some sunscreen. I curse myself for not being more organized. No wipes. No extra clothes. No cloths of any sort. Maggie just laid still in the cargo area of the truck, waiting for me to figure it out. I peel her dress off and use it as best as I could to clean her up. I pull the swim diaper up over her cheeks and get her strapped in the car seat.

I find my mind racing again. Do I just drive off? Do I try to find a guy collecting carts and tell him about my cart full of groceries in the last check-out lane? Do I tote Bear Cub back in there, no clothes and smelling like I pulled her from an outhouse?  Do I dare even touch the groceries after what I just had to "clean up."  Oh my lanta...the seat on the cart. What do I do about that? Ahhh. I went with my first instinct and just drove off. 

We don't live far so I had her home in no time. After a quick explanation of why I didn't have any groceries to unload, Troy tells me I should return to the store. Begrudgingly, I agree. So I scour my hands, toss the travel size Lysol wipes in my purse and hop back in the truck. (It's not a truck truck, but I feel like I should be on a ranch driving down long dirt roads, checking on cattle in this thing, so I call it a truck)

My mind is racing again. Is my cart is still there? It's only been 12 minutes. What if it's not? What if the Head Grocer is putting on his hazmat suit right now trying to decide if he should dump all the food in the dumpster or if just the seat is contaminated. I curse myself for making fun of those ladies who buy the cart seat liners for their babies.

I walk into the store and see a small team of people by the customer service desk. They are 10 feet away from my cart. MY CART! It's still there. But it's been moved... so they know. They are probably making a plan of attack. I don't care. I walk up to the cart and start pushing it along like I never left it. I aim straight for the last aisle and pull out my sanitary wipes. The damage isn't as bad as I recalled and I have it cleaned up before anyone can see.

Then I look up and realize that I am surround by a huge selection of wine and only one question comes to mind. Which one goes better with M&M's, red or white?

Team Handeland takes one in the chin

I am patiently waiting my turn. This time, I have no problem being patient. This time, I wouldn't even mind being left out. 

Let's rewind to Wednesday.

It was late. Sometime between laying my head on my pillow for the first time and my alarm going off. Maggie is doing her usual squawking request for help in locating her nuk. I am doing my usual part, trying to ignore her so maybe she'll forget about the dang thing. Her squawking is escalating to serious cries. I go in and rub her back, find her nuk and shush her. It's not working. So I pick her up and start the gentle bouncing. Before I can process the sounds her belly is making, there is puke dripping down my neck and chest and arms. I employ the assistance of my partner in crime (in sickness and in health) and we manage to get everything cleaned up without tossing our own cookies. (Although, it may be a long time before I can eat ham or cantaloupe again.)

We stayed up for a little while to make sure "the well was dry" then tucked our sweet girl back into her covers. And just as my breathing was settling back into a nice slow rhythm, I hear her little cough gag. We ended up repeating the entire process twice more that night and twice more the next morning. By noon, we were out of the woods. Or so we thought. 

The rest of Thursday was uneventful. But come Friday night, when all of our heads were in our beds, The Taz starts in with the belly achin'. "My tummys hurt. Sometings not right. ooooooooohhhh" I hear Troy console her. Then I hear the splatter in the tub. I go to assist. We get her cleaned up and back to bed. I know from our previous nights' bout that we will be in to hold her hair a few more times before dawn.

Sometime between the first and fourth round, I wake up to "splattering" noises and head out of our room only to realize that the sound was coming from OUR bathroom.  Now my chef is tossing HIS lunch . I check on him to see if he needs a washcloth. Then I hear the baby. I go into her room and the smell hits me. Deflated, I say a small prayer that if I am to get whatever it is that has hit our family, that it not get to me until the rest of my brood are out of the woods.

We make it through what was left of the night. We were exhausted and didn't plan on getting out of our pajamas for another 24-48 hours.  Maggie didn't make it. She had 17 cheerios and "reversed" 58 of them. (I wouldn't have believe it was possible if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.)  Before I know it, everyone was ready for a nap.

I was exhausted. But I did the math; I was next. There was no time for me to nap, I had to make preparations. I started with the bathrooms. I cleaned every surface twice. If I'm gonna spend 24-48 hours in one of them, I want it lemony fresh.  Since I was still doing the math, I figured I wouldn't be eating either. So I baked a fresh batch of brownies and had half the pan gone by the time naps were over.

So here I sit, still waiting my turn. Not really excited about it, but at least tomorrow is Monday and I can take my turn in peace if I have to.

Dang

So it's Thursday. Weigh-in day and a discussion on healthy eating.

A while back, I heard some gal on the radio say something like "If you can't wash it, don't eat it."  I liked that.  I like little quick sayings that can help you pass up the fleeting urges.  My biggest downfall is being around tempting food and mindlessly eating things when I don't even want them.

Another saying I've heard is "if you're really hungry, you'll eat an apple"  I liked this too. Around 2:30pm every day I think it's time for a snack.  It's a good benchmark to ask myself if I would eat an apple right now because I need something in my belly or if it's just that time of day.

Both of these sayings would have been really usefull this week, had I actually remembered them before today. The good thing is that the scale did not move one way or the other from last week. It's not real motivating, but then again, at least I didn't go backwards.

Deep Thoughts on Politics...well maybe not

I try to stay away from political discussions. This is mainly because I'm a lover, not a fighter (read debater).  But something happened yesterday that thrust me right into the midst of the longest political discusion I've had in years.

As I was driving home with the girls, I noticed a man on the busiest corner of our little suburb. (apparently the busiest corner of Florida's 8th District). He was in a white button down shirt and chinos. He was holding a huge placard with a political candidate's yard sign on the top half and the bottom half was a handwritten Thank You.  I looked closer and gathered from his gray hair that he was most likely the winner of the recent election. (A quick search on the webz just confirmed my inclination)

I say outloud : Now that's something you don't see everyday.
The Taz replies: Whacho say?

Me: I said there's a man on the corner holding a sign saying thank you to the people who voted for him. That's the first time I've ever seen that.  Is it wrong that I wonder what his angle is? Can't I just accept that he is genuinely thankful and wants to say so?

Her: Whacho say Momma?
Me: There was a man holding a sign saying Thank You for voting for him.
Her: What?
Me: There was a man back there man holding sign
Her: On his back?
Me: No
Her: His legs are tired like mine
Me: Probably
Her: He's gonna eat goldfish like me
Me: Probably
Her: There's a fish party in my tummy
Me: Mmm. yes.

November 9

Tuesday's List:

Things that are Broken

1. The inside door handle on my truck.

2. The air conditioning on my truck. (This is actually OK, since it is "fall" and I can have the window open, which is also good since I have to have the window down to open my door anyway.)

3. The dryer. (Which is OK since delivery of a new machine is free when you have an old one to "donate")

4. My desire to do any laundry. (Which was OK before the new dryer arrived)

It's a short list today. (Which is OK considering the topic.)

Homesick

I tend to get a little homesick on Sundays. (Thankfully it's Monday now.) Troy and I are in the process of finding a new church and so far, the ones we've been to only leave us missing our church family in Hopkins. I won't do it justice trying to decribe all of it's positive attributes, but we loved it because the Pastor is funny and we got what he was saying. We never felt preached to, so much as we felt that something was being shared with us.  We never felt guilt or fear, but rather blessed by gifts and grace.  And it truly felt like a family. Both times we were pregnant, I was one of ten women expecting. There are children covering every inch of the place. Mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles- unrelated family all working together to teach and love and pray for them.  But my favorite part was the music. 

The music is led by a man and his wife. He seems serious, and she's the funny one. He plays guitar and she plays the piano. They are the consistent pieces. Coming and going are different singers, but never more than 4 total. Sometimes there is a brass instrument, or a bongo player, or a bass guitar. Sometimes there is a cello or violin. Hardly ever are all of those players serving at the same time. There isn't enough room.

They don't sing from hymnals, but the words are typed out in the weekly bulletin for all of the songs. And maybe only one or two songs have the sheet music printed with actual notes and parts.  And there is every kind of voice in that church. Loud, soft, pitchy, squeeky, in-tune, shaky... you name it. But for some reason, when the music starts and that church sings there is one harmonious sound that seems to beg heaven for it's ear. Two songs into the service I find myself shedding the worries, and tensions and just plain stupid things from the week. By the third song I'm usually wiping away a tear of gratitude; my heart ready for the lesson it most likely needs to hear. By the time we are singing in line to communion I feel so filled with love I may actually burst.

So yesterday, as Troy and I stood in an unfamilar parish hall waiting for the words to pop up on the monitor (churcharoke) I couldn't help but feel like I'd heard the song before. And before I knew it, the words were coming out of my mouth before they popped up on the screen 8.6.7.5.3oooh 9eee I eeen. 867-5309. It was the same melody! Jenny Jenny who can I turn to... Luckily Troy was the only one who heard me because as it turns out, it was not the same song. And even though the music brought us to tears (because we were laughing so hard) there was something still missing and I was left a little homesick.