Magic Birthday

Today is my sister's Magic Birthday.  (I call it magic, it's apparently supposed to be called a golden birthday... whatever.  I do what I want!)  She's 27 and today's the 27th... get it?  I celebrated my golden birthday a few years ago.  I don't remember it much.  I was probably drunk.  Hey, I was 24, that's what you do when you're still young enough to rebound from a hangover in a day!  (That will not be the case when I celebrate the big 3-0 later this year!)

Anyway, as I sat and thought about my golden birthday and her golden birthday, I thought, how cool is it to celebrate when you're a little older and can remember it?  And then I realized in 33 days my daughter is going to have her magic birthday. 

First and foremost, HOLY SHIT!  How did an entire year blow by me?  How did she get so old so quickly?  It feels like just yesterday that I was walking around with a beach ball under my shirt complaining about my hips being out of place because a fetus was cozied up in my pelvis!  But I still have a month to panic and contemplate how time has passed me by and my daughter has gotten so big...

When I first realized that she would never remember her magic birthday (because it's her first birthday and who remembers that?) I was really sad.  She's still a baby and won't get to enjoy in her magical day because she'll probably be napping, or crying, or wacking something into my face.  I was sad for her.  I never thought of this downside when I thought of all the pluses to having a birthday on the first of the month. 

Having your birthday on the first of the month seems nice.  It's easy to remember.   It's not hard like when I try to remember Stoofy's birthday and get the date mixed up with what date we got married.  (I actually suck at remembering exact dates.  I am pretty good at ballpark estimates when it comes to important dates like that.  God bless Facebook for helping me remember the exact date my husband birthday is!)

But I never realized she'd pretty much forget all about her magic birthday.  *insert pitty party here*

Then I realized it's just up to me to make her birthday magical and special!!  Even though she won't realize this first birthday of hers is her magic birthday, it will be magical for me.  It's a small miracle that I survived a year of motherhood, I didn't murder my husband, he didn't push me down any stairs because I was a crazy mom, and (knock on wood) we haven't had any major catastrophe with Elly!!!! 

So, now I don't feel so bad about her missing her magical birthday.  I'll just make it up to her for every other birthday she has. 

Cup O' Joe

Elly is back on the sucky sleeping schedule again.  I swear that kid goes through sleeping phases like people go through fad diets.  (I don't diet, I just eat cookies.  Lots and lots of cookies!)

What does that mean for me other than my own sleepless nights?  It means my new health insurance company thinks I'm an insomniac for one.   I took a health assessment test for a $35 gift card to be used for medical expenses.  (Why the hell wouldn't I answer 100 questions about me for $35 free? Duh!) It asked how many hours of sleep I get a night, how rested do I feel when I get up for the day, and so on. 

What it doesn't allow for during the questionnaire is a place for you to fill in any kind of explanation behind it.  Like if I was a meth-head and was tweaking every night then of course I wouldn't get any sleep.  (But at least I'd get all the laundry done!)

But what about parents of insomniac kids?  There's no box to check for that.  So instead, I'll now get spammed with a million emails about how not sleeping enough has a poor effect on my health.  No shit.  Now if only there was enough time for a mommy nap time in a day and this wouldn't be a problem.

But yesterday afternoon was the icing on the cake for just how sleepless I've been the last few nights.  At work, I have a Keurig in my "office."  (I say "office" and not office because it's only got three walls and no door, so people can still come in my space willy-nilly whenever they feel like it.  Plus, since I'm a natural loud talker, they can hear pretty much everything I say.)  I drink a lot of coffee and the Keurig gets quite the daily workout. 

It was time for my afternoon cup o' joe pick-me-up.  And as I plopped the little k-cup in and watched the coffee stream into my cup, I realized I needed to up the ante a bit.  So I pulled out the canister of mocha cappuccino mix from the drawer and added a few scoops of that to the coffee for the extra jolt I was going to need to re-read the same story five times for copy edit mistakes.  (I lead a glamorous life!)  

As my coffee finished brewing I started searching for the blue lid to the canister so I could clean up and get on with my afternoon.  But alas, I couldn't find the lid!  (Mind you, the entire coffee making process was done from the comfort of my desk chair.  I didn't move more than 12 inches during the entire process to make this cup of coffee.  How the hell I misplaced the lid I have no idea.)  And as I'm standing up, spinning in circles, cursing myself for being crazy and not able to find the blue lid (I even checked my pockets!) a lady I'd never met before but needed to introduce myself to (and make a good first impression for because I'd be working with her lots in the future) walked in and saw me turning in circles on my own little crazy train.  My entire conversation with her was distracted by the fact that I couldn't find the blue lid to this damn canister!!! 

Finally, as I tried to shoo her away so she wouldn't see how crazy I was, I just got down on the floor and started digging under a cabinet in my "office."  And alas!  I finally found the lid... a GOLD lid.  Why I swore it was blue, I have no idea.  

Clearly, I not only needed my afternoon cup o' joe, but I needed to add another scoop of cappuccino mix to it.  Because my little insomniac is making me crazy!!!!   

Independent Woman

Every time my daughter learns something new I start singing a Destiny's Child song from my high school days.  I sing mostly to myself because 1) I barely remember all the words 2) I can't really sing all that well and would prefer not to scar my child 3) I'm not actually all that happy about why I'm singing.

You see, Elly is only 10.5 months old and the writings on the wall.  (I'm really hitting the DC lyrics hard tonight!  It's about to get Jumpin' Jumpin' in here!) I can tell that I have an extremely rocky road ahead of me as I try to raise my incredibly stubborn, headstrong, independent woman in this world.
 

 

How do I already know this is going to be as fun as traveling over landmines?  Because she already throws fits when you try to help her do something.  She's been walking 2 months already.  When we were in the airport earlier this week and she was starting to walk into stores or other places she shouldn't I responded with a stern "No thank you, this way please" and tried to hold her hand and walk her in a different direction. 

Her response? A full-blown tantrum, complete with arm flailing and writhing out of my hand so she could walk by herself and go where she wanted to go.  She didn't need my help to turn around, she could do it herself.  And there was no way she was going to let mama walk hand-in-hand with her.  She's a big girl and can do it herself.  In fact, she's begun to walk like a model, one hand on her hip, the other extended in the air (Ok, so it looks more like she's about to bust out in song and dance about a little tea pot who's short and stout... but still.)  I'd like to blame the trip to New York City, but no, this is just her spirit.

Another example of her desire to do it her way and refuse help: she had her sippy cup this morning and it was pretty much empty.  Stoofy, myself AND Ms. B all tried to change her sippy cup and give her the other one (the exact same kind of cup, just a different color) with water in it that just happen to be sitting right next to her.  NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.  She at one point swatted at Stoofy when he tried to take the empty cup out of her hand and swap it with the other, full one.  Nope. 

And Ms. B reported today that Elly threw herself to the ground and had a mini-tantrum because she was not allowed to climb up the stairs by herself.  She's been learning how to go up them with Stoofy helping her, but clearly since she's not even a year old yet, climbing stairs on her own is a big no no.  Especially because half our steps in the house are the open back kind.  She could easily squeeze through and fall head first to her demise.  Not really my style of fun. 

But does she care about the scary death trap?  No.  She doesn't want your help going up the stairs because she's already freakin' learned how to do it and can do it herself damn it!!!!  If she could talk already she’d say, “Just stop holding my hand mom and let me do it on my own!”

And that right there is the problem.  Her not wanting to hold my hand in the airport while walking around nearly broke my heart.  I actually felt it break into tiny, little pieces.  (Don't worry, "I'm a Survivor" and I'm not going to give uh...), Yes, I know she's still a baby and she will need me for lots of things for many years (especially since she can't reach the food yet and will need me to at least feed her for awhile longer.  Although today she learned how to feed herself with a spoon.  I'm quickly becoming as obsolete as a payphone). But it kills me to watch her grow up so fast.  It's like I blinked and she's almost an adult! 

I don't know how it even happened.  And because she's so independent I worry she’ll stop needing  me so much sooner than other kids.  Or at least she'll THINK she won't need me so much sooner. 

It looks like I've got two options here: 1) learn to accept the fact that my baby is independent like her mother and doesn't need me in her life anymore or 2) change my parenting technique and hover over her and make her so damn co-dependent that she'll never leave my side. 

Option 2 is sounding less and less crazy every day she learns a new skill. 

Mama Gets a New Look

This week was quite the adventure!!!  Stoofy, Elly and I all had a blast in NYC.  As soon as we got there I hit the ground running and went straight to the hair salon for a brand new 'do.  Since getting out of the Navy, I chopped my hair off.  I just couldn't stand it anymore and I was tired of being Elly's makeshift pull toy.  But this new cut really makes me look cute.  I went from a really nice, edgy cut to a super cute bob that fits my face perfectly.  It doesn't hide my face fat, but it does a nice job of camouflaging it. 

Speaking of camouflage... Stoofy did a great job of adjusting to no camo.  But that doesn't mean he didn't make a few jokes about it to the makeover stylist!  He and I spent most of our time separated until the big makeover reveal so that we'd be surprised with what each other was wearing.  So apparently when he was getting his new outfit, he gave the women a handy fashion tip they even used on the show- if you want to hide all your fatty trouble spots, just wear camo!!!  So there's your Stoofy fashion tip!

Now, we didn't get a whole new wardrobe or anything like that, but we did get a nice outfit, plus a free trip to NYC, and a nice lunch out on the town.  So all in all, a damn good two-day trip!

My dress was a sexy little red and fuchsia number.  I NEVER would have picked something like that out for myself.  One, it was super form-fitting, so I tend to keep my fat ass away from that kind of thing.  Not to mention the colors looked like they wouldn't work together.  But after two pairs of spankx and the help of a giant shoe horn, I was able to stuff slip right into that beauty.  And wouldn't you know it, I looked awesome.  Because it was fitted, it gave my fat rolls a beautiful hourglass shape, the colors popped as vibrant as my personality and it was a gift from the Nate Berkus show.  Who wouldn't love that?!?!?! 

We didn't get to spend more than the 10 minute taped segment with Nate.  Which is a bummer, but his whole production staff were great!!!  They're just the nicest people ever and Elly just loved them all.  In fact, they all loved her too.  (I’m pretty sure most of them offered to kidnap her and keep her as the show’s mascot.  I doubt that’s legal.)  And she actually spent more time with Nate than we did!!!  He even gave her a shout out about how cute he thought she was and how the whole staff wanted to keep her during the show!  Now if that isn't cute, I don't know what is! #stealingmamasthunder #jealousstagemom

I think the most amazing (read scary, terrifying and I must be off my meds to do this) thing was that I allowed the stylist and Nate to tell the whole freakin' world that I'm a size 14/16.  That's right, I just did it again.  I told the whole world what my dress size is.  And honestly, it's not as scary as I thought it would be. 

Mainly because we talked about why my size is so hard to shop for and I realized I can't possibly be the only woman in the world who's a 14/16 and can't find clothes.  I'm a true 14/16.  I'm not a plus sized woman, my proportions aren't really plus sized.  Yes I have big boobs, and yes I have a wonderful layer of insulation around my mid-riff, but I'm not a plus.  I'm just an XL.

And as it turns out, major department stores only carry one 14 and one 16 in each style of dress in their stores.  Why that is, no one knows.  It probably goes back to everyone's supposed to be a size -4 to fit into the clothes they make for my hangers.  But that's why it's hard to find dresses and outfits for my size.  And it took the stylist 3 days to find my outfit.  I don't have 3 days to shop for anything.  Elly gets a little impatient and I don't even have the patience for that kind of marathon shopping. 

So there you have it.  I'm a sexy size 14/16 mama who broadcasted to the world that you can have fluff and still look hot!  You just need a team of hair and makeup specialists and a personal shopper to pull it all off.  So, I'm going to need each and every one of you to share with your friends this awesome blog, so that I can figure out a way to make a living just writing about my life and maybe sharing tips on how to cook, sew, craft and make sure you don't accidently step on your kid so I can have my personal dream team.  Someday this will all pay off.....

Betty Factoids

1) I don't like gum.  In fact, I downright hate it.  Everything about it grosses me out.  So do me a favor and keep your disgusting wad of germs away from me.  I don't even like mints.  Just keep all spearmint products away from me. 

2) Small talk is pretty annoying.  Especially in the bathroom.  I don't want to talk about the weather, traffic or my shoes in the bathroom.  In fact, I don't want to talk at all in there.  I want to get it, get what I went in there to get done done and leave.  Don't get me wrong, I like to BS with people, just not in the bathroom!

3) My favorite number is 13.  It stems back to when I was in a special program with the Girl Scouts.  We all were assigned a number for roll call and uniform identification purposes (funny how well that set me up for the military!).  My number was lucky 13 for 7 years and it just stuck. 

4) I'm terrible at spelling.  There are certain words that I just can't spell right no matter how hard I try.  In fact, I've tried them so many times that my autocorrect has given up on me and just misspells them wrong for me automatically.  I usually spell check my facebook statuses before posting them, because I don't want to look like a dumbass for spelling something wrong. 

5) My worst misspelled offenders are: separate, necessary, guard, guarantee, and Massachusetts. (Actually, when I plugged this blog into Word to do a double check on my spelling, I misspelled every single one of those words again! Man I suck!)  I never made it very far in the school spelling bees.  I usually got eliminated within the first round of classroom preliminaries.  How I got a job in journalism, I have no idea.

6) I feel I'm a pretty good judge of character.  And if I meet you and don't get a good feeling about you, you automatically end up on my shit list.  It's hard to work your way off the shit list.  It's happened only a couple of times, but usually when you go on that list, it's for a good reason.

7) I was a cheerleader for about 6 minutes in middle school and I've never been in any kind of drama club or performing arts classes.  I probably should have been, but who knows what kind of trouble that would have led me into! :-)

8) I truly would love to make a living off of writing about my crazy life.  I have no idea exactly how to do that yet, but how wonderful would it be to just get paid for living?  Sounds amazing!

9) Until I figure that out, Stoofy and I regularly play the lotto.  We don't spend a lot on it, just a few bucks a week.  But we started because as my mom said, "You can't keep saying 'when I win the lottery I'm going to...' if you don't play the lottery!"  And my mom was right about applying for the makeover, so I guess I should play a little each week!

10) I talk a lot to myself in my car when I drive.  I talk about a lot of random things.  And I used to feel weird about it, because I didn't want people to think I was super weird talking to myself driving down the road, but nowadays with blue tooth, no one really knows if you're talking to yourself or talking to someone through your car speakers.  So I don't look so retarded now!

11) While most people are afraid of heights, spiders, snakes, loneliness, I'm afraid of tall, wet grass.  Creeps me out and I don't like the feel of it.  I think it goes back to my days being stationed in Cuba.  Running on the trails through the tall grasses in the early morning so there's still dew on them, is gross.  You never knew what kind of critter would crawl out of that stuff and eat your leg.

12) I like even numbers rather than odd numbers.  And I really can't stand to leave something hanging on an odd number.  And when telling time, if it's 11:37 I round to the nearest multiple of 5.  If you asked me what time it was and my clock said 11:37, I'd say it was 11:40.  It's just how I am.

13) I enjoy watching a lot of sports, but I do have a line.  I don't like basketball, you only need to watch the last 5 minutes of the game to get the gist, soccer is excruciating because you could watch the whole thing and there's still no winner, and golf is worse than watching paint dry. 

14) Talking on the phone annoys me usually.  Nine times out of 10, I don't like it.  I'd rather have written communication... even if that means a text.  Or even better yet, I'd rather talk to you in person.

15) I hope one day my daughter can read all of these things and not think her mom is a complete crackpot.  And even if she does think I am, I hope I've made enough money off of it to shut her up and tell her to do whatever she dreams of doing, even if everyone thinks she's crazy.  Because that's what life's all about! 

Cue the Chipmunk Music

All I want for Christmas is my kid's two front teeth to finish growing in.  Who knew growing teeth is one of the most painful processes as a parent.  Not to mention painful for your kid.  But that last point is obvious because that's what makes it painful for the parent... duh!

Anyway, Elly had one of her front teeth come in just before Thanksgiving time.  And it was a little painful and she was crabby.  But it was manageable.  (Either that, or I've already forgotten how exhausting it was last month.)  But only one of the two of them cut through. 

My first thought was, holy shit! I actually gave birth to a real-life hillbilly.  Great.  I already need to start worrying about braces, baby dentures and if Fixadent is safe for children under the age of one. 

My next thought was, crap! Did she somehow smash her face into something hard enough during the early stages of walking that she already fucked up her grill?  Did she somehow push the tooth back up in her gum?

And you're thinking right now that I'm completely irrational and crazy.  Stoofy says that I'm not crazy, I'm just a psychotic bitch.  He means that in the most funny, loving, tender-hearted way. 

As it turns out, the missing tooth is just a late bloomer.  It decided it wanted to wait a month before it's grand entrance on the scene.  Just in time for Christmas!  Lucky me.

But this tooth is different than all the rest of her three teeth.  This one has come with more than just tears, it's come with blood too.  Twice now I've found her bleeding from the mouth with no tears.  And it's left me wondering is this some sick, elaborate prank? Did some kind of special effects guru break into my room, bloody up my daughter, only to wait for me to find her and start screaming my head off so they can capture the sound for their movie? 

And Stoofy found her bloody during nap time the other day too.  He sent me this little gem of a text:
S- So I just had my first OMG moment as a dad.
B- Oh God, what?
S- I didn't notice it right away when I pulled the bottle out of her mouth.  I looked over and saw blood on her bottle so I looked at her and she had blood on her chin and on her binkie so I tried looking in her mouth and she freaked out.  She was finally falling asleep so I cleaned off her face and looked again and saw nothing.  But kids don't just bleed for no reason and I still don't know what it is.  But I don't see any more blood. 

And for me, this is victory!  Finally, I'm not the only one freaking out (and for Stoofy, that's the closest he gets to a freak out) over something Elly just did!  On the other hand, I'm sad that my poor little baby girl is bleeding from her mouth. 

Then add in the fact that she's in pain and fussy all day and all night long and it makes for a very long, long, LONG process just for one little chomper.  I just want that tooth to finally break through so we can get over this hump.... until the next tooth starts forcing its way out of the gum line. But for now, I'll just keep singing in my chipmunk voice. 

A Few of My Favorite Things

In the spirit of end of year review mania that seems to hit our country about this time every year, I figured I'd jump on board.  And as a side note: until I started working in news I never knew why every single tv, radio, paper, magazine, etc. puts out a best of at the end of the year... until I wanted some down time around the holidays too.  So what's the easiest way to create that for yourself around the holidays?  Just rehash all the shit you've already done and call it "new"s. 

Anyway, even though I've only been a part of the blogosphere since July (and I took that trip to Jupiter, aka fell off the blogging planet) I still feel like I've got some gems in my archives.

So here are a few of my favorite things (in no particular order):

1) Breastfed Thighs
I'll do my best to keep the positive about my thighs come the end of January.  That's inevitably when swimsuit shopping season begins and I'd much rather slice my left hand off with a circular saw than expose my thighs to the world (or expose the world to my thighs depending on how you look at it). 

2) What Did I Step In?
I feel like I step in a pile of shit every week.  Some weeks are shittier than others.  But this one just tops them all.  I mean, seriously.  What the hell is wrong with people?  Clearly advertising geniuses know how to plug their products with cute babies.  Because people will literally look past whatever shit you've got when there's a cute baby to look at instead. 

3) Got Milk?

This is actually a blog from my early days.  I hadn't really introduced everyone to Abby yet.  But I realized since I talked about her so much as a friend, that she just needed to be named and be a full-blown character in my daily crazy.  The main part of the blog really was word for word an email I sent her after being fascinated and disgusted by my cow-like ability.  And although I've stopped breastfeeding, I'm grateful for having endured that crazy shit for as long as I did for Elly.  She'd better be a grateful little kid when she grows up or else! 

 

4) Losing My Hair.. and Marbles

I still chuckle a little every time I read this.  And then the chuckles are drowned out by my tears of sadness over my awful hair.  I have had it cut into a nice, hot-mom cut.  So at least my hair is a lot more manageable than when it was longer.  And by the way, I STILL haven't found that freakin' calendar yet! 

 

5) Tinkling

I actually have to go use the little girl's room right now.  So I'd better stop what I'm doing and take a break or else I may have a code yellow alert!

 

6) In Search Of...

It still truly amazes me how your body completely changes when you're pregnant.  And then morphs into something completely different after the baby.  I'll never understand people (specifically insensitive asshole men) who say, oh you're just lazy that's why you don't have the exact same body after having the baby.  Uh newsflash dumbass, it doesn't work like that.  Not only am I searching for my ass, I also grew bigger feet.  No amount of zumba is going to fix that shit! 

7) Being an Adult Rocks!

I crack up every time I eat a deli sandwich now because I only think of windshield meat.  If you ever end up tossing turkey on someone's car and they eat it, please let me know!!!! And if you do witness that, I hope you scream at them "BEING AN ADULT ROCKS!!!"

8)BOOBS!

This is still one of my all-time favorites.  Because I am so impressed at how many different ways I could work the word boobs into the blog.  And because of that, I actually had a few people stumble upon my blog because of their key word searches.  Here's what can land you in Betty's world if you google it: "Big Milk Boobs," "Boobs," and my personal favorite "Boobs Rock the World."  Yes, yes they do! (PS, I'd love to know who googled "I'm not doing that" and found me!!!  LOL! What the hell aren't they willing to do I wonder!)

9) Vanilla Tuna

There are some people in this world you meet and never remember again.  And then there are some people that leave a lasting impression on you for the rest of your life.  The stinky girl in my Navy school is one of those people I'll never forget.... and I'm so grossed out by it!

10) Caught Red Handed

Elly just kills me some days.  Every day she's learning, exploring, and absorbing new information.  She amazes me... right up until she's caught red handed doing something shouldn't have done but has no idea that it was a no-no.  I clearly have a long road ahead of me teaching her important life-lessons.  And I feel like a lot of them are going to be really messy!

11) Pumpkin Pie and Jail Time

What's terrible about this pregnancy memory is that even though pumpkin pie is my absolute FAVORITE dessert and it's what I love more than anything for my birthday cake, I still haven't had a slice in 2011!  Sad :-( I better get on that before the year is over and I better make sure I don't go to jail getting pumpkin pie!

12)   That's Not Fair

The phrase "That's Not Fair" could quite possibly be one of the most famous sayings heard in my house growing up.  Either (or in my opinion, mostly) my sister or me would utter that phrase whenever we had felt slighted.  Our mother was very careful to make sure that things were as fair as you can make them for two completely different-minded children constantly at each other's throats.  So I feel like because of that, I have an obsession to try and make things as far as possible in the world when I can.  However, there are things that just can't be helped.  Like the fact that Snookie makes millions more than I do.

Well there you have it!  Betty's favorites of 2011.  I can't even imagine how exciting 2012 will be!  In just a few short months Elly will be a year old, Stoofy and I will celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary, I'll go on at least 12 tirades threatening to kick someone in their shins, and on top of that, I've got the regular comings and goings of life to chronicle. 

Please be sure to follow me on Facebook, become a fan of this blog, and most importantly TELL YOUR FRIENDS!  I am a narcissist and I need constant positive approval.  So the more people who like me, the better I feel.  JOKING, but not really.  Force your friends to like me if you have to.  It's fine, I completely approve of it!

And I'll have plenty more to add before the year is over... but until then, thanks for enjoying 2011 with me!

I'm a Little Crazy

I am a little crazy.  Well, I could be a lot crazy depending on the circumstance.  Take for instance pushing my buttons before I've even had a cup of coffee, let alone rubbed the crud out of my eyes in the morning.  Stoofy likes to do just that some mornings just to see the end result.  It usually means a fake fight develops into a real fight of epic proportions. 

I'm pretty crazy when it comes to things I'm passionate about.  Sports teams, fairness, my kid, my husband, my car, my ideals, morals and politics.  I can easily launch into a 10 minute tirade about almost anything if I'm passionate enough about it.  Even if I'm only half-ass passionate about a topic, I can still get pretty spun up about it.

This ability to go from 0-100EPM (emotions per minute) can be a great quality.  It can also suck too.  It's one of my many character flaws I'm not interested in changing.  I've just accepted it as my reality, toned it down a touch when necessary, and decided everyone else just needs to deal with it. 

If you're my friend, you're probably my friend because I'm crazy. 

Everyone needs a crazy person in their circle.  Everyone needs one of those crazy friends to stand on a table and call attention to you for your birthday.  Everyone needs someone willing to go out on a limb for you because you're too afraid the limb is too high, too flimsy and too dangerous for you to do it yourself.  Everyone needs a friend willing to purger themselves for you when you get caught burying the body. 

If you're my friend, you already know I'd do all of the above for you and then some.  If you are my friend's enemy, you should be warned.  Because I'm flat out nuts! Anyone that's been on the receiving end of a crazy Betty rant will tell you it's not the place you'd like to be.  The only thing less appealing would be if you were a Somali pirate who captured an American shipping captain and were standing in range of a SEAL's sniper scope. 

So to recap: I'm crazy.  Being crazy isn't always a bad thing.  That is, unless you're an enemy.  Then my craziness is just as bad as Kim Jong-Il.  You don't want to be nuked do you?

I Have a Confession

Today I made a pretty major confession to Abby.  She and I (now that we're all roommates) gab often when we catch each other in the evenings.  We like to catch up and talk about girl things.  You know... the latest reality show junk, politics and how things are going down the shitter, sports (What? girls like sports!  Especially hockey!), and of course, Elly! 

We also talk often of our beauty regiments because honestly, we’re not getting any younger.  So of course, gray hair came up in the conversation.  I told her how every time someone cuts my hair, I request they check for grays.  Abby informed me that one of Bif's jobs is to be on gray hair lookout.  (Not really sure if he likes that job, but it comes with the boyfriend territory.  Prepares a man for much worse during marriage.  I'm just sayin'...)

His other job is to help knead the knots out of her ass. 

Yeah, you heard me right.  And no, it's not a sexual thing.  I have the same damn problem.  I make Stoofy help massage my flabby ass often.  You see, there's a pinched nerve deep in the fatty tissue that is my buttocks. 

I think I read a long while ago (maybe like 10 years ago in health class) that women commonly have problems like this because of the way their nerves run through their pelvis.  The shape of a woman's pelvis is different from a man's to make room for pushing a watermelon through her cu-ca during child birth.  Basically to sum it all up, shit gets pinched. (Note: I am not a medical expert.  If you try to use this as your own personal web-MD, I’ll laugh at you and call you a moron.  If you have a problem, go to the doctor dumbass.)

WARNING: the next part is going to get real, folks!

My ass has been acting up pretty bad this last week.  I got so desperate that I began to get creative with objects to help alleviate the pressure.  (Stoofy's been working long hours and has no desire to punch his knuckles into my butt.)  I found the most perfect thing in the whole house!  It's seriously an object no woman should ever be without!  (Especially if your man's not around to help!)

NO YOU PERV! Get your mind out of the gutter!

It's a spatula! 

Yup, I was so desperate the other day in the kitchen that I whipped open the kitchen drawers and looked for something hard but gentle, long but thick, and pointy enough to get the job done.  It just so happens that Abby has the most perfect spatula in her drawer and I snagged that bitch and immediately plunged it into the right side of my ass. 

And wouldn't you know, it did the trick!  That was the most relief I've had in days.  I finally got full feeling back to my leg, no pinched pain radiating from the deepest of my pelvis. 

After I was done, I did the right thing and threw it into the dishwasher to be sanitized.  Because even though I didn't do anything inappropriate and I had clothes on the whole time, it seemed incredibly necessary.

I also had no intentions of telling Abby.  Because even those she's seen just about every inch of my body while watching me give birth to Elly, and I've witnessed her changing her pants in the front seat of my car, there's still some things that should probably be left unsaid even amongst your very best friends.

Well.... until today.  When she mentioned that Bif was on butt patrol as well as hair lookout.  I couldn't help but fess up to her that if he's not around, the best tool to help with the pain was her spatula.  To which she busted up laughing uncontrollably because honestly, how ridiculous is it that your roommate just fessed up to using the kitchen utensil you use to flip flapjacks on their ass to also reduce pain and pressure?  It's pretty absurd. 

But I felt a lot better after confession.  And that's what's good about confessing things.  It gets it off your chest and now she'll understand why she just got a brand new spatula without my having to lie.  And I’ll know where it went to if I don’t see Bif around for a few days and there haven’t been any pancakes around.

World of Wild Crafters

You know World of Warcraft? (Yeah, I don’t either. I've heard about it, but I really have no idea what it is...) Well, if you don't know about WoW, I'm almost sure you probably don't know about the WoWC!

WoWC is the World of Wild Crafters.  I know, you're thinking, how crazy could crafters be?  Other than the occasional hot glue gun accident or needle incident, there can't be too much to it, right?  WRONG!!!  The crafting world is filled with enough characters to write a spinoff of Harry Potter or Melrose Place (the original one). 

You've got your scrappbookers (they're a bunch of cutters), your cake and candy makers (they're usually my favorite because I never turn down food), floral arrangement ladies (I'm pretty sure they're all born in the spring and named April), wood workers (their slogan is "We do it against the grain"), painters and photographers (that's like a Hatfield and McCoy feud.  And the framers are stuck in the middle). 

There's the jewelry makers (who are easily distracted by all their shiny things) and the needle point girls (don't piss them off  unless you want a needle to the eye).  And don't forget the quilters out there.  (They are usually found in gangs they like to call guilds and they're like the Masons of Crafting.  Once you've made a rambling rose quilt with appliqué you reach the 33rd Degree and get a special ring.)

And then you have the knitters and crotcheter.  They're a tough crowd.  And you're usually one or the other.  No bi-craftials allowed!  (I don't consider myself bi-craftial.  Instead, I consider myself an ambassador between the two sides since I do both.) I know, I know.  You're thinking "Betty, I think you've finally cracked."  But honestly, this is serious business! 

You see, being a military spouse means you move around a lot just like your servicemember.  It's usually really hard to keep bouncing from job to job.  Not to mention the cost of day care is pretty much absurd.  So many wives find ways to keep themselves busy, and market their hobby as a means of extra income.  Shit, I'd do the same damn thing if I could.  I totally want to make money off of what I love to do, and was going to do anyway! (Isn't there a saying about if you're doing what you love then it's not really called work?)

Well, in the WoWC on a military base, you end up having many people that do very similar things.  It's inevitable.  It's not like there's one knitter or only one baker in the world.  I mean, we do live in America.  In case you didn't get the news flash, we support capitalism here (unless you're busy occupying Wall Street).

Turns out, when there's a little competition, some just can't handle it.  It's gotten so serious lately, people are starting to de-friend others!  I mean wow!  This is EXTREME!!!!  Whoever said crafters are a bunch of boring old ladies has no idea what they're talking about.  This shit is the makings of the next hit reality show!

And apparently the wives are involving the husbands as well.  When I told Stoofy about this, he scoffed. 

S: "You women find the most ridiculous things to bitch about.  You wanna know what those guys are saying? 'Dude, did your wife bitch at you when you got home? Yeah.  Me too.  Over crocheting? Yeah! FUCKING IDIOTS!'" 

When I explained this is serious business and there's now competition, he replied:

S: "Everybody's got somebody else!  McDonald's has Burger King.  PF Changs has Panda Express.  Everyone has competition.  Get over it!" (This is where I realized we’re both fat kids because we’re using food chains as an analogy.)

Me? Well everyone's got a blog in this world.  I just have to figure out what my gimmick is to keep hooking readers.  (Hahaha!  I said hooking! I'm now a pimp! You’re all my bitches!) Maybe if I can't hack it as a blogger I'll keep working on the script for my new pilot show Crochet Drama: Secrets of the WoWC.  Maybe Snooki would be available for the lead role?

Shoot Me Now

Yup, just go ahead and shoot me now.  I won't mind.  I'll even write you a permission slip to the cops saying it was totally ok and I actually asked for it.  Because honestly, I'm so sleep deprived right now, I'd sign off on just about anything! (Except Stoofy buying a boat.  I'd probably kill him if that happened.)

The problem is that Elly no longer sleeps.  And when I say no sleep, I mean screams for an hour at a time throughout the night a couple times a night, every night.

And she doesn't really nap.  And when I say she doesn't nap, I mean she takes three 20 minute naps a day, tops.  If I'm super lucky, every now and then, she'll sleep (in my arms because the moment I put her down she wakes up wailing) about 40 minutes.  But those days are rare.

I don't get it.  This has been going on for about a month and half.  She was like this before moving, so I don't feel like it's because of the move.  She has the same routine every day, I am a pretty routine girl myself.  She's been trying a few new foods here and there, but she's enjoying them and her system seems to be processing them just fine. (Output is working just as well as her input!)

She has the exact same bed time routine at the exact same time every night.  At 7:00 PM she gets a bath, rocks together with either mom or dad and gets a bottle.  She sometimes drifts off with no problems, sometimes it's torture. 

And then the hell begins.  She'll sleep for a couple hours, then wakes up with night-terrors.  (Or whatever the baby equivalent is to night terrors.)  She startles herself awake and just starts SCREAMING!!!!

It's flat out awful.  Because there's absolutely nothing that will stop the crying.  She's not hungry, she isn't sick.  She just doesn't want to sleep.  I give her teething tablets for any pain, if she's got a fever from teething, I give her baby Tylenol.  Nothing seems to work.

It kills me to no end that she doesn't sleep.  Not only do Stoofy and I not sleep, it kills me that she doesn't either.  But what kills me even more is that she wakes up early and is always chipper.  Like a cartoon chipmunk chipper. 

She's laughing and smiling and it's like nothing happened.  I kind of think a gremlin takes over her body after 6:00 PM every night, and then evades her body by 6:00 AM.  I really can't think of any other explanation because baby night-terrors sounds even more farfetched. 

I mean, what the hell could cause a nightmare for a baby?  Flashbacks to birth? What else could there be?  And at what point do you even start dreaming in life?  And if she's dreaming, what is she dreaming of?  It's not like she knows what the lottery is, so she can't dream about winning it the way that I do.  So I just don't get it. 

Just like I don't get any sleep.  It's time to start stocking up on coffee for mumma and baby Unisom for Elly.  (That's a joke, I'm not actually drugging my child... unless someone finds a legal loophole of course.  Like I said, I'd sign off on just about anything right now.)

Nightmares of the Working Mom

I feel like I'm living a nightmare right now.  It's weird, because so many things are positively falling into place as I get out of the Navy and transition into the real world.  Everything except one: daycare for Elly.  Now that we're all moved out of base housing and temporarily settled with Abby, the next hurdle in my life is finding full time daycare.

First of all, watching a marathon of Law and Order: SVU is really not helping my daily panic attacks when it comes to for Elly’s childcare.  (Kids getting murdered and neglected all the time.  Who the hell let me have the remote?)

And it obviously can't be just any daycare.  I have a laundry list of requirements, but when tasked with typing them all out in an ad on Sittercity. I drew a complete blank.  I think I'm actually paralyzed with fear just thinking about leaving her with a stranger.

I'm a psycho new mom.  Like I take crazy to a new level when it comes to Elly.  So I constantly picture wherever I drop her off, the lady will smile and wave, and then as soon as I'm down the street, Elly's left to crawl through glass and cigarette butts, eat the dog food, play with everything dangerous, left in her own filth and the lady that said she spoke English can't actually read any of the instructions I left.  I show up and my daughter is completely traumatized and I collapse in a heap of working-mom guilt.

Just typing this is making me cry. 

Because there isn't going to be anyone in this world that can do what I do.  Not even my own mom, but she's the next best thing! She at least keeps my daughter on a schedule.  I on the other hand have let it all go to shit.  Ok, so maybe there is at least one person in this world that can do what I do... probably because she's already raised my daughter once when she raised me.

But still....

I keep envisioning child neglect and abuse and just plain old craziness in every daycare.  And yet, I'm stuck.  We're a two income family.  It's what works for us.  (Especially in the most expensive place to live in America according to the latest census information.  I also live in the #1 wealthiest county in America.  The median income is around $89,000.  I won't be making that.)  So I have no choice but to find daycare.

I'm also a coupon clipper and deal shopper.  But this isn't exactly one of those things you become a full-on penny pincher.  Because who skimps on their child care?  If there's anything in this world that the saying "you get what you paid for" more closely describes, I'd be shocked.  Honestly.  If you're going to be paying pennies to some secret evil witch, you can't be surprised when you show up at the end of the day to pick up your kid and she's in the oven.  But on the other hand, we can't exactly afford an au pair!  Geez! We're not one of the Real Housewives of DC couples!   

Now, I know I'm making this so much worse in my head than it actually is.  I get that. 

I know I will eventually find the perfect place for Elly and it will become a second home for her.  And maybe that's what scares me just as much (if not more).  What if I find a place that's just so perfect, that she likes the babysitter more than me?  What happens if she loves her more than me because she spends all day with her and not with me?  And now I've come full circle in the working-mom guilt. 

This is why I'm living a nightmare right now.

Locked Out Update

So, let's go back in time to the last week of my life.  I've been frantically moving out of my base housing and in with Abby.  Yup, Stoofy now has sister wives!  YAY!  (Except no hanky panky for him with Abby!)

So anyway, we moved into Abby's.  YAY!  And we got all settled.  Sunday night was our last night at the old house and I went back late into the evening to finish all the final inspection cleaning. 

Earlier in the day Abby and I had discussed how we needed a Harry Potter/ Mrs. Weasly clock.  If you're not an HP fan, it's a clock that doesn't tell time, but rather where all the members of the family are.  We need one because everyone has a funky schedule and we don't want to lock anyone out in the evenings. 

HAHAHA!  Funny because that same night, that's what happened to me! 

I had texted Stoofy at 9:30 saying I was wrapping up and would be home soon from the old house.  I got home to Abby's after 10 and everyone had gone to bed.  No biggie, except not only was the door knob and deadbolt locked, so was the top secret lock... the one that locks you out!

I took a moment to chuckle, thought long and hard about knocking or ringing the bell, but decided not to.  I didn't want to wind up the dogs and get them barking.  Because then that would wake the baby.  And I was too tired to deal with a crying child.

Instead, I just started texting Stoofy. 

10:40PM
 I'm locked out.  Wake up please!!!
Wake up please!!!
Wake up.
Please get this text message.
I'm locked out.
Come open the door.
I don't want to wake the baby.
By throwing rocks at the window.
Sometimes you sleep through everything.
I hope you wake up soon.
I don't want to wake up everyone by ringing the bell.
I'm locked out. 
Please wake up!!!
I'm LOCKED OUT!!!!!!!!
I wish you slept with your ringer on!!!!

Did I mention that my iPhone is awesome and can do everything... except make a call right now?! It's jacked up and hasn't been able to make a call in about 5 days.  So even though I tried calling Stoofy, it's only static.  And that's all he can hear.  And that's the voicemail I left him.

It's also the reason why I don't call Abby.  That, and the next day is her first day at her very first, brand new, grown-up job post military!  YAY! How exciting!  I wouldn't dream of waking her from her beauty rest before such a big day! 

Instead, I walk around the house, looking for sticks and small stones and start throwing them at our bedroom window.  Hoping to wake my husband.  No dice.

10:55 PM
To Abby:
I'm really sorry to wake you when you're about to start your new job tomorrow... However, I'm locked out.  Please come rescue me if you get this message.

More rocks at the window.  And a little loud talking through the open window.  Nothing...

11:05 PM
FB Update: FML, this day is ending just as sucky as it started. I'm locked out and everyone's phones are on silent. And I'm not about to ring the bell and wake Elly and make my life even more miserable. I guess I'll continue to throw rocks at the window and hope I don't break anything!

11:09 PM
To Stoofy:
Wake up!!!!!
I don't want to wake the baby.
I'm really cold and tired.  I'd like to sleep in a bed.

By this time I decide it would be a smart idea to try the patio door.  However, to do that, I have to wedge myself under the gate to get to the patio.  It's too high for me to climb over, so under is my only option.

I'm an above average round woman.  Squeezing through this hole wasn't hard, but it wasn't exactly easy either.  Check the sliding door.  NADA.

So I crawl back under, dig through the trash and grab some long pieces of crown molding that Abby threw out.  I then try to reach the window with them to knock on it.  I'm too short.  So I pull out the patio chair.  It's one of those tiny bistro set chairs that looks like it could barely hold me if I was sitting out there with my cup of coffee.  I climb up on it without a second thought and start banging away at the siding.  NOTHING!!!! 

Are you fucking kidding me? 

The neighbors are awake and can hear me.  I'm thinking I really hope they don't call the cops on me.  That would really fucking suck trying to explain this one.  Plus, I am working hard at keeping the title of my life "the child who hasn't gone to jail."  I'd hate for this to be the reason I go.  If I go to jail, I want it to be because I either ran over some liberal asshole, or because I stalked General Odierno a little too much.  (He's my military crush... I'm a dork.)

I take some pictures because it’s pretty fucking funny I’m still stuck outside. 

11:17PM

To Abby:

So... About that last text.  I'm still out here.  I've crawled under the patio door trying to get in that way.  It's Ft. Knox here.  I also started throwing rocks at the window trying to wake Stoofy.  No luck.  Here's hoping you'll see this.  If not, I hope you have a HUGE chuckle on your first day at the new job.

Still, no one is waking up.  I spend the next 20 minutes writing a blog, facebooking my perils and just having a good laugh. 

11:33PM
Blog update: Locked Out

11:35 PM
FB Comment update: I'm waiting for the baby to wake up because she's hungry. And seeing as I'm the only one in the house with a food supply strapped to my chest, someone should eventually notice.... Or tonight could be the night she sleeps through the night. In that case... FML.

11:40PM
To Stoofy:
I'm going to the jeep for a bit.  I really hope you wake up.
I'm parked next to the truck. I hate my life today.  This sucks more than you can know.  I'm laughing pretty hard though.
It's pretty funny overall.
For the LOVE OF GOD WAKE UP!!!!!!!!
And check your phone!
Ok, I tried rocks again.  Nothing.  I'm back in the jeep.  Next to the truck.  I'm going to hate life tomorrow.

If you're wondering why it is that I didn't just ring the damn bell or knock on the door.... I had already committed to this line of reasoning.  I had already decided that waking the baby up wasn't worth getting inside faster.  It was more worth making sure she slept through the night if she could than me sleeping in bed.
I am terrible at reasoning when I'm sleep deprived. 

12:11AM
To Stoofy:
I guess you'll eventually realize I'm not there when you wake up in a couple hours for work.  Let's hope she sleeps in today.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to kill myself at some point today.  I need sleep.
Please look at your phone!!!

Now I've got the heated seats running and I'm napping a bit in my car.  Still holding out hope that the two people I live with that both say that they're light sleepers and wake up in the middle of the night for everything, finally wake up to the sound of their phones vibrating from my text messages.  But not so much.

At 12:37AM  Stoofy finally wakes up and sees I'm not there and tries to call me.  But alas, he only hears static.  Seriously world?  What the fuck did I do to deserve this?  I text him back:

I'm coming to the door now.  Let me in please.  The front door. 

He let's me in.  Baby's crying.  My dog is going a little nuts.  He says to me, what took you so long at the old house?  Seriously?  I've been fucking locked out for 2 hours.  I've been texting you and calling you all night.

S: I only have 3 texts from you.
B: Uh, try again! You have like 50.
S: Oh, yeah.  Sorry.  Why didn't you just ring the door bell or knock.
B: Because I didn't want to wake the baby.
S: Too late, she's crying right now.

12:49AM
Abby to me: Hello?
B: Well, I'm in the house.  Elly woke up Stoofy and he figured it out!  I'm good and I just got in.  Have a great day at work!!!
A: We SO need a system!  I'm sorry!!!
B: I'm crying I'm laughing so hard!
A: BF just called me.  He saw it on your facebook!  He tried to save the day!
B:  That's so nice of him!
A: Hilarious blog though... at least some good came out of this.  No one can say you aren't a dedicated blogger now!

Talk about a great laugh moment! And I've learned my lesson: Just ring the damn bell because the baby is going to wake up anyway.  It's better to get it done and over with faster!!!!

http://lovelinks.freefringes.com/2011/10/18/lovelinks-27-open/?utm_source=feedburner

Pumkin Pie and Jail Time

Fall is by far my favorite time of year.  I love the cooler weather, the clothes, the sights and sounds, and most importantly I LOVE the food.  Fall food means the best of the best: squash, pumpkin anything, apple pies, and the big kahuna: THANKSGIVING DINNER! It's like a fat kid's delight! 

And this time of year brings back a very strong memory for me.  It's something that I did about this time last year.  I'd like to say it wasn't me, but then it wouldn't make for a very funny blog.  It's a little something involving pumpkin pie, my hormonal rage, and me... nearly beating a woman up and a punk-ass teenager. 

About this time last year I was about 4 months pregnant.  I had cravings, but my cravings consisted of people who had food needed to leave my smelling radius because everything made me want to puke.  I was sick nearly every day until about the 6 month mark.  So the fact that one night I even got an actual craving that wouldn't pass after the thought of it made me dry-heave was a little extraordinary!

It was after 10pm and Abby had just left to go back to her place.  Stoofy was in Kuwait in the midst of his contract out there.  So I was on my own and I needed pumpkin pie.  And I mean NEEDED it!

So I climbed into bed thinking, I can let this pass.  If I fall asleep, I won't want it anymore and I'll be fine.  That lasted all of 5 minutes and then I climbed out of bed, put on something decent to go out in and hopped into my car.  I was on the hunt for fresh baked pumpkin pie.

I knew that being the end of September meant there would be pumpkin pie available. (It’s fall time for God’s sake!) I knew exactly what store would have it too.  Harris Teeter.  Because I had been there the day before and saw the pies lined up for display at the front of the store. 

At 10:10PM I arrive at HT and walk through the door.  I can't wait to get to the pies all sitting there waiting for me to snatch up and eat on the car ride home.  Except when I got there, they were out of pumpkin pies.  They had sweet potato pie, but everyone knows that's totally different.  Even if you smear it with whipped cream, I knew I would be able to tell the difference.

So I scoured the rest of the store.  I went through every pie in the bakery section.  Checked behind random loaves of bread just in case some jerk tried to hide one for themselves until they got off shift.  I'd show that asshole!  But alas, there was no pie.  I checked the freezer section thinking, ok I'll just find myself a Sarah Lee and pop it in the oven.  That bitch creates pies that take an HOUR to bake! Uh, I needed my pie fix immediately!

What's a hormonal pregnant woman to do?  Search the store and buy cinnamon rolls for breakfast the next morning, juice and lemon poppy seed muffins because they've got the best ones.  And that'll hold me over until I get to the next store.  I did pass the baking section and thought, damn, it'll take too long to bake my own pie.  I'll just go to Giant and get a pie there.

As I check out, the cashier asks if I found everything ok.  Uh no, you do you have any pumpkin pies left in the back? I'm seriously craving them and I want one. 

And the pimple-faced douche bag bagger turns to me and says, "I bought the last ones about an hour ago.  (ha ha) If you want a slice I'll sell you one in an hour when I go on my break. (HAHAHAHA)."

To which I respond, "Listen here you fucking asshole, I'm pregnant and I want a fucking pie now.  Don't be a prick and tease me."

I quickly paid and left the store before the manager, who was headed my way, could escort me out. 

Now I'm just pissed! I want a fucking pie and if I could figure out which car was that kid's I'd consider breaking in for a slice.  Then I decide going to jail tonight wasn't going to be the best decision... so on to the next store.

10:35PM- I arrive at Giant and make a beeline to the bakery section.  I leave no slice of pie unturned in my quest for pumpkin.  They've got cherry, apple, sweet potato, pretty much everything but pumpkin.  And nothing is going to do until I get a slice of pumpkin.  So I start sprinting (as fast as a pregnant woman can go) to the freezer section hoping I can find a pie that doesn't take an hour to bake.  But as I get to the freezer section I start to search people's carts as I pass them, hoping to find my pot of gold.

Low and behold, I do!  There is a woman with a pumpkin pie in her cart.  So I rush up to her in a panicked frenzy and ask her (in my mind it was with good, friendly intentions.  It came across as scary and abrasive) if I can have her pumpkin pie.  She says no.

I explain to her I am pregnant and I really NEED that pie.

She says no.

I dig in my purse, pull out a $20 and start shouting I'LL GIVE YOU $20 IF YOU GIVE ME THAT PIE! I'M FUCKING PREGNANT AND I NEED THAT FUCKING PIE!

She starts to walk away scared.  I take a few steps after her yelling... it did me no good.

Back to the freezer section.  And yes, they do have pies that take only 25 minutes to bake... but they’re all out.  I'm nearly in tears and I want to scream at the top of my lungs (which I already had at the woman with the pie). 

I storm back out of the store feeling defeated.  But across the street I see the hazing red light of a bulls eye sign.  FUCK YEAH! Target is open until 11PM tonight!  And it's only 10:50!!!!  I zip across the street and throw it into park.

I don't think I've ever hustled as fast as I did to get into the store.

I run to the freezer section and find a pumpkin pie, and it only takes 25 minutes to bake!  FINALLY, VICTORY IS MINE!!!  But it's a bittersweet victory.  Because deep down I know it's not going to be a great pie.  I know that with the time it took to track down this pie, I could have baked one in my house already and be sitting in my bed with a warm slice topped with crumb topping like I like and a dollop of whip cream on top.  But I don't fucking care.  I just want the pie.

So I purchase the pie (and vanilla ice cream… ala mode, DUH!), speed home and throw that sucker into the oven.  25 minutes later (plus the time it took to preheat the oven and the time it took to cool and set), I dish up my pie slice and dig in.  Only to find that it sucks just as much as I knew it would.

I go to bed even more pissed and in tears that I didn't have good pie, that I nearly accosted a woman and teenage kid.  And I'm even more pissed that I didn't just buy the ingredients and make my own pie.  Because now that it’s nearly midnight, going back to the store to buy the ingredients and bake another pie is just flat out CRAZY!!!!

Lesson learned: when you have a craving, it's just easier to make it yourself.  And it's less likely to get you arrested. 

BOOBS!

I couldn't come up with anything catchier than the word BOOBS for a blog all about boobs.  Because honestly, boobs are generally pretty catchy all on their own.  Or at least mine are.  (They catch plenty of food I accidentally drop, which in turn leaves a stain.  They're the reason I need new clothes... that and my little drool monster.)

To say I have big boobs would be to say Niagara Falls is just a waterfall.  It's a bit of an understatement... considering they're in your face.  I've been blessed with the bosom, but I wouldn't consider it a happy blessing. 

And it seems the older I get, the bigger they get.  I wish it was like when you're a kid and every year your relatives send you a check for how old you turned that year.  (By the way, I'll be anxiously waiting at my mailbox this November for a box full of $29 checks people!)  Instead, with each birthday candle I get an extra ounce of flesh hanging off my chest.  Awesome.  I'm worried that by the time I hit retirement, my boobs will be collecting a Social Security payment all of their own. 

And having a baby hasn't made the problem any better.  In fact, it's only made it worse.  Because I am the Dairy Queen.  And when the Dairy Queen is full, the girls have increased a whole cup-size.  I don't even know how that is freakin' possible?  But it is! 

When I was pregnant, I grew huge.  And I got worried that when the milk came in it would be unbearable.  I was worried I wouldn't even know if the milk had come in yet because how would I be able to tell?  A very wise friend of mine explained to me that if you have to ask, then it hasn't come in yet... because YOU'LL KNOW IT!  She said it's like you all of a sudden have bocce balls.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Bocce balls.  As if!  Let's try bowling balls!

At least that's what they feel like!  Don't even get me started on the dangers of running before pumping milk.  Do you remember those old Dolly Parton jokes you told (and barely understood) in elementary school about how when she comes back from a jog she's got two black eyes?  Yeah, there's some truth in that fucking joke.  And it's painfully not that funny.

Another huge problem (pun intended) with big boobs is finding clothes that fit.  Over the weekend Abby and I went shopping for grown-up clothes for her new job and my job interview (I aced it by the way!).  And I had two great dressed that I tried on and they fit perfectly... except in the chesticle region. 

And as I look in the mirror and realize there's nothing I could do but laugh, I shout across the dressing room door to Abby and say, "The dress looks good, but my boobs are too big for it!"

To which she replies, "That's something you'll never hear me say in my life." 

Because as much as it sucks to have jumbotrons, it can't possibly be any better to have barely there's either.  Maybe she and I can find a 2 for 1/ bosom buddy special at the plastic surgeons?

Role Reversal

As my bio description states, I'm hooking for jobs and pimping myself out in resume form. On top of that I'm saying prayers daily that I some how don't end up homeless and unemployed.  I'm in the process of getting out of the military.  It wasn't my choice, and if I had it my way, I would have served 20+ years.  But my fate is sealed and I'm on my way out due to budget cuts and the changing tide of the Defense Department. 

It happens.  In fact it's happening so much the military as a whole is in a major downsizing.  Worse, is the number of unemployed veterans from the current wars.  The latest unemployment numbers for vets right now are sitting at nearly 12%.  That's about 3 percentage points more than the overall unemployment rate. 

So to keep myself from those statistics I'm a job hunting, networking fool.  Any chance I get, I work into the conversation that I'm getting out of the military and looking for a job, plus I rock.  Why wouldn't someone want to hire me? 

And not every day has been a good one.  There are some days where I think to myself, "Betty, what the hell are you doing applying for that job? You aren't nearly qualified for it, and there's no way you're going to get it.  You're just a crazy kid!" But then I realize, I have nearly 10 years of experience in my field.  I've been doing this for a long time.  And I'm pretty good at it.  Plus I rock!

If you've never applied for a federal job before, let me tell you what it's like.  It's tourture.  Getting waterboarded would be more fun. You need to tailor your resume to each individual job.  Then you have to answer a laundry list of questions.  Half the questions are the same, just reworded differently.  It's not fun.  And then you submit everything and wait weeks to even hear back if you're resume made the cut.

The worst part is when you get a notification that you're qualified, but not best qualified.  What the hell does that even mean? You're good, but you still suck for us.  Nothing like an upper for your Thursday morning. 

Well, all the hard work of applying has finally started to pay off.  I've gotten a couple calls and recieved notice my resume has made it through the first round of cuts.  Now it's time to start getting ready for interviews.

I've been interviewing people on various subjects for 7 years.  I'm pretty darn good at asking questions and getting the exact soundbite I want for my story.  But being the person peppered with questions is something totally foreign to me. 

I'm so scared that they're going to ask me what my biggest weakness is and I'm going to launch into some crazy ass story that ends in my crying over spilled breast milk.  Or worse, I make a completely inappropriate joke about somebody's inept organizational skills and it turns out it's my prospective employer's desk I'm making fun of.  Or WAY worse, I ask the woman escorting me to the interview room how far along she is, and she replies she's just fat.  UGH! 

Needless to say, I'm super nervous about interviewing for a job.  It's an employer's market, not a job seeker's market.  And I just need to prove that I'm the shit (but don't smell like shit)! So the rest of my day today will be spent buying 10 pairs of nylons (because I'll rip a whole in 9 of them just trying to get into them), researching the job and employer, and pattening my P&P method.  (That would be the pray and puke method.)

In the end, I know this is just my way of getting "hyped up" for the game.  And that I'll actually be just fine and will find a great place to work that pays well, has good benefits, gives me all the federal holidays off, and enjoys my witty sense of humor.  Now, if only they'd just reveal themselves to me so I can stop P&Ping. 

One of THOSE Parents

So I've realized I'm one of THOSE parents.  You know the kind where the kid is eternally embarrassed because the kid's mom is running around the ball park with six giant buttons of the kid's face on her wannabe letterman's jacket with the kid's name and number on it, face paint stickers to match the cheerleaders, screaming at the top of her lungs with pride, joy and pure fanatical, unsportsmanlike slurs at the umpires?  Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's going to be me. 

My daughter is just a wee 5 months old and I already know that's what kind of mom I am. 

This week has been the start of the Little League World Series.  And I'm totally sucked in like it's my own American Idol.  I find myself walking into the house and seeing another game is on and getting really into.  Like REALLY into it.  Every time there's a good play, I'm cheering on the team.  Any time there's a big play, a big hit, or a crazy call at the plate, I'm cheering.  When it's the bottom of the 6th (last inning in LL), and the team up to bat has 2 outs and they need a run or two to keep going, I get teary eyed thinking of the pressure that poor little kid is under to do his best.  And then I start crying thinking, my god, I'm going to have a kid in just a few years that will be playing in important games like this.  And I'm going to be a crazy wreck!

I'm crying over a kid that's not mine, I've never met, and I don't even know what his name is.  I just know I want him to get a hit so he can keep playing the game he loves!  And again, THIS ISN'T MY KID!

So what kind of basket case am I going to be when Elly is up to bat and the game is up to her?  I'm going to need to be escorted from the field, that's what I'm going to be.  Because if I see a ball coming across the plate that I don't think is a strike and the ump calls it as such, I'm going to probably hop the dugout and rip his eyes out.  Doesn't he know that he's doing that to MY baby?!?! 

And if the ump even thinks of calling her out when she's clearly just slid into home and was safe, I might get arrested for kicking the crap out of him.  Because I'm already that involved in the game. 

These kids playing in the LLWS are amazing!  They have so much heart and passion.  They are still just playing for the love of the game.  It's like watching the Sandlot over and over and I love it!

I'm a passionate sports fan.  When we win my spirits are sky high.  When we lose I'm in the dumps.  I'm invested and even if I'm not playing, my heart is still in it because I'm in the stands or on my couch (usually jumping on it) cheering.  Because that's what fans do! 

So in a few years, if you're at the ball park, football field, or ice rink and you see a crazy ass Betty running around with face paint, foam finger and cow bell, just know that's me and if you get in the way of my kid, I'll kick your ass. 

Being an Adult Rocks!

Yesterday afternoon I discovered that being an adult rocks.  While driving home from Best Buy, I got a text message from my BFF, Abby.  Turns out she's one car behind me on her way home too! YAY!

So we discuss the fact we're both in the High Occupancy Vehicle lane with only one passenger in each car and we cook up what our excuse will be when we get pulled over for breaking the law.  Let's just say her excuse was way better than mine and I'll be using that one now as well. 

Then she confesses this random gem to me: "So I just ate a quarter pound of deli meat straight out of the bag."

Mind you we're driving down the road while she declares this fact.  My response? Convulsing in laughter because I can honestly picture her reaching back into her grocery bag, pulling out the deli meat package, ripping it open like a ravenous beast and tearing into the tasty goodness that is smoked peppercorn turkey.

Our conversation goes a little something like this:
A: "I have so little will power!"

B: "Don't worry, I'm not judging you! I'm actually a little jealous I don't have deli meat to eat right now."

A: "I could pull up alongside of you and try and toss it in your window."

B: "Could you actually imagine us trying to pull that stunt? It would be hilarious! It's cool if it gets on the windshield, I'll still eat it and I think I could still get to it depending on where it lands."

A: "MMMM, windshield meat."

B: "And don't worry about the bugs, it's just extra protein!"

A: "I'm not going to be able to do this when I have kids.  I'll have to set an example!"

And that's when I remembered something my mom told me the night before.

My mom got a new iPhone and we were discussing games for her to download on it.  She was interested in getting Angry Birds and I told her she needed to be careful, because once she starts playing it, people will think she has turrets and it's incredibly addicting.  I asked her if she remembers when Tetris came out and how addicting it was.  And how you just had to keep playing because you know you can get to the next level.  That's what Angry Birds was like, but with more swearing.

My memory of Tetris and when Nintendo first came out was that she didn't want my sister and me playing too much.  Video games were junk and we didn't need to rot our brains on them. 

And then she spilled this dirty little secret.  She used to rush home on her lunch breaks when we were in school so she could play the Nintendo!  She would take her hour lunch, spend a half hour driving back and forth, and the other half hour playing Mario Brothers.  Then when she got back to work, she'd compare notes with her co-workers so they could get to the next level.

My mom is a closet GAMER! Are you kidding me? That's why she didn't want us playing, she was too busy secretly playing. 

And then it dawned on me.  Abby and I weren't going to have to stop our dirty little secret of eating deli meat straight out of the bag on the car ride home from the grocery store once our kids are in the car.  We just had to do it when they weren't looking!

So not only can you eat cookies for breakfast and ice cream for dinner, but you can also be a huge hypocrite to your kids and they don't even need to know about it until 20 years later!  That's why being an adult totally rocks!!!!