I guess this is old news...

So all you now know that Steven and I are expecting a little one next summer.  I figure there was no point in a big announcement blog since everyone that reads this has already been told.  And you can probably also figure that any news on weight loss will be non-existent for the next several months.  My waistline will be expanding, not shrinking and, well, there's not point in pretending I completely hate that.  If it were just from eating brownies (like the delicious ones we had this weekend) then I might feel bummed about it.  But as of right now, I'm thrilled to one day look down and not see my feet.  So this blog is going to shift.  I'm on one wild ride and think it's only fair that I drag you along with me.  Kick and scream if you must...it won't do you any good.

Finding out you're having a baby is a strange experience.  It was what we wanted.  It was the plan.   And then, all of a sudden, it was the reality.  Two lines?  That means yes right?  Right?  Really?  You sure?  Steven and I were simutaneously completely thrilled and  in complete shock.   But that happened so fast.  Does it always happen that fast?  Wait, two lines?  Really?  

I don't remember crying, just tearing up a bit and then feeling like i was going to puke.  (Foreshadowing the months ahead?)  Steven never got up from where he was sitting on the bed.  He just grinned the happiest grin ever.  But he never moved.  I just stood in the doorway to the bathroom.  Tummy turning and mind racing.  Not quite sure what to do next.  We'd laugh nervous, out of nowher laughs, and kept saying, "I can't believe that" and "You know, I had a feeling!"  We didn't know what to think but we knew we were in it together.  And that is an amazingly comforting thought.  

I don't think either of us slept all that great that night.  And in the morning I took a second test--just to be sure.  False positives are very rare.  But I didn't want to be in that itty-bitty percentage.  Second test, two lines again.  Baby Cerame was no longer a future project; he or she was in there, waiting for us to figure it out.  But it wouldn't take long for our little bundle of joy to turn into our Tiny Terror. 

Pregnancy is not easy.  And it doesn't treat everyone the same.  It's a jerk like that.  All your friends may have experienced things in a certain way. That does not, for one tiny second, mean that your pregnancy will match theirs at all.  This is a journey that is very clearly unique for everyone.  And over the months to come, i'll be all too happy to tell you all about my one of kind pregnancy.  All I can say at this point is that this better be one fantastic baby!  

Long time...

So under persistent questioning from my friends (Courtney, Tiffany and Mary Alice, I'm referring to you) and now a not-so-subtly pushy email from my sister that all but sent me to my room with no supper, I have decided to write a blog entry.  Yes, it's been a while.  No, I will not give you excuses.  But I know you're dying to hear what's been going on with my oh-so-entertaining life. Don't lie.  Why else would you be here?  And so...let's do this...

Can i ask you something?  Why is it that when a man is in need of a certain type of shirt, all he has to do is go to Wal-Mart, grab an $8 polo and call it a day?  Does he have to try it on? No.  Does he worry it won't fit or flatter? Sure doesn't.  Does it work for him every time?  Why yes, it does.  How is this fair?!  Can a woman walk in, grab a shirt and go? Not this one.  Can i say, "oh, golly that's my size!  I'll just take it.  No need to try it on and see if this size ** (did you think I was going to put my size up here?!) is the same as all the other size ** i have in my closet."  Nu-uh.  It don't work that way.   


Let me explain my rant.  Steven and I have been pretty busy the last month--with every weekend having something planned.  During two of these weekends we were required (one self-imposed, one not) to find solid shirts to wear for pictures.  Now the first was a gray shirt for a family picture with my sister, Brian (her other half) and the kiddies.  (Pictures below because they are adorable)  Meredith and I decided on the color choice and figured it would be easy to find something.  Why did I not call upon my 28 years of clothing experience to tell me that not only would it not be easy, it would be annoyingly difficult to find something that i have pretty much made mandatory that I have.  That's how it goes.  You need gray?  The clothing racks laugh at you and say, "HA!  all we have is white and black!  And some awful shades of mustard and poop that no one will buy. Take that!"  Steven on the other hand, walked into Wal-Mart, picked up an $8 polo and never tried it on.  Fabulous.  I never did find a gray shirt.  So that's why Steven and I are in black.  His shirt, he walked into Wal-Mart, picked up and bought for $8 without trying it on. Jerk.  


The truth is that there were lots of gray shirts.  But none of them fit.  They were either too big or too small.  More were too small but there's no need to rehash the pain.  When it came time to find my next shirt needed (a white one for Steven's Mimi's 80th birthday family picture--quite the title huh?) i figured, this can't be too hard.  White shirts are everywhere.  Well, by everywhere I clearly did not mean Clayton, NC or surrounding towns.  I looked, and looked and looked for a stinking white shirt.  Well wouldn't you know I found tons of GRAY!  


See, i own two white shirts.  One, is still a liiiiiitttle bit too small.  The buttons are pretending to be the repellent sides of a magnet.  It's a slight issue when you want to wear your clothes in public.  Well, for me anyway--some people don't care.  The other one i have is way too big.  Big smile!  I bought it in my "this is the biggest i have ever been" phase.  So i was happy it would not work.   I finally found a shirt on the CLEARANCE rack at Target!  YAY!  i really like this shirt.  I really should have never washed it.  Because when i did, it shrank.  Nice. Is it too tight?  No.  Is it now so short that it hovers dangerously close to my belly button.  oh yes.  Will i ever wear it again?  Fat freakin' chance.  Oh, by the way, Steven bought an $8 white polo from Wal-Mart that he never tried on.  Fit fine.  Didn't shrink.  He'll wear it again.  Good for him.      


Ok, so moving on to something a little more positive.  Since the last time I posted I've been continuing the eating overhaul.  And let me tell you, last week, I hauled in a lot of food.  I was ravenous.  I was never satisfied.  And by the time it was over, I decided it best not to weigh.  Oh, and I felt like ass.  Yeah, that's the best word to describe it--sorry to any sensitive ears.  So this week it was back to the grind.  I ate better--felt better.  I exercised--felt better.  And i hit a new milestone.  40 pounds!!  Oh yeah, that's right.  Take a look again...FORTY POUNDS!  (looks even better in that form doesn't it?)  


I had been hovering in the 30's--no small feat, but completely unsatisfying after about four weeks.  Something had to give.  And i'd be damned if it was going to be the waistband of my pants.  I felt the inflation of the tube coming on and went into panic mode.  Has this become a trend for me?  I'm honestly a bit worried about that.  I do terribly for a week or so and then do a 180* and get back on track.  How do i stay on track for two weeks straight? Well, we certainly won't find out in the next few days.  I'm going to Charleston.  And i'm going to enjoy myself.  In case you have yet to notice, me enjoying myself includes yummy food.  Who would have guessed?!  

Love the gray and black! 

Us and Hillary

crazy kids

Cole

All the kids--Big Ones included

Add caption

Sisters

Diary of a Hungry White Woman

I have weigh-in tonight.  And I'm scared.  Really scared.  I've done all my workouts, even upping my weight routine and crunches.  (PS--crunches really start to hurt when you hit 125.  Not while you're doing them.  But later that night, while you're lying in bed trying to sleep, sharp pains will run down your sides.  The burn means it's working, right?  Lord I hope so!) But my eating habits have been pretty poor. 

I've had to run out to lunch twice this week due to a forgotten sandwhich and one mistakenly made with moldy bread.  Yum.  I did try to do the healthist thing I could find--a Jersey Mike's sandwich.  A salad is healthier you say?  Well where were you on Monday and Wednesday?!  I got a mini, turkey sub on wheat bread with no mayo.  The rest of the stuff on there was veggies so that counts as a salad, right?  Anyway, of my choices at good ol' JM's that one was pretty good.  So I ate it both days.  Yeah, the people working there noticed.  And yeah, I don't care. 

Then for dinner on Tuesday I was on my own--Steven went straight to hockey from work.  So I ate those Tyson Anytizers (aka frozen, fried "chicken" bites) with--wait for it--ranch dressing.  I heard you gasp. I know, I know.  It's ridiculous.  I won't even mention the sqaush I ate with it.  Yes, squash is a vegetable.  But once my Mama gets done with it, every ounce of nutritional value has been beaten from it.  But dang it was good! 

Last night I had dinner with my homie Jaime.  (love, love, love that girl!) We were good little healthy eaters and went to Harris Teeter and made our own salads.  Oh yes we did!  And then we went to Starbucks for Iced White Chocolate Mochas (small, er tall, er whatever they call the little ones there).  Oh, and a slice of coffee cake.  It was low(er) fat!  

Today I made tuna for lunch.  After I mixed in the mayo i realized that not only had i used way too much (I really try to limit it) but I used the real kind!  I have low fat mayo (yep, it's just as ick as it sounds) and Steven has regular fatty, fat mayo (yeah, the good kind).  I used his.  And I'm going to eat it.  sigh* For dinner we are trying a chicken enchilada recipe (courtesy of my friend Mary Alice) that is a healthier version of one of our favorite dishes.  So, minus my mayo fiasco, today should be ok. 

The scale doesn't lie (Actually I find him to be a superbly capable liar.  I refuse to believe some of the numbers he throw at me!) so we'll find out for sure how my eating messed with me this week.  Oh and did I mention that I'm hungry right now?!  Yeah, it's true.  And I want a cupcake.

For richer for poorer...For bigger for smaller

I know you're going to anyway, but don't laugh.  This past Sunday, in a moment of pure curiousity (and, quite honestly, giddiness) I put my wedding dress on.  Yep, sure did.  I love that dress.  and ever since it's been hanging in my closet not getting the love it deserves, i have wanted to put it back on and dance around the house.  

Steven and I had just finished our morning pop tart and cereal, respectively, and he mentioned that I should try the dress on to see how diffierently it fits me since having lost some weight.  It really would be the best piece of clothing i have to test such things.  It's the only part of my wardrobe that has never been washed (Ok, don't judge me.  One day I will get it cleaned and preserved.  Promise.) or thrown in the dryer or worn repeatedly.  I have shirts and pants that would never be considered true to size because they have been through the rigours of everyday life far too many times.  Do you really think that shirt you've dried every week since you bought it a year ago is still a Medium?  (Clearly, i'm talking to you.  I own no such thing as a Medium.)  Well, it ain't.  But my wedding dress?  Well, that's some seriously untouched fabric.   The perfect template if you will.

I pulled the huge garment bag out of the spare bedroom closest and hoisted it over my shoulder to bring to our room.  I unzipped the bag (well, the part that wasn't already torn open anyway.  Thanks, David's Bridal.  That much for a dress and you can't at least give me a bag that doesn't shred upon contact with feathers?) and out came all the ruffles, all the sparklies, all the girly giggling that I had the first day I put it on.  I had to tell Steven (again) what it was like being there and finding that dress.  (Big thanks to Tiff who told me to try it on even though it had all these features I swore I didn't want--ruffles, sparklies, sweetheart neckline)  I stepped into the dress and turned to be laced up.  

And it didn't fit.  It just plain didn't fit.  It was too big.  Way too big.  I'm a girl who is used to things being too small.  And this was falling off of me!  And there was no amount of tightening on Steven's part that would have made it work.  Now I think I've established how much I love my wedding dress, but I could not be more thrilled that I can't wear it.  It's not like i need it or have somewhere to go that a white, bridal gown, complete with train, would be called for.  At least not at the moment.  

For all my elation I also got a little down.  Why?  Well, it's like i asked Steven.  Why didn't I do this sooner? I feel like there were all these things that I didn't enjoy to the fullest because of all this extra weight I was pulling around.  I wondered aloud at how much better our wedding pictures would have been.  Steven stopped me and said, "that's silly.  our day way perfect; i wouldn't change a thing."  And that's why I bought the big white dress, complete with sparklies and ruffles, and walked down the aisle to him.

Cheaters Never Win. Define Never.

I'm not sure if you've noticed but I've been hiding something from you.  It's true.  When I started this blog I promised myself that I would put it all out there when it came to my new healthier lifestyle.  The good, the bad and the pudgy.  It was going to be my motivation; a way to keep me accountable for what I've done.  So when i started cheating a bit on my diet, i started posting fewer blogs.  Lying by omission I guess.  I might have (definitely did) left out (completely avoided) a few (all) of the less positive (bad, bad, bad) details of my last few weeks.  And for this, i am sorry (kind of).


See, things were going so well that i didn't want to let you know that i had slipped a little.  And at times, a lot.  I gained some of my weight back and i did it pretty quickly.  It freaked me out but not enough to stop me from my downward spiral.  Those terrible foods that are oh-so-yummy called my name and wouldn't let me go.  I ate Mexican (often), cookies, chips, things covered in cheese, things covered in grease, cookies (oh, did i mention those already?), and lots of other things that i had sworn off or at least had limited to once-in-a-while treats.  


On top of this i stopped working out.  See, it's hot outside.  Like stupidly, humid hot.  And when the thermostat gets set on Hades i have a hard time pushing myself to do anything that makes me voluntarily sweat.  During the time of year when the short walk from my car to the house makes me feel sticky and rundown, all i want to do when i walk in the door is change into comfy clothes and cool down.  Jumping on the elliptical is not a cool down type of activity.  It's a sweaty one.  And, dang it, i'm tired of sweating!!!


I guess my wake up call came when i went to put on a pair of pants that had gotten loose and realized that they were beginning to fit a little tighter.  This was not the direction I was supposed to be going in.  The scale was not supposed to be going up.  I was letting myself down.  I was cheating.  And cheaters never win.  Well mostly.  


See, the thing is that I have cheated throughout this entire process.  On the weekends I have allowed myself to indulge in things that I dare not touch during the week.  Want a cookie?  Sure. Have one.  (O-N-E!!)   Need to go eat Mexican on a Saturday night?  Sure. Make that your big cheat meal for the weekend.  This way has worked for me.   I don't go cold turkey on things i love to have and by doing so i don't crave them all the time.  I watch myself pretty closely throughout the week and then get to cheat a bit on the weekends.  Or i substitute a weeknight for a weekend day.  Either way i was still loosing weight.  So cheaters can win.  But when your cheating turns into your lifestyle, you lose.  That's the difference.  The cheating was taking over.  And i've come to far to go back now.  


So about a week and a half ago i got off my butt, threw my excuses out the window, and got back on track.  I have worked out almost every day (most days getting up before work to do so) and have gone back to eating like I know what I'm doing.  I've planned meals better, watched my portions, and sweat it out with a purpose.  I've even added weights and crunches to my workouts.  I'm serious about losing this weight.  All of it.  


I had a doctor's appointment last week and since March 1st, I've lost 35 pounds.  So I've lost the extra I gained--thank goodness!  There's no stopping me now and i promise that I'll tell the truth from now on.  I might cheat here and there.  But I promise you I'm still going to win.    

Yankee Doodle Went To Town...

It's that time of year again!  Time for cookouts and gatherings and loud fireworks.  Time for spreading your blanket on the nearest field and waving your flags.  Independence Day is a pretty special holiday for Steven and me.  Well, July 3rd anyway.  It's when things kind of started for us.  It was the beginning of the beginning, if you will.  It meant enough that we have the word "fireworks" engraved in our wedding bands.  And we have yet to miss a year.  No matter what, we will be together for the 4th and we see some fireworks.  

This year we went twice.  On the 3rd we met up with Sabrina (who, by the way, was present for that first year Steven and I watched the fireworks together.  She's a special part of our history that way.), her hubby, Jeremiah, and their new little one Harrison.  My BFF Tiffany and her baby-daddy (well, fetus-daddy until October) came up and headed out to Wake Forest with us.  We had a great time watching the show from the football field at Heritage High School.  There was a band and parachuters and one of the best finales I have ever seen.  Pictures from the night are below.  


July 4th found us in Archer's Lodge, NC.  Where you ask?  It's that newly minted town right down the road from Clayton.  You know, one of those tiny, blink and you'll miss it places.  Or blink and get hit by a crazy person driving way too fast down Main Street after the fireworks were done and everyone was filing out of the little fields in droves!!  The driver and Steven shared a lovely conversation.  It was loud, heated and included a few bad words.  You know, straight from the heart, Hallmark material stuff.  


Mike and Mandy took their sweet baby girl, Addie, and she was a champ.  The only thing that seemed to bother her was the slight delay between fireworks.  Come to think of it, that was the only thing that bothered all of us.  Addie was just a bit more vocal about it.  After it was done we headed back to Mike and Mandy's for some ice cream sundaes.  And the next day we didn't even have to go to work.  How perfect is this holiday?! 

  

We've got (really cute) mail!

So Courtney came over on Sunday and created one of the cutest mailboxes ever!  The truth is that I get stupid excited about putting our last name on anything.  Maybe it's because it's only been my last name since October '09.  The newness hasn't worn off yet!  Anyway, the thought of having it on the mailbox in a super cute way thrilled me.  And I wasn't about to use those sticker letters you can buy at your local Wal-Mart.  (No offense to any of you that has those. Really, they're nice.  I mean, you know, not bad at all.  Er, ummm, well, yeah)

Courtney has been making some seriously cute stuff for some seriously awesome prices and as soon as I saw her mailbox creation I knew I had to have it.  Hello, it's our name! So take a look at the picture and at Courtney's blog (The Funky Dot) to see some seriously wonderful (and NAMED!) hand-made stuff! 

And yes, our mailbox is up outside.  I however did not feel it necessary to display to the world our dead flowers (sad, i know) and bird poop-covered post.  Both of these things will be remedied this weekend.  Hopefully. 

I think we need a bigger beach...

Peeling forehead?  Check.  Flip flops covered in sand that won't wash away?  Check.  More freckles than should be allowed on one face?  Check!  Sounds like someone went to the beach.  And that someone was me!  After over a year away from the waves, I finally got to go back to the sun, sand and surf. 


Months ago I got an email from my friend and "soul mate" (right, court?) Courtney about heading to her parents' place at the beach for a weekend.  I believe the words "you can't say no" appeared more than once.  Well, then, "yes" it is!  Not that my arm had to be twisted mind you.  So last Friday Courtney, her friend Stephanie (who is now my friend; Facebook says so) and I made our way to the place where the air is most humid. 

As soon as we got to Topsail (or some variation in the same two-mile radius--the name changed often and I couldn't keep up) on Friday and took our things inside, Stephanie brought out all her little friends.  Here she is to the right, friend in hand. 

I will spare everyone the details (this is a family blog, after all) but my old arch-nemesis Vodka showed up.  He charmed me with his hidden evils, cleverly disguised in a chocolate martini, and before I knew it I was making late night calls to everyone from Steven and my sister to Stephanie's husband.  Good ol' V and I have broken up.  Again.  For good this time.  I promise!! (PS--Thank you, Courtney, for making sure I didn't die.)

The next morning (when the sun was a bit too bright and my head was pounding in my ears) we hit the beach!  We spent time walking with our feet in the water and looking for various treasures that had washed up on the shore.  I need to tell you that I did this walking without a cover-up.  That's right, ladies and gentleman, I walked around in nothing but my bathing suit.  This is a major personal vicotory for me.  Clearly we did not document this in photos (i'm certainly not there yet!) but I promise it happened. 

After the beach we hit the pool where Courtney would enjoy the water.  She's got a thing about fish and seaweed and sharks and sand fiddlers and stingrays and anything that may attack, brush up against or swim next to her in the ocean.  The pool did have one danger that the ocean didn't.  Other. People's.  Kids.  We were brave and stuck it out for as long as we could.  But once "Marco Polo" headed to the deep end, it was done. 

Later that evening, while walking along the beach (in the opposite direction as before for some variety) we saw some pretty interesting things.  Things that confirmed Courtney's fears of the deep blue (or grayish green) sea.  First there was the sting ray.  On the shore.  Yeah, out of the water!  A fisherman had accidentally caught him while clearly trying to catch, well, fish. 

Here's how I think about wild animals.  If one hurts me while I'm in its habitat, well then, that's on me.  I know sting rays are in the ocean.  I take that chance when I go in the water.  And this sting ray did not choose to be on land.  So he's forgiven his trespass into people places.  Because clearly, we can go into their homes but under no circumstances should they intentionally come into ours.  (Yeah, yeah, not logical.  Umm...don't care.)

So the stingray didn't do anything wrong.  But this next guy?!  Just who the heck does he thing he is?!  Silly shark, land is for humans!!   Ok, this is where i draw the line.  Those things have lots of teeth.  Lots.  Of.  Teeth.  (PS--he was alive and someone picked him up and threw him back in the water.)

Granted I thought it was awesome to see a shark that close and not be in an aquarium.  I'm a bit of a shark nerd, ask my husband.  My favorite movie is Jaws (the first one.  Two was good, Three was ok and Four should have never been made!), I am an avid watcher of the Discovery Channel's Shark Week, I love to visit aquariums with shark displays and I drug my husband to the Museum of Natural Sciences to see the Megaladon exhibit.  When I was a child my parents took me to Sea World where I (accurately, mind you) named all the sharks in the tank.  Like I said, nerd.  But even this dork draws the line with sharks on land.  And yeah, he's small.  But it's just for now.  They get bigger.  Lots bigger.   

Including and despite the shark sighting, it was a wondeful weekend.  Just three girls (a stingray and a shark) hanging out.  Oh and what would a vacation (even small weekend ones) be without the obligatory self-portrait?  See below :)

Is that a cow in my yard?

When Steven and I first started looking for houses we had a few items on our wish list.  Well, make that a few thousand.  But there were only a few (really, this time) that were "have-to-have" type things.  Individually we wanted things that were a bit different.  For the man of the house it was a garage.  His baby had to have a home!  Click for a reminder.  I had two main have-to-have's; an actual laundry room and a front porch big enough for at least two rocking chairs.  Check.  Check.  And Check. 

Together our main thing was to be somewhere we could have some land.  We didn't need a ranch or anything but we didn't want to reach out of our window and touch our neighbor's house.  I'm all about liking the neighbors but i don't need to hear alarms or activities in other homes.  We wanted a house in Johnston County.  In other words, The Country.  And we got just that.    

There are a few ways to know for sure that you live in The Country.  One of the first tell-tale signs is the over abundance of farms.  On the way home, I pass multiple fields, all growing something that someone or something will be eating in the months to come.  Rows as far as you can see full of everything from corn to strawberries.  

Where there are farms, there is farm equipment.  All the roads that we drive on day to day have been there for decades.  And back when they were nothing more than dirt and rock and clouds of dust, tractors roamed free.  Well, in Johnston County, they still do.  When it's plowing time, picking time, planting time or any time in between, you're going to eventually find yourself stuck behind a tractor going just over the speed of snail.  On occasion, the nice man at the wheel might pull over as far as he can and wave you around.  But mostly you're stuck.  I guess they figure they were there first.  And they'll be there last at that rate. 

From our front porch i hear church bells, crickets and the wind in the trees.  We have deer that roam through our yard at night and a giant bunny that murders flowers.  There are fireflies by the hundreds (they're kinda magical, aren't they?) and 100 times as many stars.  And, on random afternoons, when looking out in to the back yard, you just might see this...

Yeah, that's a cow.  Not sure if you can really tell from the picture but that's what it is.  The tangle of trees and other shrubbery that you see marks our property line.  There's a little wire fence that keeps the cows on their side and us on ours.  It's so little you can't even see it there.  And that cow was staring Steven down while he took this picture.  It was really funny actually.  Well, funny until a cow takes you down.  I guess that's something else you could hear about in the country. 

Oh, Baby!

Steven and I are surrounded by babies. Everyone we know has had one, is about to have one, or is seriously considering making one. Just this past weekend, we welcomed another little bundle of joy into the world. Harrison Monroe Swann was born on Saturday, June 12th at 12:18 a.m. He’s a little thing, weighing in at just over five pounds. But he’s got a head full of hair and has two parents already completely wrapped around his adorable little finger. At the bottom are a few shots of Steven and me with Lil’ Man.

It’s funny how life shifts. There was a time when the talk was boyfriends. Who are you dating? Do your parents like him? You’ve been together a few months?! That’s crazy! And then it all changed to marriage. Do you think he’ll ask you? When’s the big day? A few months from now?! That’s crazy! And now it’s all about the babies, Baby. When are you due? In a few months?! That’s crazy!

Babies are definitely on the brain. Big ones, little ones, not quite here ones. Ones that have grown into “big boys” and “big girls.” Shy ones, loud ones, perfectly perfect in every way ones. (Sorry, I slipped into a little Dr. Suess there.) I think of all the changes, of all the shifts from one life topic to the next, this is the biggest. Going from being just you to just two to adding one more is a big deal. I love watching my mommy friends. It’s amazing to see them with their children and to have been lucky enough to have known most of them from the beginning. Katie, Luke, Collin, Addie, Harrison, soon-to-be London. There's Hillary and Cole and Gracie and Maggie.  I feel like these kids are my friends. Little miniature homies that I just know I will love, love, love forever.

Can you dig it?

Last weekend Steven and I joined his side of the family in VA at Smith Moutain Lake.  His parents rented the place for week (and some change) so we and steven's brother and our sister-in-law headed on down the road and across NC's northern border.  What we found when we got there was nothing short of, well, groovy. 

It was dark when we got there last Friday night.  Anthony, Steven's older brother, met us in the driveway and the first words out of his mouth were, "did you wear your bell bottoms?"  I beg your pardon?  Usually "hey" works just fine as a greeting.  "Oh, you'll see."    As we walked up to the house the first thing we noticed was a very large picture window.  The lights were on in the house so we could clearly see Steven's parents and Anthony's wife, Jessica (yes, both Cerame boys married Jessicas) sitting in the living room.  Oh the living room.  When we stepped through the front door, we stepped back in time.  A time warp, baby, to the days of afros and peace signs.  Rusty orange carpet and gold, gold everywhere.  1975, nice to see you! 

Let me say that there was nothign wrong with this house.  The size and layout were perfect for the vacationers that we were and its dock was close to the house and great for sitting and swimming off of.   There were enough bathrooms and bedrooms and places to sit at dinner.  It was all just a bit (HA!) dated.  And it was a constant source of giggles for the two days we were together.  Need a visual?  Check out the picture to the right.  That's the totally far out light fixture in the bathroom.  And I know you can't really tell but those pictures above the mirror?  They're cross-stitched.  Just like most of the other decorations in the house. 

Steven and I stayed in a room with mustard yellow carpet and the beams on the living room ceiling were made of styrofoam.  They were perfectly accented by the large (and i mean large) golden lamp and the fish tank with no fish.  Yeah, its little pump was on.  Nope, not one fish to be found.  Maybe they got out and went down to take a peak at the wallpaper in the basement bathroom.  From a distance it looked like toille.  Up close, naked ladies with strategically placed hair, apples and shrubbery.  Clearly, that room is for adults only.  Bow-chicka-wow-wow! 

We had a great time in VA--even it it was VA circa 1970-something.  We spent lots of time down by the water, soaking up the rays (or having my mutant white skin reject it ferociously) and thinking of all the ways we were redecorate.  It was a great time and we'd love to go back.  Can you dig? 

The Big Clean

I’m not a nasty person. I’m really not. I like the house clean—not just neat but clean. I like my things in order. Before I leave work in the afternoon I straighten the stuff on my desk so that I don’t freak out the next day. Things have places and I like for them to be there whenever possible. (All my Mommy friends are laughing at this right now. I know, I know, talk to you in a few years when the kids arrive. I gotcha.) I’m a bit of a “Neat Freak” one might say. I get—slightly—bent out of shape when things get really messy. I—might—throw mini tantrums when dishes pile up or clothes don’t make it to the hamper. I—could—have a panic attack if that pair of shoes/glass/empty bottle/blanket/pillow/magazine/etc. stays there one more minute!! It’s part of who I am.


So please someone tell me why it is that my car looks like it belongs to Pig Pen’s long lost sister?! And it’s not only how it looks. The other morning I got into the car and was accosted by a foulness that I don’t remember smelling before. Panic. That smell! It’s in my car! It’s in the carpet! It’s in the seats! Ew—is it getting on me?! Breathe through my mouth, breathe through my mouth!  Ew, it's in my mouth!  Breathe through my nose, breathe through my nose... 

Action had to be taken. Quickly. I talked to Steven and asked if we could clean my carpets in the car. Sure. Oh good! I can’t deal with this smell. You know what we really need to do… Uh oh, what? Take the carpet completely out and power wash it. I beg your pardon? Yeah nothing gets to be too simple in the Land of Cerame. Rent a steam cleaner (or borrow one)? Nope. Take out the seats and rip the carpet out completely? Abso-freakin-lutely! I was hesitant. I was nervous. I said, “no way, Jose.”

Never before have I questioned a suggestion that Steven has made about a car. Never. Well you know what they say about first times all that. This was not happening. What if it got distorted and didn’t fit in there right when we were done?! Jess, this car is almost 10 years old. There is no way that carpet is going to lose its shape. There’s no simpler way to do this? Of course there is. But this is the best way. Of course it is. And it’s cheaper. Sold.

So Steven took the carpet out.  To the right is a picture of what we saw when he did.   Do I have to tell you again that I'm not nasty?  The stains were awful.  The worst part is that I have no idea where they came from!  I don't remember spilling Coke (or some variation) in the back seat and on the floor.  I don't sit in the backseat!  This is not my fault!  How long had that been there?  Blech. 

After we removed everything we sprayed it down with cleaner (Maybe i got a little over-zealous and sprayed so much that the power of the power washer was unable to completely rid the matts of all the suds. But just maybe.)  and then hung them by the clips at the car wash.  See below. 

Steven gagged a little at the smell that came off the carpet.  The water that ran from it was a murky brown.  Again, not nasty, People!   Well, I'm not but that crap was.  Oh gross, I just noticed that his feet more than likely came in contact with that water!  Eh, after hockey skates, the funk could not have bothered him much. 

We let the carpet dry in the sun and then i doused it with enough Febreeze to choke a small child.  (note: no children or animals were in danger during the cleaning of this vehicle.)  Steven put everything back together (my hero) and now it looks the best it has since I got it!  It's not perfect--a few faint stains remain--but it's a world of improvement.  Now if there was only something we could do about it's seeminly permanent gray tint.  Wash it, you say?  Whatever...    

Not such a "Big Girl"

Steven and I had to go to Target today to pick something up and before our outing was completed we ended up at Kohl's.  (I really do have a wonderful husband.)  We perused the shoes and purses (nothing to write home about) and made our way around to what I call "The Big Girl Section."  We walked through the maze that is the larger clothes.  Sizes accompanied by X's.  Styles that don't ever look quite, well, stylish (Why is that?  Big girls want cute stuff too!  And we aren't all over the age of 60, though judging by the clothes, you'd never know it.)  I wanted to see if they had some plaid shorts.  I'm a bit of a sucker for the plaid short.  And Steven is too.  So i figured, "This is Kohl's.  I should be able to find something for a decent price." 

We found a pair that was pretty cute and pretty normally priced.  What is this!?  I need the good ol' Kohl's sale.  And $35 for a pair of shorts is not a sale.  So we passed them by.  No need to even try them on.  We kept walking.  


Now the unfair thing about the "Big Girl Section" is the fact that is right beside, actually attached to, the "Regular Girl Section."  There's no real divider and before you know what you've done, you've moseyed over to shirts that won't button and pants that won't zip. But damn, they're cute.  You find yourself saying, "That's just what I was looking for!"  Then you look at the sizes and realize that single digits are blaring back at you.  Laughing at you.  Saying, "Please, girl!  You'd need me and my friend size 6 to make this work."  So you put whatever it is down, hoping no one saw you, the "Big Girl" pick up something so clearly out of your league, and your shopping trip is done.  


Well, not today.  We found the plaid shorts I wanted.  Not too short--because really, I don't have the thighs for that.  On sale--marked down from $30 to $15.  I started thumbing through the numbers.  I was sure the one I needed wouldn't be there.  And, well, it wasn't.  But Steven suggested I try the largest size they had available on the rack.  It's a size smaller than I normally wear and it did not have a "W" beside it.  (For you "Regular Girls" the "W" stands for Woman and means that the size on the tag is even a bit bigger than it says.  The cut is supposed to be more flattering for the "Big Girls."  In some cases this is true.  In others, well, not.)  I was hesitant but Steven and I figured that this would give me a new goal to work towards.  I had no expectations that they would fit.  


Into the dressing room I went.  Side note:  Why do dressing rooms smell?  This one smelled like nasty feet.  No one was in there.  So the foot smell was so strong that it had carried over from some past occupant.  OK, moving on--that's making my stomach turn a bit.  I put on the shorts.  Let me say that again.  I. PUT. ON. THE. SHORTS.  They fit!!!!  I walked out of the dressing room and showed Steven.  He was grinning from ear to ear.  


Now I'm not saying that I am, or will be in the immediate future, a frequenter of the "Regular Girl Section."  But my 30 pound loss (yep, last weigh-in proved it!) helped me get my plaid shorts--REGULAR ones.  Talk about great motivation.  Now there's this "Regular Girl" skirt I've been eyeing....  

Taming the Beast

There are few things in this world that my husband loves as much as he loves me.  His mom.  Hockey.  And the truck to the right.  This, my firends, is a 1985 Chevrolet truck.  I know you might not recognize it as a truck because it is missing a key truck compenent (the bed) but it is one.  A big one.  In fact, if it weren't for the steps on the sides (hard to see in this picture bit it's there) I wouldn't be ale to climb into it.  Well, not without using my Spidey senses.  Which I don't have so I guess that's a moot point.  Anyway, it's a beast.  Big and intimidating.  At least for me.  

I am girl that never learned to drive a manual.  I love that I don't have to try and remember where that stick goes or when you have to put it there.  I like the freedom of a car the does the work for me.  That was all before I met Steven. Now I want to learn to drive something that takes a little more effort—even if I never intend to actually put forth that effort every day. I don’t want to drive a stick in my day-to-day life. But it would be nice to know how, just in case. Plus Steven thinks it’s awesome and I love to be awesome to Steven. Not hard for me, I know, considering my already high level of awesome. But a little extra never hurt anyone.

So the Green Beast (or Booger, depending on the moment) is our only vehicle that requires the driver to shift gears. So, in turn, it’s the only way I have to learn. Steven used to have a Mustang that would meet this requirement but he got rid of it. Shouldn’t have done that. (right, honey? hehe) Anyway, last Saturday we needed to get the truck back into the garage. Steven saw this as the perfect opportunity for me to begin my lessons. Yes, this makes perfect sense. I am going to drive a huge truck that I don’t know how to drive TOWARDS my house. Does this sound like a bad idea to anyone else? Thought so.


But in I hopped. Wait—there was no hopping—it was more like a climb and hoist type operation. But I got in nonetheless. I took my place behind the wheel (which was a little sticky and way dirty) I went to push the clutch all the way in. Nope. Steven suggested I move the seat up. There we go; I can reach the pedals now. However, the steering wheel is now firmly pressed against my tummy. Nice. It will still turn so I’ll deal.


Lesson starts and I’m trying to listen really closely so that I can make sure that I don’t do anything extremely terrible like run into a tree, but my leg is now beginning to shake from holding the clutch down. It’s cramping from the full extension that is required (damn my short legs!) and that’s all my mind will let me process. So I blurt out, “let’s get going before my leg falls off!” Hope I didn’t miss anything important.


My first task was Reverse. Great, I don’t like Reverse in normal cars. But I managed it. Quite well I think. And then it was time to go forward. Towards the tree, in hopes of going towards the house. Again, bad idea? Anyway, I did fine. I was in Low. I don’t know what that means but it’s not First Gear. I stalled out in that so for right now, Low is my friend. I managed to inch the truck towards the garage and only freaked out once (well maybe a few times) at the close proximity of anything I could severely damage. Steven and I switched so he could pull it into the garage. I wasn’t near that brave. But when I stepped out I felt like I had done something major. I felt accomplished. My hands felt sticky.


And I have to saw that Steven is a great teacher. He wasn’t pushy or easily agitated. I was nervous to drive with him because he does this stuff so well. But all that ended the second we started. The truck is back in the garage. The garage is in one piece. And I really did have fun. I might even want to do it again. In an open field. With nothing to hit. For miles.

Blister in the sun...

Some things are just not fair.  Not at all.  Not even a little bit.  Take for instance my mother's ability to tan with the ease of someone born and raised much further South than the continental United States.  She lays on her deck, book in hand and turns the nicest shade of tan you've ever seen.  My dad?  He can hang out outside for a bit, doing yard work or whatever kind of work, and the same thing happens.  Nice and tan.  It's like my parents were put in some human toaster and came out perfect. 


Me?  HA!  There is something wrong with my skin.  It's rejects the sun with a ferocity that just makes no sense.  The tan gene skipped me completely.  I have this lovely (insert sarcasm here) reddish undertone to my skin that only becomes more and more prominent the longer i stay out in the rays.  Now don't get me wrong, my arms and shoulders will brown a bit, turning not so much red but all the more freckled.  But my cheeks always glow a hot pink and my nose would give Rudolph reason to think of retirement.  And my legs?  Well let's just say that translucent takes on a whole new meaning when they get involved.


To add insult to injury I married a man with Italian blood and the ability to tan by merely thinking about it.  Steven's arms and legs get tan as soon as the sun starts shining in early spring and don't ever really fade.  He's like a plant.  If there's sun, he thrives.  My only real saving grace is the fact that he's not a guy to go shirtless so he's got a killer farmer's tan.  His back and belly are as white as me.  That seems to level the playing field a bit.  Though only a little.  


But today I decided to fight.  I want to be tan.  I'm tired of wearing my light khaki shorts and blending in with the fabric.  I'm sick of looking a bit sick.  And let's face it; chubby looks better tan.   You know it's true.  So i took my book, my water and my beach chair and I hit the deck.  It took all of 40 seconds for the sweat to begin to pour.  In my mind I'm chanting " I can do this, I can do this" over and over.  A mantra if you will to make it through the heat.  I was doing ok.  I was going to make it.  Then I looked down.  


I stared through the sunlight bouncing off my legs to what was now visible.  Blotches.  Large and red.  And they were all over.  My knees look like I'd kneeled in red paint and my thighs have the appearance of skin after it's been slapped over and over.  I've got a feeling that this is just not going to be my day.  There was an odd tingle all over every place the sun had kissed (or bitten--whatever you want to call it) and I wasn't quite sure if that was pain or just discomfort.  Isn't there supposed to be a little burn of sorts?  No?  Well, damn. 


So I got up and came inside.  Within about ten minutes I looked back to normal.  Well, except for the dryness, slight itching and tiny little spots.  Is this just not meant to be for me?  Am i destined to be the girl with pearly white legs?  The girl who will always have to use SPF this-is-strong-enough-for babies?  Maybe I'll go back out for a minute. Just a little bit.  Give it another try.  Or maybe I'll just sit on the couch and read while the Golden Girls plays in the background.  Yeah, that sounds more like it. 


  

This Little Piggie...

My husband turned the big 2-4 last week. Yeah, he’s young. Just call me Demi! Well, not really. Our ages aren’t that far apart and I do not look like that in a bikini. But he is younger. By a couple—er, three—well, actually four—fine, and a half (damn those halves) years. When I met him he was 19 and the furthest thing from my mind was getting involved with him. Ok, that’s a lie. But I wouldn’t admit it. Anyway, moving on.

This past Saturday we did what any good Southerner would do to celebrate their birth. We threw a pig on the cooker and had our friends come out for more food than any of us could possibly eat. Everyone was so wonderful. They brought potato salad and mac and cheese and dips and chips and deviled eggs and drinks and cookies and cake. Every person that pulled up brought one more thing that I hadn’t had in what felt like an eternity. And I ate. And ate. And ate.

I ate until I felt almost nauseous. I let the feeling subside and I ate again. Every time I walked by a cookie, I ate one. I ate barbecue loaded in sauce. I drank a cup of sweet tea—with CAFFEINE! And I ate one of the best pieces of cake I have had since my wedding. (Thanks, Courtney and Connie!) And let me tell you, I feel like crap. Pure, nasty crap.

I gained weight last week. Yeah, you heard me. GAINED! Didn’t lose. Not one half a pound. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Last week was heinous in terms of diets. There was only one night I didn’t manage to eat something on my “off limits” list. I goofed big time. So this week, I’ve started back at square one. Steven’s throwing out all the leftover treats and I’m beginning again. Back to basics. Yesterday was tough, but I’m back on track. Took a little (ok, big) detour but I got it all figured out now. Wish me luck…again.

In terms of the party, it was wonderful. Steven and I know that we have wonderful friends and family. And they just keep proving us right over and over. Things have been a little rough lately and there is something about having your favorite people around you that makes the world seem right again. And it was right. And it was wonderful. we love our friends like family and appreciate the friendship that our family offers. We are lucky. We are so blessed. Can’t wait for next year!

Shedding the Big Girl clothes...

It finally happened. I almost didn’t believe it, but it actually happened. I have officially gotten too small for one of my bigger “big girl” shirts! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have had to retire something that I bought after the “inflation.” When I had finally gained enough weight that it was imperative that I buy a few items so that I would not have to subject the world to my nakedness (you’re welcome), I began the weekly Old Navy hunt. Upon one of my many visits to their website (they only sell Big Girl clothes online. Do I hear “Discrimination Lawsuit?”), I happened upon the cutest black shirt. Stylish. Flattering. Huge. Ok, not huge. But bigger. Bigger than I have bought before. But it worked and I really liked it. It was my go-to shirt.


The other day I couldn’t figure out what to wear. When you run into that type of dilemma, what do you do? You pull out the go-to. I grabbed the shirt from its usual place and went to put it on. It looked weird. What was this look? I hadn’t seen it in so long. It was too flowy. Not at all stylish. It actually looked HUGE. It was too big! Praise the Lord, I have a shirt that’s too big!! I took off that bad boy and threw it in a drawer in the spare bedroom where it will sit until it is time to take it to Goodwill. I have never been so happy to get rid of a favorite shirt!

Oh and get this! My shorts that were too tight last year. I can wear ‘em. And the bigger shorts that I bought to be big enough? I can take those off without unbuttoning them! My wardrobe is shifting quite dramatically. At least I had the good sense to keep my smaller stuff. Wishful thinking finally paid off!

Recipe Update:

After the whole breakfast casserole debacle we were both a little gun-shy on trying a new recipe and ready to redeem the cookbook. Enter the Buffalo Chicken Chili. In a word, YUM! I will post the recipe for you in my next post. It’s made with stuff that you wouldn’t normally think of so keep an open mind. And if you add the suggested amount of hot sauce, it really does taste like Buffalo Wings. Just try not to dip it in ranch. :)  

The Importance of Halves

Cue my theme song.  Last night was weight-in.  As usual Steven pulled out the scale and I took my place.  I lost...wait for it...three and a half pounds!  That's right, 1, 2, 3, point 5!  And that half is extrememly important to me.  It means that I have lost a total of 28.5 pounds.  What's the deal with the half?  Well, for one, it means I am only 1.5 pounds from 30 and that sounds so much better than 2.  A whole half a pound better.  It's a big deal. 

Halves are essential.  We need them.  The half full (or empty) glass is not near as important when it's running over or bone dry.  Halves make us feel better.  Epecially when talking about weight.  It's the perfect portion.  Think of it this way.  If I had said that I gained some weight (I'm lightheaded from the thought right now) wouldn't it sound better if I told you it was a half a pound as opposed to a whole one?  Yep.  And saying I lost three and a half is better than three.  Halves are easy to justify, easy to conquer and easy on the ego.

We've all heard the saying, "don't do anything half-way."  Or something like that.  But isn't half-way better than none at all?  Now I'm not saying we should all turn into lazy people who only do enough to get by.  Well, unless that's your job description (it's in the fine print).  But the half should be more respected.  Finding half a million dollars is better than finding none.  And losing half is better than losing all.  Though at this point in time I wouldn't mind finding half of ten dollars.  But that's another entry.

All I'm saying is that I'm proud of my half pound, tacked onto the end of my three.  It was very important to share with you.  It adds to my acheievement.  And there is nothing wrong with that.  Even if it is one half at a time.

Bozo on a Bender

If you were to see me right now you would think to yourself that I look like one of the following things...

• a young girl who got into her mother's lipstick
• a 3 year old that does not know how to drink red Kool-Aid yet
• a drunk clown

Can you see it?  Do you have the visual?  No?  Let me spell it out.  I have a huge (and I mean it) ring of red around my mouth.  My lips are swollen and they itch.  Hideous right?  Yep. 

This started this past winter.  My lips would get chapped to the point of severe irritation and this was the result  A few days and nights of extrememly heavy Blistex application and it goes away.  But the in the meantime (the in between time, you go for yours and i'll go for...sorry--slipped into the rap from Can't Hardly Wait) it is so embarrasing.  You can tell people are trying not to look at it.  But how can they not?  I would!  You can't miss the glow of red that eminates from my face.  It's like a beacon begging your eyes to follow it as I talk.  sigh*

Since the weather has warmed up (Thank you, God!) this has pretty much stopped happening.  Only after the temperature dips and I subject myself to the elements does it show up again.   I've been good for a few weeks now.  My Blistex has stayed perfectly hidden in the drawer, not needed in the least.  Then last night I went to hockey with Steven.  After the games the guys all stand outside for a while in a circle.  There's a cooler in the middle.  And they stink.  But i've already written about that.  Anyway, last night was really chilly.  I had a coat on and the wind was a little punishing.  I should have known today would be this way.  I should have known that my mouth would turn on me. 

I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when I began to feel that familiar tingling in the lower half of my face.  By the time I went to lunch and bought some Carmex (they did not have Blistex) I was puffed up pretty good.  Note to self:  Carmex is not Blistex.  It does not work like Blistex.  Carmex sucks.  My lips have gotten worse!  Bigger, redder, badder than ever! 

I give up.  Steven went out and bought me a supply of the good stuff so I can start my treatments tonight.  In the meantime (the in-between time) I will have to settle for looking like Ronald Mcdonald's half-sister who may just appear on an episode of Intervention in the near future. 

  

A Thief in the Night...

Ok, we've been robbed.  While we slept someone came to our house and took what was ours.  Can you believe this?  It's infuriating.  How dare they take what doesn't belong to them.  Stupid rabbits.  Those are OUR flowers!

I know it sounds silly, to spout off about animals eating plants, but we all know my history with horticulture.  I finally--FINALLY--had a bit of a garden growing.  We'd planted some Gerber daisies and some petunias up around the mailbox.  They were so pretty.  Shades of pink and purple and a few white flowers, just hanging out, taking in the sun, soaking up some water like plants do.  One night we went to bed, thinking they were fine.  The next morning we woke up to find them accosted.  Eaten!  Dug up from the root!  Totured!  My only hope is that they went quickly. 

The Gerbers are still there though badly beaten.  See the problem is that once I saw that the majority of my work was lost, I kinda stopped caring so much.  I haven't watered them enough and I'm sure there is some rule about picking away the dead things.  Yeah, not so much.  The Gerbers are fighting hard.  They're tall and seem to be ready to hold on as long as possible.  You'd think this would make me want to do for them, give them care, feed 'em.  Eh.  We'll see. 

I blame the rabbits.  They killed my drive.  Now the lady across the street has some flowers around her mailbox.  If they stay there I'm going to take this as a personal attack.  We've never caused any harm to the bunnies that inhabit our yard.  They poop all over it and we still do nothing!  Have you seen piles of rabbit poo randomly placed in a yard before?  Weird stuff.  Anyway, I didn't know were were expected to provide them with treats.  There is plenty of other junk in the yard that they can have their fill of.  Why the pretty stuff?  Why the stuff we paid for?

I'm whining, I know.  I'm stomping my feet and pouting.  I'm making a scene.  Stupid rabbits.     

Don't mess with breakfast

So in my never-ending search for healthy things that I can eat that do not induce gagging I found my way to Joy Bauer's newest cookbook.  Yep, my Inner Skinny lady has come up with even more ways for me to get some variety in our meals while still following her rules.  YAY!  I got the book about three weeks ago and we've been busy trying new things.  The turkey meatballs in marinara?  Awesome!  The upside-down pan pizza?  Hello!  The Italian breakfast bake?  Bleh.  Yeah, bleh. 

Don't mess with breakfast.  It's an easy meal and pretty hard to really goof up.  We stick to basic breakfast foods that have withstood the test of time.  The bowl of cereal.  The toast.  The pancake.  The (occasional) bagel sandwich from Dunkin' Donuts.  You know, the stuff your mom and grandma made.  But I thought-- crazily--that I wanted to stray from what I knew and go for something different.  Well, phooey on that. 

The breakfast bake had such promise.  Eggs, potatoes, Canadian bacon, oninos, mushrooms.  A sprinkle of Italian seasoning.  Cook the veggies some and then mix it all together.  Pop it in the oven and take it out when the eggs have set.  Easy.  Bleh.  There is a pound (yeah, a pound) of potatoes in this thing.  And it was just too much.  The other veggies and bacon were good in the egg, but those potatoes killed it.  Steven loves potatoes.  He was not a fan of this.  Grrr.  I'm all for trying new stuff but that was a dozen egg--gone!  An onion--gone!  All that time--gone!  (It did take forever to prep and pre-cook everything.) 

Oh, well.  I know better now.  It's back to cereal and toast and bojang--oops!  Never mind.  Back to what I know.  Most of her recipes have been so good.  We're trying another one this weekend.  Buffalo Chicken Chili.  Fingers crossed.  And at least it's not breakfast.          

The Sunday Blues...

I used to love Sundays.  It was our relaxation day, the day we hung out and did nothing together.  Saturdays were great because there was that promise of one more day at home.  One more day to get the housework done, start or finish a project or simply sit on your butt in front of the TV and doze off all day.  Sundays were our days.  And now I feel like I've lost them. 


I hate Sundays.  Sunday means that Monday is coming.  The alarm goes off, the shower comes on and I'm out the door by 7:30.  On to a place I hate and drains every last bit of happy out of me.  This is not just the whole "work sucks" speech.  Yeah, yeah work stinks.  Who cares?  We would all love to be doing something else with our time, that's just a given.  But when work starts to make you not only dislike every second of your week day but also who you are when you're there, something is painfully wrong.  That's where I'm at.  That's who I've become. 


At home, I'm happy.  I'm not even sure how many times I've said that this week.  But it's true.  As soon as I leave at 5:00 and head to my house I feel like everything is finally ok.  That weight that sits on my shoulders when I get to the office in the morning lifts and I actually feel like I can smile.  I don't smile at work anymore.  Not much anyway.  And don't look at me sideways because I will start crying.  Actually start crying.  And it's an all day thing.  And last week, it was an all week thing.  Every day the same.  Every day picking away at who I am. 


It's Sunday right now and I'm anxious, nervous, on edge.  I want the time to stop so I don't have to go.  I wish I was the kind of person that would call in sick when I'm not.  Hell, at this point, I wish I was actually sick.  But I'm not.  And I'm not the person that lies and says I am.  Even now, when I hate it this much, I can't pull that prank.  I can't tell that fib.  So I watch the clock and know that I am another minute, two minutes, ten minutes, an hour closer to tomorrow.  How sad is it to already hate tomorrow and it's not even here yet?  That place has stolen my tomorrows. 


And it's stolen my Sundays.  And even my Saturday nights.  I actually got upset last night because today was coming and it would lead to tomorrow.  Crazy, right?  I know it sounds that way.  I know you probably think you have the answer to my problem--it's all so simple right?  You're wrong.  Nothing is that simple.  Not right now.  And probably not for the next little bit.  So I have to deal.  I have to go and suck it up and do a good job so that I can have a job.  I have to sit there and focus on what's in front of me so that I can keep what's on my mind quieted enough to make it through the day.  Have you ever had to do that?  To push something to the back of your mind even though it is screaming to get to the front?  It's hard.  And it's exhausting.  I'm exhausted. 


I want my Sundays back.