Double Vision

So we're having TWINS! Holy hell - what did I get myself into?

We currently have a little circus monkey at home - jumping and pulling up and rocking. I tell ya, once that kid becomes fully mobile, he's never going to sit. And then we're having freaking TWINS. Speaking of which, my little circus monkey turned 8 months yesterday! Happy month-day baby. =)

My due date is 2/11/07, although we're hoping to have 2 on 2/2. That would be just about appropriate considering the family history of notable numbers. The dr is talking c-section, I'm thinking there isn't any way I'm going to consent to someone slicing into my stomach to dig out two babies. No thanks. I think this time I'll just opt for the much more popular 'stork brings 'em' option. That sounds much less painful and worrysome anyway.

The family's excited (ha! The family doesn't have to take CARE of them!), and we're still excited as long as we turn off the logical part of our brains. (Would that be the LEFT brain?) Anyway, I tried to think logically the other day about it but quickly found that instead of being logical I was hyperventilating and bargaining with god, so I decided to stop doing that. Nope, happy is definitely where I want to be.

Have started trying to put together a birthday party plan for my almost-7-year-old. I've decided that we'll do a 'friends' party Friday night and a 'family' party on Saturday. Put them both together and the results could be disasterous. So we're trying to come up with ideas on what to do with 20 7-year-olds. The options are fairly dim...bowling? Laser tag? Rent a hall and let them go nuts? (That sounds like the best option...) We're definitely not playing the 'Hey! Let's see how many things we can break in Alec's house!' game, as much fun as that really sounds.

'Cheeseburger in Paradise' was just on the radio. Now I want a big fat cheeseburger. Yep. I'm pregnant.

Chasing the dream of being a 'Martha Mom'

Sitting at a stoplight on the way to work this morning, I looked over in the residential area and caught a 'Martha Mom'. She was wearing cute little white capris, a pressed bright yellow polo, with perfectly-coiffed hair and manicured nails. She was out in her yard sprinkling plant food on her flower beds. It was barely 7:00 a.m. I'm not sure if it was my wistful-ness or my jealousy that made me decide that she was probably a closet bullemic and in therapy for her failing marriage twice a week.

Ever since my first son was born I've had this obsession with being the 'Martha Mom'. I so badly want to be that mom that has everything in order. The one that can help her kids build a perfect replica of the Brooklyn Bridge - to scale - using a clothes hanger, a square of saran-wrap, and some leftover Christmas tinsel. I want to be the mom with the perfect house and the gorgeous flower beds that I designed, planted, and upkeep myself. The mom that can effortlessly wrangle a 6-year-old and a baby, on Saturday afternoon, in the mall, at 'Toy Paradise', after the two ice-cream sundaes grandma let them have, with no nap...without breaking a sweat. I want to be the 'hostess with the mostest', whipping up a batch of delicious hors de vours in a moment's notice using only things I currently have in the fridge. The mom that gets in two hours at the gym daily and has a rockin' body to show for it. The mom that can cook and sew and sing and organize a never-to-be-forgotten birthday party for thirty 3-year-olds. I want to be a mom like the ones I see in 'Pottery Barn Kids' or 'Parents' who always has cute, crafty projects for the kiddos to immerse themselves in to 'let their creativity emerge'. The mom that does all that...in cute little kitten-heels.

Not to mention that I also want to be winning 'Wife of the Year' awards in the interim.

I wonder what the obsession with the 'Martha Mom' is? I know a few people like this, and I'm wildly jealous. I see moms at t-ball games that have impeccable lawn chairs and finger-sandwiches and apple wedges for the kids. Moms that carry cute little drink coolers that match their outfits and big sunhats that I thought only moms at the yacht club wore. And after I'm finished thinking 'Geesh, loosen up!', I'm secretly thinking 'I wish I had it all together.'

I keep thinking that if we won the lottery, I could be a Martha Mom. But I don't really know who I'm kidding. We'd spend the $ on bills, then stocking up on 'essentials' like Hamburger Helper and pre-made pudding cups. Then we'd take the kids to Disneyland.

Hey, I may not ever be a Martha Mom, but at least I can be fun.

Pass the Donuts.

I'm a major stress-eater, I've come to find out. Food is like my crack-cocaine...my release from the world...a haven from the harsh reality that is my life. You wouldn't believe how much better a big greasy cheeseburger can make me feel, or how much more harmonious the world seems after a few deep-fried mozzerella sticks. And it's never good food that I crave. It's always the greasy, cheesy, artery-terrorizing crap that I definitely shouldn't be eating. It's the stuff that makes me avoid a mirror or - worse - a scale, like the plague. It's the main ingredient in my very own self-destruction cocktail. And my god...it hurts sooo good.

That's not the worst of it though. The worst of it is times like this. Times when I'm stressed out to the max. Times when I'm faced with a new job and a move and a new town and a new life and the alarmingly good possibility that I'm going to lose custody of my son because I was trying to make good a few years ago and agreed to joint custody. Times when I feel like all my friends are a million miles away, and I just need a hug. Times when I feel so completely, achingly helpless that I can't stand it anymore. Times that are so rough that I can no longer indulge in my addiction. THESE times are tough.

I'm stressed. My normal response to stress is pizza or ice cream or soda. I can't afford pizza or ice cream or soda. In fact, we have 1/2 lb. of hamburger, 1/2 a watermelon, and shredded cheese in the fridge right now. And Worchestershire sauce. It's hugely depressing to even open the fridge door anymore. I've got the addict-shakes, like when one's gone too long between shooting up. I drive myself crazy with thoughts of a steak and baked potato.

I have a serious problem.

And the best way to cure a problem behavior is to just stop behaving in that way, right? I mean, that's what I tell my kids when they're being mean to each other. That's what I preach when they're being naughty...you need to just stop! I guess I never realized how hard stopping really is. And that, piled on top of the 100 other things crowded on my plate right now, is the most depressing. It's the most intimidating. It's hard to change a habit. I've heard that if a person starts a habit (ie eating better), it will take like 2 weeks to sink in. Wrong.

I think I just need a donut, and I'll feel much better.

Just one more...

Long weekend...

...and not in the good sense. I really wish I could say it was a good weekend, as some things about it were genuinely good. But it seems life just doesn't like to make things easy for me very often. Got some loose ends/bad feelings cleared up over the weekend on one end, and really added to the loose ends/bad feelings on the other. Maybe that's just my balance in life. Maybe it's 'mediator training' or something. Maybe my role in life is to understudy people like Ghandi, and this is just serious training for what's ahead.

Doubtful.

Here's to a better week (hopefully!)

Kiwi Fruit

Yet another blog all about a suggested topic on the messageboard - albeit a bit late. I've been busy, what can I say?

Kiwi fruit is a small, brown, round-ish, fuzzy fruit that bears an uncanny resemblence to a certain male body part that I don't think I have to mention. Inside, the fruit is green with lots of little black seeds. Kiwi fruit is sweet, and a bit grainy to eat. Alternate names are Chinese gooseberry (gooseberry being a slang term for said male body part) and Yang-Tao - which is kind of like the sound a male murmers from his fetal position on the floor when his Chinese gooseberries are injured.

Kiwi plants grow in vines and are often supported on a trellis-system. The plants bloom white or cream colored flowers and are dioecious, meaning they bear either male or female flowers - thus needing plants of both sexes to produce fruit. Self-fruiting males are known to exist, but produce less desirable fruit. (Anyone here want to argue the merits of male/female breeding vs. breeding by oneself? Anyone...? Didn't think so.)

Kiwi fruit makes an excellent addition to fruit salads and fruity drinks. A slice of kiwi goes well with a big strawberry margarita (as does the SALT from the potato chips...see below.) Kiwi is an excellent source of dietary fiber - 1C = over 6 grams. Strawberry margaritas are an excellent source of water (crushed ice), dietary fiber, potassium, and Vitamin C (strawberries). So really, a strawberry margarita (or 6) with a slice of kiwi fruit is a great, refreshing, healthy addition to your reduced-calorie diet and will promote weight loss, as we all know fiber tends to speed things along.

I'm relieved I can finally drink, guilt-free. ;)

WARNING: Objects in mirror are closer than they appear...

It's been brought to my attention (which is the nice way of saying I've been pounded over the head with the fact) recently that some people are not who I thought they were. What a startling revelation (honestly). It's so weird to think you know someone and realize that person is not who you thought s/he was. It's hard to not feel 'duped' in a situation like that. It's hard to not feel violated. Even though I know it has nothing to do with me.

I've also learned that no matter where you go, no matter how old you get, the incessant drama of high school will follow you. Actually, I think high school was just this big training camp for 'life' as an adult. I think the bitchy head cheerleader with closet insecurity issues was really covert-training us on the bitchy know-it-all boss in our lives. I think the 'popular' clique that none of us was really a part of was in-depth battlezone experience on the friends we think we have, but don't. Seriously - any relationships you have in life can relate to the stereotypical relationships you had in high school. And in the end, you always end up with that same, tight group of people you started out with.

So really... high school is life on steriods.

What a comforting thought.

On a better note - HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHADLY! The Big 2-9 today! ;)

Oh, so it's THAT kind of Monday...

When your day doesn't start until you have a huge frosting-covered sweet roll and 32 oz. of soda in your gullet, it's going to be a long day.

I don't know what's with me today. I'm super tired, even though I got a lot of sleep this weekend. I just feel like a zombie. And it's freaking freezing in here today. That doesn't help. I guess it's better than keeping the building at a nice, balmy 82. At least if it's cold, I might stay awake shivering.

Have a big week at work and at home planned this week. Tons to do. So I'm hoping I can wake up a little bit to actually DO all of it. Father's day is coming up, so I have a few ideas to put into play for the amazing, AMAZING father in my/our life. He deserves so much more than I could ever afford to give him. And, seriously...what do you give the guy who's got everything (ie a fantastic wife and wonderful kids??) ;)