Archive | October, 2008

Because I love my friends..

From one of my friends who is sitting next to me in hell.

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Last year, I completely avoided NaBloPoMo because.. well, I was going to have a baby in November.


Oh, the laughter of not having said baby until DECEMBER FREAKIN’ SEVENTH.

Anyway, yesterday, Christina reminded me that HEY!  It’s that time again!  A time to commit yourself to writing a blog post every day in November!  And I agreed that, yeah, it’s probably not a bad idea this year.  After all, what else do I have going on?

However, I am not wise enough to know how to install a badge without hot linking it.  That, and I couldn’t find any pink, pretty badges.  I need something clever or pretty.  I could not find any of those.  And, obviously, even if I could, I am not savvy to install them.

Zoot mentioned it again today, so I went and signed up.  You can find me under SarahLena, cause, you know.. that’s my name and all. 

I mentioned to Christina that I used to have as many as three posts a day up, but life got in the way of my personal blogging (stupid life!), so I’m lucky to get three posts a week up.  Maybe this is what I need.  And maybe I’ll get really exciting and post the recipe for what I’m cooking that night.  Or maybe I’ll get all accountable and post about the exercise I made myself do.

Or, more than likely, you’ll get some meaningless drivel like this.


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The One Where Sarah’s a Freak (#967)

I was reading True Mom Confessions the other day and one was submitted about always making sure that the stuffed animals were comfortable when she made her kids’ beds every day.  And I TOTALLY FELT HER ON THAT ONE.

I have a .. slight .. issue.  I believe that all things have a soul.

I KNOW.  I know it sounds crazy.  Mock me if you must.  But seriously.. this is a big problem with me.  I have been this way as long as I can remember, back to when I would take turns having favorite stuffed animals because I didn’t want any of them to feel slighted.  Back to when, in first grade, a friend let me borrow a poodle-shaped eraser and I treated it like a minature dog for a week, until my mother made me give it back.  Back to when, in third grade, I was obsessed with a McDonalds give-away Christmas Fozzie Bear and would not go anywhere without him.  If you want to give me a guilt trip, hold up a stuffed animal and make him talk.  Seriously, Bryan did this last night with a Curious George plush and I thought I was going to come-apart.  Of course, then Bryan did his BiCurious George take and sullied the good name of all monkeys everywhere.

I get upset if you throw DOMO.  He has feelings, you know.

The big bear that Keboobalah bought on the day of Binja’s birth?  I feel the need to play with him, since he sits there, just watching that kid play with toys that just DON’T APPRECIATE IT.

I blame two things:

  • The Velveteen Rabbit – I cannot read this without sobbing.  I have a first edition of this book .. somewhere, anyway .. and it still haunts me to this day.
  • When I was four, I was in preschool and we were playing with play-doh.  I punched mine, and the teacher admonished me with, “Don’t hurt the play-dohs feelings, Sarah.”  OH, SHIT, I thought. I NEVER REALIZED.

I worry about passing this INCREDIBLY STUPID and yet ENTIRELY CONTROLLING affliction on to my son, but at the same time.. on the off-chance that his toys came to life at night, wouldn’t you want YOUR kid to be on their good side?

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Sunday Clothes

First of all, thanks so much for the GREAT ideas on the last post, where I admitted that I had lost all hope of my family ever being happy with the same dish.  I don’t know why I hadn’t considered the “get the kid involved” thing.. DUR.. because he and I used to make pizzas a lot.  And he ate them.  Happily.  Ditto with tacos.  So I’ve got some fresh ammo for the coming weekend.

Fall is upon us.  Well, rather, winter is.  After a weekend of 70 degree temps, we woke up yesterday morning to temps in the low 40s.  Which, in Alabama, is as cold as we comfortably get.  Anything colder than that is cause for ice trucks, school closings, and the rush on the grocery stores for BREAD and MILK.  And TOILET PAPER. 

Binja was ready.  Unfortunately, he had a bit of a growth spurt.

Not so Itty-Bitty Binja

Notice how the neckline of the jacket hits his cheekbone?  That’s a 12 Month jacket.  My child is not yet eleven months.  He is a bit large.  We fear his wrath.


My mother also bought him a PRECIOUS Sesame Street outfit from Costco, also 12 months.  We cannot get the sweatshirt over his head.  Ginormous, that one.  Quite the mellon.

He gets that from his daddy, obviously.  I have a pea head.  Ra said so.

It’s funny how the size of my child seems to vary throughout the day.  Any parent can agree with me on this one.  He’s big when he gets up, and gets immeasurably heavy around five or six at night, but right about his last bottle, when he cuddles under my chin, he gets feather-light.  I could hold him forever at night.

You wanna know what the funniest thing is EVER?  How happy and confident some new clothes have made me feel.  I was incredibly naive and SWORE I’d be back in my prematernity wardrobe by the winter, but I was too small to wear what I bought last year when I returned to work post-partem, so when the chilly weather hit, I was up shit creek.  In a sundress.  Sundresses and sandals do not serve me well in 44 degree mornings, especially when I work for the gubment who does not fully support heat. (Vote Obama!  He loves heat!)

(That’s the closest thing you’ll find to politics on here, by the way.)

So I begged Bryan to PUHLEEZE let me go spend some money on clothes.  I’m sure he was all “SHE’S GOT SO MANY CLOTHES THAT SHE CAN’T PUT THEM ALL AWAY AT ANY GIVEN TIME” and he’d be right, but instead he said, “Sure, honey.  Do what you gotta do.”

Which is why he went to Decatur that night.

Anyways, I ran over to Kohl’s and picked up a few things.  Seriously.. A pair of pants and two sweaters. (And a Curious George for Binja.) And the next day, I wore the new pants and new sweater to work and?  And?  I felt like a million bucks.  I felt like the old Sarah.  Not the old, nasty, saggy post-partem Sarah I’ve felt like for ten months, but the happy, confident, go-get-’em Sarah from 2005.

Sounds silly, I know.  But seriously.  It’s a fact.  It’s indisputable.

The bad news is that I only bought two sweaters and it’s been cold for more than two days.  So I’ve bookmarked what clothes I need to get for my next trip (i.e. two more pants and three more sweaters), so maybe I can get back to looking a bit more polished at work and less like a hobo.

And a Sarah that feels good at work?  Definitely continues feeling that good at home.

(Honey, you hear that?  More clothes = more trips to Decatur.)

(I kid. A little.)

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Deceptively Delicious OR Mildly Mediocre

We’ve hit a bump in the road of “bonus” parenting.

My stepson, The Boy, does not like home cooked food.

Admittedly, neither does his father.  His father is one of the more picky eaters I’ve EVER met, and not even because he’s a food snob; no, it’s more that his upbringing was based around two food groups: FRIED and MEAT.  Well, maybe three groups.  There is fried meat, after all.

When we first started dating, we ate out a lot.  I think Bryan made chicken parmesan for me once, but that was a trial for him as well.  For the most part, we ate Thai food, Chinese take-out, and Italian.  Always out.  After all, I don’t cook.  Never have.  That’s WOMEN’S work.

And we’re partly to blame for his aversion to home-cooked meals; typically, when it’s a weekend with him, we tend to eat out a lot.  We’re usually on the go with sporting events or family outtings, so eating out is just more efficient.  BUT, times are not what they were.  So we’re having some growing pains.

Really and truly, I know it’s hard.  He grew up with his momma’s cookin’, and everyone thinks their momma’s cookin’ is the best EVAR.  So no matter what I serve up, it’s gonna be against that standard.  Strike one.  Also, we eat pretty healthy in our house: lots of veggies, everything from scratch, baked and not fried.  Strike two.  And we’ve also taking to eating at the dinner table, versus the tv.  Strike two and a half.

We had chicken parmesan alfredo over angel hair pasta with herbs and oil on Saturday night.  Nope, no thanks.  Had a few bites, but decided he just wasn’t hungry.  Sunday night, we had grilled italian sausage hoagies with sauteed zucchini and squash.  He had a bite of each but declared the meal “too italian”.  He didn’t like the fresh sausage we had with our pancakes one morning.  Even the PB&J I made for him on Friday night post-football game wasn’t up to standard; he said the white bread “tastes like wheat”.

Readers, help moi.  I need failsafe meal options to make at home that a picky eight year old (and thirty-something-year-old) will like.  Thoughts?

(Tonight, we’re having slow-cooked pulled pork bbq.  And I made a KICK-ASS pumpkin pie yesterday.)

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