It's all a blur

From the moment I decided to take on this "project" my mind has been the equivalent of a Sizzler. You know, that crazy ride at the parking lot carnival wherein riders locked into spinning "cars" by large metal rods swish through the air and narrowly miss crashing into other riders while the ride itself spins in the opposite direction; the occupants of the cars (which, by the way are little more than schoolbus seats), slide from one end of the carriage to the other and watch as the world around them is reduced to a fantasticly nauseating blur.

Yeah. That's kind of how I feel. My mind is "sizzling" at a million miles a minute and I can't figure out how to slow it down enough to actually put something on paper. (Paper being my trusty word processor, of course. ) I know, I know, just write - anything will do. HA! Anyone who knows me understands that my mental health requires that I have a plan. An outline. A concept. I have none of that. I jumped on this frightening contraption and nowI'm stuck, watching everything whizz past me. But I know that even if I bailed out, I'd get right back in line. *sigh*

Oh, and apparently the Sizzler is THE most popular ride at the amusement park. Go figure. :o)

New beginnings

I am a flake. Yes, I admit it. I often "commit" with gusto only to let my intentions slowly dissipate until it's months, sometimes years, later and I realize that I am in no better position than when I began.

Case in point: it's March and my baby is 1. I am now "ready" to (re)commit to working out. When I was in law school I was a workout fiend, hitting the gym for a minimum of 1 hour every day. After taking the bar exam (which, by the way was the worst experience of my ENTIRE life - not kidding) I started working for a judge and I managed to continue my regimine even though it meant getting up at 5:30am every day. Even when I took a job in Nogales I STILL pushed through, despite a 4:30am wake-up each morning. Then we moved and working out was even easier - our community club house has a gym literally less than 90 seconds (driving distance of course) from my front door and my commute was cut in half. Super-fantastic.

Then I discover I am pregnant and soooooo tired. Nap-time begins to take precedent. By the time I am 5 months pregnant I hit the gym maybe three times a week and at 6 months I pretty much stop going all together - minus of course the last month when my husband decides it's time to "walk the pregnant lady." This is no easy task as I am now carrying an extra 27 lbs and my endurance has dropped off.

After Alex was born I certainly didn't have the time or energy to go work out - nursing takes A LOT of energy. (I did however, have plenty of time to catch up on Days of Our Lives and discover the pleasures of FoodTv). Fast forward to the beginning of this post - March 2009 (approximately 60 or so days ago) and a renewed committment to getting back into shape. Well that was 2 months ago and I've been to the gym, at most, 2x in a given 7-day period. I've managed to find excuses for every missed workout - Alex was up all night; it's 5 and she needs to nurse first (yes, we're still doing it and no, I don't care if you think it's wierd); I missed the alarm; Michael is out of town and I don't have anyone to watch the baby; I think I have swine flu; etc......

In any event, I do believe I will eventually achieve my goal- just not as quickly as I had intended. Which leads me to the point of this post. I have a new project-something I'm a little intimidated to discuss, but it's one that I have been dreaming of for as long as I can remember but never really did anything about. I always had an excuse or a reason why I just didn't have the time. I have finally figured out that I cannot finish what I don't start and that if I don't stop being such a scaredy cat, I will never realize my aspirations. (Clever, I know). Progress takes time. If you jump into the ocean without learning how to swim, you're never going to make it out alive. Thank you, Joyce - for inspiring me to get off my ass and stop making excuses.

I'll be in the gym tomorrow.

I never would have thought I had the stomach for this.....

I definitely earned my stripes this week. The week started off pretty well. I greeted Monday at 4:46am (sans coffee even), gave the monkey a morning snack and stumbled to the gym. I made the car pool on time - a first in a long, long while - and had an exhausting, yet productive, day at work. Yay for saving the world from car thieves and burglars! I should have known it wouldn't last...

Tuesday I picked A-lex up from the sitter at McDonald's. It was McTeacher's night so everyone and their brother was trying to raise money for the local school. When I arrived the monkey was having a blast in the play area - I don't even want to think about all of the nasty germs just lying in wait for an unsuspecting immune system to happen by - ugh! Once we got home I let her help me make dinner (which is little more than Alex pulling ALL of the pots and pans out of the cupboard and me constantly repeating "No baby, that's hot! Hot!"). We sat down to eat and she refused. What? Refused to eat dinner? The same baby who turns into Satan when she's not fed on time? That should have been my first clue.

Bath-time, which is normally an A-lex favorite, was not good. I'll spare the icky details but will say that bleaching the bathtub and all of the bath-toys at 7:30pm is not my idea of fun. (Particulary when Daddy is tasked with keeping her attention while I sanitize the bathroom and I then come downstairs to see her crawling all over the dogs). Anyway, dog-hair-free pj's, a little boob and half of Cinderella later she's out.

Fast-forward 30 minutes. I hear strange cries coming from her room. Normally, she'll let out one or two wails in her sleep and that will be it. These were....different. So I go upstairs and pick her up. We sit in the chair and next thing I know, I'm covered in vomit. Great. For someone who gags at the sight of another person's snot, wearing vomit is not ok. To my own surprise I did not panic, dry heave or join in the action. (**I have determined motherhood carries its own set of superpowers. One of which is clearly the ability to withstand the foulest of bodily functions. ***)

So we take another bath. Together this time because now she won't let go of me. Period. I'm getting ready to put clean pj's on her and I see "the look" again. We reach the sink just as she lets another one roll. You don't realize just how much vomit a tiny little person can produce until you witness it first hand. Truly amazing. Luckily, she made it all into the sink. I decided to forego the pj's. Back to bed until 4:00am when I give her some Tylenol for her 101 temp.

At 6:30 on Wednesday morning she seems to be feeling a little better. The fever is down to 99.8 and the sitter has agreed to take her notwithstanding anymore vomiting episodes. 7:04 am: I'm just getting ready to get dressed and she pukes all over me again. And again. Super. (all the while Michael is trying to be helpful and clean up the spillage onto the floor but he can barely contain his own pukeage). So I send her off to the sitter with the understanding that I will leave work early and pick her up. I call the Dr. to see what they recommend and they tell me to bring her in. I spent the night checking her temperature every two hours. Even though she was 102 I didn't feel like I could give her ibuprofen because she hadn't eaten anything since refusing dinner the night before. Thank heavens for Kool-Paks which are quite possibly the greatest invention ever.

I ended up keeping her home on Thursday -at least I had the foresight to bring some files home with me -and I played nurse. It's a good thing too, because the puke-bug appeared to have traveled into her lower intestines. (apparently the other baby at daycare was sent home twice this week for a that same reason.) Even so, the A-lex would not be contained! I swear, if this child were a Transformer, she'd be a Destructi-con. Sickness is supposed to impart rest and low-key activities. Not my child. Not ever. She was all over the place all day long. Note: the below items do not belong in the middle of the living room floor and in fact have proper places not akin to the living room.

Thankfully, she did eat dinner last night (per Alex it was "num! num!"), she woke up fever (and vomit) free this morning and I have officially earned another Mommy-stripe.

Oh, and by the way.... my salsa is fantastic! :o)

Salsa anyone?

My husband makes salsa. Great salsa. Allegedly. Over the last four days he has told me no less than 8 times that he wants to make salsa and asked me to get the "necessities" the next time I go shopping. Ok, sure.

So last night as we're laying in bed he (again) tells me that he wants to make salsa and asks if I'll go to the store tonight after I pick up Little D from daycare. Keep in mind that for the past four nights Alexandra has not slept for more than 2 hours at a time. She's been extra restless and every time she wakes up, Mommy wakes up. On more than one occasion she has remained awake for over an hour. Not good. As a result, I have been practically injecting coffee into my veins all week just to be able to function in a semi-normal state. By the time I actually get into bed I'm somewhat disoriented and my brain activity is rapidly declining. Clearly, this is the perfect time for salsa conversation:

M: I need you to get the ingredients for salsa.
J: What are they?
M: Babe, pull up the secret recipe. I really want to make salsa
**(WARNING: sleep deprivation = broken brain-to-mouth filter)**
J: But it wasn't even good last time.
M: WHAT?!?!?
J: I mean.....last time, remember? It was really hot but not much flavor....
M: ---open mouthed stare---
J: I think it was the tomatoes. I'm sure if I get different tomatoes.....
M: THAT'S IT! I'm NEVER making salsa again.
J: Babe, I didn't mean it the way it sounded.
M: Nope. From now on, you're making the salsa.
J: *sigh*

Great. Not only do I now have the salsa-making responsibily but it needs to be better than his. Otherwise, I will never hear the end of it.

Alas.....

I'm not sure if this blogging thing is really for me. It takes time and effort and dedication - all of which I simply do not have a lot of. Or perhaps my inherent laziness is rearing its ugly head. My intention is to become more organized and efficient, thus making time for all of the fun (and not so fun) items on my to-do list. So far, I'm not fairing very well.

My baby has transitioned into toddler-hood and I am sad. :o( Don't get me wrong - she is amazing and funny and smart and so much fun, but gone are the days when she needed me 24/7. As I watch her pull peanut butter and bbq sauce out of the pantry and try to brush her teeth herself I remember how helpless and utterly dependent on me she was just a year ago. Every day my heart smiles and breaks simultaneously and I realize that nothing I do will ever be as important or worthwhile as this.

Now, time to make that to-do list.............

And so it goes . . .

After months of utter nothingness, I am finally posting on my once-naked blog. Not that I mind nakedness . . . but that's another subject entirely.


As for non-naked happenings, Michael has decided he wants to play the guitar. Super. I am already subjected to his Mike-mixes on a consistent basis, I can only imagine the added "benefit" of a musical instrument.

M: I want to play the guitar.

J: What?

M: The guitar.

J: The guitar?

M: Yes.

J: Why?

M: Because it's awesome.

J: Seriously?

M: YES

J: No

M: Why not?

J: I can see it now: you'll follow me around the house serenading me - ALL THE TIME.

M: Wouldn't it be so cool?

J: No

M: I need a strap though

J: No.

M: I'd be like a musical nomad.

J: No

2 weeks later......

M: Babe, why haven't you bought me a guitar?

J: Actually, I looked online. They're like $200.00

M: For an acoustic?

J: Yep

M: I'll just have to get one from a pawn shop...

J: You know, it's really difficult to play the guitar.

M: Really?

J: Yes. I tried to learn once. I wasn't coordinated enough.

M: It's going to be so awesome.

J: *sigh*


Absolutely not. I'm putting my foot down. No guitar. Right. I bought the damn thing on ebay as a Valentine's Day gift. Perhaps I'm masochistic, or just simply insane . . .