tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42652345592045927692024-02-18T21:10:18.583-05:00The Daily Toilings Of A Part Time Stay At Home MomMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.comBlogger146125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-34333366188879730932018-08-16T09:07:00.000-04:002018-08-16T09:07:37.628-04:00Dusting off the ole blog (2018 update)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Since it has been years since my last post I figured I would drop in with a little update for the legions of fans 😏. In the years that have passed the kids have continued to get older ( who knew?). I have much more free time without the demands of a toddler and a baby. Noah is turning 11 next week and Bella is 8 going on 16. The daily struggles are more about getting them to turn off YouTube and keeping them from killing each other over who gets to play ROBLOX next.<br />
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I have gone back to work part time in a local pharmacy. I spend my days there being yelled at about insurance issues, holding my pee and counting by 5's until its all I dream about at night. It's a good job if you enjoy being paid minimum wage and multitasking till your head is about to spin off. I was stupid enough to agree to the wage when I started because I thought it was some sort of punishment for the 10 year employment gap in my resume. Now 1 year later and I am still being paid like a 12 year old mothers helper. So the next few months are going to be a struggle as I figure out the next steps. Try to find another pharmacy that pays better or fight for better pay where I am...although I have been beating on that door for a while now with little progress.<br />
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Tahoe is alive and well (except for extreme laziness and a bum hip). We added two cats to the chaos, Mayble and her daughter Khaleesi. The fur is ERRRYwhere and vacuuming is yet another of my favorite past times. That's all I got for now...we will see how this goes, maybe I'll reignite my passion for the blog world? </div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-35576828349197393542013-01-22T20:43:00.002-05:002013-01-22T21:00:07.489-05:00My experience with prenatal testing. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjam3eVa34jD7esJq6imZmS3apk9yHSRlaGE8MjJzUFhZrQLVgv5LC54Pd15HmOJMFNuzJrIFZyP3HN5DNlvSsGDfSQwFxtTgwKnZfyro3FilBxecedo6Tr2O8IHN4UZUEFupsdmL55tIY/s1600/Midsagittal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjam3eVa34jD7esJq6imZmS3apk9yHSRlaGE8MjJzUFhZrQLVgv5LC54Pd15HmOJMFNuzJrIFZyP3HN5DNlvSsGDfSQwFxtTgwKnZfyro3FilBxecedo6Tr2O8IHN4UZUEFupsdmL55tIY/s320/Midsagittal.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
One of my first posts was my <a href="http://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4265234559204592769#editor/target=post;postID=7008216157759236339" target="_blank">baby girls</a> birth story. In all honesty I think the reason I started the blog was to get my story out there. By <i>out there</i> I mean taking all the emotions I had tied up in the experience and spilling them into the interweb hoping to find companions in the misery I experienced for almost 7 and a half months. To help me justify my feelings. Even the ones that crop up to this day.<br />
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Up till that point in my life I had never really dealt with something as hard and confusing as Isabella's prenatal testing ordeal. With my first pregnancy I signed up for the nuchal translucency test not because I was concerned about my babies chromosome count, it was simply because the test included a ultrasound. Any chance to see the blob with a flickering white shadow again was a chance to be taken. I honestly did not even know what they were looking at in the NT ultrasound with Noah nor did I care. The ultrasound at 13 weeks was a whole baby! Complete with arms and fingers and legs and toes and they were pretty sure...A PENIS! I left with absolutely no idea what the hell they were looking for but totally in love with my son (she was 70% sure). It was a no brainer that I would be having that additional ultrasound in any of my future pregnancies.<br />
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Fast forward two years and that future pregnancy was a reality. The very first visit to the obstetrician and I was signed up for the nuchal ultrasound. Little did I know that my naive notions about what this test was all about were going to be tested. I go into detail about the experience in Bella's birth post <a href="http://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4265234559204592769#editor/target=post;postID=7008216157759236339" target="_blank">here.</a> To make it simple, I did not expect to have the odds that a 55 year old woman is given that my baby could have Down syndrome. I was 29, shocked and scared out of my mind.<br />
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It was my first chance to take all my "perfect" notions about my "perfect" family and my "perfect" babies and imagine my life maybe not as "perfect" as I thought it would be. It is a scary notion. The thought that you may have a baby that will not be what you expected. Not what everybody was picturing when you tell them your expecting. Almost all of my emotions were more selfish then I could recognize at the time. I can say that honestly, if it happened to me again, I would most likely feel the same way. It is in our nature to surround ourselves with people that are similar to us. People that share the same interests, ideas, and sometimes even appearance. The idea that <i>YOUR </i>baby will not be in the same image that you have of yourself is, at first, terrifying and I am ashamed to admit...embarrassing. I think maybe even more so when that idea is planted by a doctor before your baby is even here. I had time mourn my little girl who had not even been born yet. What was I mourning? Why was I so sad? What was wrong with me? What was wrong with her? I had not even met my daughter yet and I was already so desperately terrified of her.<br />
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It was because of all these emotions that I started a board on Babycenter just for mom's that were going through the same prenatal testing experience. I started it thinking I would be lucky if 5 people joined. Today that number is almost 200 and grows daily. It is something that I am so happy I did. I have learned so much from these women. Women who give birth to babies with and without the predicted prenatal diagnoses that a NT can detect. They have taught me more than I could have ever imagined and I truly wish I had read their words when I was expecting my Bella.<br />
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When I hear another mom say that the board got her through her entire pregnancy I smile with my whole heart. It is exactly what I set out to do. It makes me feel really good at the end of the day. That and the son and daughter that I would have loved no matter how the hell they were born. That is the part you don't learn till the very end of this journey. These are your babies but they are not <b><i>you</i></b>. They will all be different. They will be okay so long as you just do what you are suppose to. Love them. The way they are. It is a struggle to keep your own selfish want to have a mini you running around that will get in the way but YOU WILL love them any way they are. That is one test that does not have a false positive.<br />
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<a href="http://community.babycenter.com/groups/a6728599/nuchal_translucency_ultrasound_information_group" target="_blank">The Nuchal Translucency Ultrasound Information Group</a><br />
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Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-58597476410621306632012-10-17T20:17:00.001-04:002012-10-17T20:17:24.700-04:00It's that special time of year. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It is the month of October so that means two things, one, it is breast cancer awareness month and two, it is time to pump the septic system. I know that I have mentioned this before <a href="http://michellegtu.blogspot.com/2011/10/our-shit-doesnt-stink-so-call-me-back.html">here,</a> but it is worth mentioning again since it causes me great distress each time. There is just something about a big giant truck with the word SEPTIC painted across the side, sitting in your driveway with a huge hose pulled out across your lawn humming loudly while your crap gets pumped out of a buried concrete box.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDE3l0VTTa8QWu7jWEysrURarcfQ0n-Tm-Exb7IIrZFYT_jdAbtXrwXhRWOUsET2HitkwvlApP8LtrRS2LRiAjwzmZbkzbHJ9pa9Ypr56qPIXP_zBGuZ2GLiW1SkAubAYY_TtbCY2PPRk/s1600/septic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDE3l0VTTa8QWu7jWEysrURarcfQ0n-Tm-Exb7IIrZFYT_jdAbtXrwXhRWOUsET2HitkwvlApP8LtrRS2LRiAjwzmZbkzbHJ9pa9Ypr56qPIXP_zBGuZ2GLiW1SkAubAYY_TtbCY2PPRk/s400/septic.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a diagram for your viewing pleasure</td></tr>
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I get the privilege of greeting this man once a year in October. It is such a special time. This year he came while the kids and I were outside playing. I was just waiting for Noah to ask him what he was doing..."ohhhhh I am just here to suck all the poo out of your crap tank!" Thankfully Noah spared me this one time. I don't think there was any question what the man was doing in the side yard once the smell started to permeate. Then you have to smile and wave as he gets into his truck full of horribleness. "Have a nice day and enjoy your clean tank! I will see you next year when you filthy animals fill it up again!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip6UYL6i5tLYZMGWWY9pBsGvC_pbbfcxpOxPsUiBqi4g8MqlprhG29-xQOcrCdt8k-JnAXAnUXE3deMIAnLSExSBhMTWXczAPqY-Ogp-3HsE1pN8aOzXxgj7V6IXbMP4U0WTb76DE3JEs/s1600/septic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip6UYL6i5tLYZMGWWY9pBsGvC_pbbfcxpOxPsUiBqi4g8MqlprhG29-xQOcrCdt8k-JnAXAnUXE3deMIAnLSExSBhMTWXczAPqY-Ogp-3HsE1pN8aOzXxgj7V6IXbMP4U0WTb76DE3JEs/s1600/septic1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No this is not "my" septic guy...talk about how creepy that would have been? </td></tr>
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Oh and you uppity town water/sewer people...your situation is pretty gross too. I have seen where all yours ends up thanks to hubby's job building water treatment plants. It's all gotta go somewhere. But dude??? The crap that city folks flush down the toilet...really people? Us septic tankers know better then that. One tampon gets in there and you might be out two grand!<br />
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I am going to tell a little tale about a teenage girl who had a friend from the city. All my life I was told we were not to flush any feminine hygiene products down our toilet. It was drilled into our little heads. That and the whole "<i>if it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down.</i>" I knew the deal, I knew why, but that did not make it "cool" to discuss with your new friends. Well I learned the hard way when this city sewer girl decided that along with feminine hygiene products she would also like to flush about a roll and a half of toilet paper down the poo pot. Thankfully the offender had gone home when the trouble began. See, usually septic houses don't have very strong water pressure. Wads of toilet paper the size of puppies can easily get stuck in the pipes. About 3 hours after the offender left we see water seeping out from under the door of the downstairs bathroom onto my parents brand new hardwood floors. The story ended with my dad in the basement, large black trash bin under the pipes, gloves up to his elbows, while he manually scooped this sopping wet catastrophe out. I of course was called down to bear witness. Since then I have no problem explaining that if anybody dares to flush anything besides shit down my toilet they will be personally responsible for getting it out when it lodges into a nice little corner of the poop shoot pipe.<br />
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I won't mention names but I have also heard a tale about a twenty-something year old woman being called by her father because he had just had his septic system pumped and there was a alarming number of condoms found blocking up the wholes in the leach field piping. Mind you she hadn't lived in her fathers house for a number of years and also denies she had any part in the high volume of prophylactics. It just goes to show you that these septic folly's can follow you around.<br />
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I swear that having a septic my whole life has built some serious character. :) Well that sums up this beautiful post! </div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-89170851673318211902012-10-15T08:49:00.000-04:002012-10-15T08:49:25.140-04:00You better get some gloves on.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A list of events from the previous week that have taken a year off my life.</div>
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<li style="text-align: left;">The weekend of October 6th, Dov and I celebrated our 6 year wedding anniversary. It was wonderful. We were able to convince the grandparents that they should spend some quality time with the kids (overnight), and also got my parents to watch the dog so we could have a solid evening and morning without kids or animals. The trouble started when we got home. Tahoe, the dog, starts this strange wheezing, shallow breathing, hacking up mucus thing. He seemed in enough distress that I believed for a few hours that this might be the end. He kind of snaped out of it by bedtime so we chalked it up to anxiety from the weekend away etc. (he is a huge pussy). By the morning though things were right back to bad. Of course Dov is now at work and I have the kids, one of which I have to drive back and forth to the elementary school about a dozen times a day. The vet makes me a appointment for 3:30 and tells me to keep my infected dog in the car (hows that for making you feel like a leper) and wait for someone to come out. About 30 minutes later, after the kids have unbuckled themselves and are screaming, yelling, and jumping all over the sick dog and me, the tech comes out to get us. Kennel cough. Tahoe, the dog that never goes anywhere, not to the groomer, not to the kennel, nowhere but my parents house has kennel cough. Easy enough and it didn't cost our entire bank account to fix him so I was happy.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Potty training. EVERY SINGLE PERSON I HAVE TALKED TO SAID GIRLS ARE EASIER. This is NOT true. Isabella has been incredibly difficult. She loves the idea of underwear but is completely unwilling to consistently use the potty. This leads to horror shows when I want to be away from the house for more then a hour. She refuses to wear a diaper and will definitely have a accident. It is awful. I wish that we had never started this mess. Just let her eventually decide that she wanted to use the toilet and never of brought it up. Yesterday I found her outside, no pants, no underwear. "What is going on Isabella?" "Nothing." "Where are your pants?" "Over there." "Why?" "I don't want to wear them." Of course they were wet. On and on this has gone for over a month. Some days she does great, others she craps on her bedroom rug. I am at a loss. Noah was wayyyyyyyyyyyy easier. Just show the boy he can pee standing up while aiming at stuff and it was done. Isabella...well she said it herself, "Mom. I am Isabella Lazy Pants." Yes you are little one...yes you are.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Now it is Monday morning 6 am. I am enjoying a beautiful sunrise and I let the dog out to do his business. 10 minutes later I go to let him in and he comes running in the house in the shitting position. Picture a dog taking a shit...got it...now picture it taking a shit and running. Okay so now that we are on the same page you know what I was thinking. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW! In the back door and out the front he went. I followed him out there and he proceeds to keep in the squat position. I can see a turd in his butthole. I call Dov, who is halfway to Connecticut (why is it that the shit, literally, hits the fan whenever he is gone) and tell him what I just told you. His suggestion...GET A GLOVE ON. Ummmmmm no. If there is going to be gloves involved you better turn that truck around. In the words of Sweet Brown, "ain't nobody got time for that!" Luckily for Tahoe, and me, the turd worked its way out on its own. HAPPY MONDAY!!</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Corn mazes are not made for children that don't walk good. Just so you know they don't walk good till they are 10.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">If your not paying attention your son will eat about 5 tablespoons of maple butter to his face at Texas Roadhouse. </li>
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<span style="text-align: left;">That concludes my list. </span></div>
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Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-905588048513693392012-09-11T15:18:00.000-04:002012-09-11T15:18:09.897-04:00Hasty home buying...the troubles, the perks.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When we bought our house here in southern New Hampshire I knew that it would be a little more "woodsy" then where I grew up in the suburbs of Boston. I mean we had deer in our backyard when I was a kid and my parents even maintained a small farm so I really didn't think that our little 2 acre parcel in Wilton NH was going to be that far from what I saw growing up in Hopkinton. I should also state that I honestly didn't have a clue about where I was moving to. When we were looking to purchase a house we were living in Virginia and had all of a 3 day trip (me alone with a infant and a toddler) to find and make a offer (basically give them what they wanted because we didn't have time to F around) on a house.<br />
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Purchasing a home with a crunch deadline is by far one of the worst things you can do. It leads to trouble undoubtedly. Basically the same thing that happens to everyone happens to you multiplied by ten. You LOVE the house when you are at the open house, you LOVE it when you ogle the MLS listing repeatedly, you even LOVE it when you do the final walk through. Then you sign your name to 1,000,000 pages of legal mumbo jumbo and slap that 30 year mortgage on your back and that house you LOVED a hour before...it just doesn't seem to look <i>exactly</i> as you remembered it. The basement seems wetter, there might be a funny smell in the bathroom, and that awesome barn, well it's full of 100 years of other peoples crap that you now are responsible for getting rid of.<br />
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I will admit that I didn't realize until closing day that 50 feet from the end of the driveway our road became a dirt road and that all the roads after that were unpaved as well. Oh and the 3 blue markers nailed to a tree across the street from my now front door were the markers for the beginning of the Russell Abbott State Forest. All 900 acres of its wild glory. I also didn't realize that after some rain the basement becomes the Russell Abbott State reservoir. A nice full and thorough investigation of the home would have revealed all of these things but who the hell has time for that right? We always liked to learn things that hard way. :)<br />
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I'm not shitting you about the basement</div>
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Fast forward 2 years and I would not change a thing. Sure I miss the 5 minute drive to Target now and then but I would not trade the privacy and wilderness for any of those conveniences urban dwellers have. From the bear(s) that me and my children have been able to watch in the yard, the baby foxes that played around across the street for weeks, the wild turkeys (ugly as they are) that flock in mass to my yard, the horses that come by almost as frequently as the cars, and this morning a full grown male moose was standing on my walkway. Pretty amazing stuff. <br />
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The baby is standing behind the mama</div>
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See I wasn't too too close. ;)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-mrgFGZlxTl749wojpKFo6CU2Htz-4ZHVVr6n911Hdjxz6FxHio1xuop2IsrVXonrVgFRN2w87PzJvKi3NcMKyM8YwV4vON9ZWBfCwdIB6w2UEkKbAq0K5mtNdhNElxNcIfFdMaG_tw/s1600/326357_1862906547128_1674918507_1519732_5173029_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-mrgFGZlxTl749wojpKFo6CU2Htz-4ZHVVr6n911Hdjxz6FxHio1xuop2IsrVXonrVgFRN2w87PzJvKi3NcMKyM8YwV4vON9ZWBfCwdIB6w2UEkKbAq0K5mtNdhNElxNcIfFdMaG_tw/s320/326357_1862906547128_1674918507_1519732_5173029_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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4 legged traffic</div>
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Picture was taken with a iPad and personally I think I could sketch a better shot. Do you think you can find your camera when something amazing is in your yard...no.</div>
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Home sweet home.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">So please somebody...(Amy?)...when I am maimed and eaten by a black bear who is pissed that I don't stock the birdseed like the previous owners did while wearing my bathrobe and Dov's work boots trying to get a good picture for Facebook, make sure this post somehow is read at my funeral. Thanks.</span></div>
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Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-63888402866167659012012-08-16T20:17:00.000-04:002012-08-16T20:17:26.002-04:00Hi my name is Michelle and I suffer from Hypochondria...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Alright, all of my family already know this and possibly some of my friends, but I am a true pussy when it comes to illness. I mean MOST normal people do not enjoy getting sick. Not only do I not enjoy <b><u>being</u></b> sick I hate it when anyone remotely near me or potentially near me is sick. If I have been around you and I find out you have come down with something shortly after we have had contact, I will spend the next week convincing myself that I surely contracted whatever E bola virus you have been stricken with. I feel a sense of doom usually reserved for people recently diagnosed with terminal illness. SERIOUS, SEVERE, GOD AWFUL, PIT IN THE STOMACH (first sign of stomach illness BTW) FEAR. It is debilitating.<br />
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I can tell you in all honesty that when I was 7 months pregnant with Noah I suddenly realized that this precious, untouched, germless baby was going to be born and someday would get sick and puke. PUKE, I said it, the one thing besides snakes that can send shivers down my spine. Any kind of puke. Virus puke, hangover puke, grossed out puke, I can not stand any of them. This realization sent me into a moment of panic. What the hell was I going to do? I certainly was not going to TOUCH the puke, therefore exposing myself to the toxic bacteria and viruses. For the short term I was able to push it into the back of my mind, along with the millions of other things that were too far in the future to worry about now. Silly silly me. <br />
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These days I can hold buckets up to the mouths of spewing toddlers, hell I have caught vomit in my bare hands to save my bedroom carpet. I can hose out basins and make a mean sick bed on the couch...see...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQbVbEFgNgXpLT_3mwDK443hYeX8JNM_etOgNpk62wIeL1mQVVj81EsrPN7kdkKk97vENhSdCtfYn1yeLGO5Ow0TQjK0h3k2vZqB6AIEoK9VvRZPuxRK68b7-TCBUm3ugUsN6hhi7fhY/s1600/IMG_0158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQbVbEFgNgXpLT_3mwDK443hYeX8JNM_etOgNpk62wIeL1mQVVj81EsrPN7kdkKk97vENhSdCtfYn1yeLGO5Ow0TQjK0h3k2vZqB6AIEoK9VvRZPuxRK68b7-TCBUm3ugUsN6hhi7fhY/s400/IMG_0158.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">notice the "puke" bucket...GAG</td></tr>
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Not to say I love it...but I can do it. (Not for Dov though...that hangover shit is for bitches...suck it up bud) but the kids I can tolerate. Kind of...<br />
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Now my new problem is thinking that every fever, illness, headache, stiff neck, bruise, etc is either childhood cancer, Eastern Equine Encephalitis, or at the very least West Nile Virus. I can convince myself that a bruise has been there for a month when its been probably a week, and I can drive my husband mentally insane trying to convince him that I am right. Noah has had a headache for a few days...must be a brain tumor! Bella has a low grade fever and lethargy...must be leukemia! I seriously have taken years off my life researching normal, run of the mill, childhood illnesses and convincing myself they are dire. I know I have a problem which is very lucky for my pediatrician. If I let myself call the office every time I felt that old familiar panic creep up as I scoured the Internet, I would most definitely be a fired patient. I work it out on my own 98% of the time...but holy shit does it take it out of me. Noah has been sick since Monday and I have a knot in my neck the size of a baseball from the tension and stress...listening all night to the sounds coming from his bedroom, going in to check if his temp is too high, making sure he isn't having fever convulsions. I haven't slept in 4 days!<br />
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In conclusion I think Mommy is the one who needs to go to the doctor. The "special" doctor. For some xanax. Until then...wine will suffice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fever bugs...my dream come true...and so much easier then anal thermometers ...:)</td></tr>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>There is not enough DEET in the world... mosquitoes will be the end of mankind.</li>
<li>Tylenol is a fucking useless piece of shit medicine designed only to make your child instantly vomit. If you want true results use ibuprofen.</li>
<li>Fever bugs are a neurotic mothers dream when it comes to checking your childs temp at 4 in the morning.</li>
<li>I feel better now. </li>
</ul>
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Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-28237977617714206612012-06-04T20:32:00.001-04:002012-06-04T20:32:44.667-04:00I think I might have a problem. Nope. I definitely do.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It is no secret that I love thrift. Second hand? Sure. Yard sales? Bring it. Free <strike>trash</strike> treasure on the side of the road? Yes sir! Flea markets? Couldn't think of a better way to spend a Sunday. I have no issue whatsoever admitting that I am cheap. Hell, I don't even think of it as cheap...I fancy myself smarter then the average bear! Until it comes to several items. This list will contain some of the things I keep buying cheaply and over and over again. They always disappoint in some massive, catastrophic way and therefore lead to gigantic arguments when husband discovers that, yet again, I have bought dollar store deodorant, or god forbid...trash bags.<br />
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I will begin with trash bags. Every time I go to the dollar tree I have memory loss when I reach the trash bags. Each trip I take I inevitably leave with a box. The lesson in what gargantuan pieces of shit they are was learned when we lived in our first 3rd floor walk up. To be perfectly honest, Dov discovered how useless they were. I would just pretend not to hear the string of expletives echoing up the stairwell when 5 times out of 10 the bag would bust open half way down and he would end up cleaning nasty garbage off the already questionable stairs. To this day I still buy them. Now I claim they are for the bathroom trash containers only...cause how heavy can tampon applicators and empty toilet paper rolls be? Whelp, 4 times out of 10...heavy enough to break the dollar store trash bag. <br />
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Next is pillows. I CAN NOT spend money on pillows! The last pillows I bought where from Big Lots. They cost 2.99 ea. When I brought them home my husband berated me the entire night. It did not make it any better when I asked for his assistance putting the pillowcases on and he pulled off a sticker that said. "PROTECT YOUR INVESTMENT. USE A PILLOW PROTECTOR." It was a 12.00 investment for 4 pillows, which is a hell of a lot more then I spend on most household items. I was ALL for the pillow protector (which I believe was 1.99). Boy am I glad Dov talked me out of them because it has been a month and they are already flat as pancakes and most nights I just sleep with my head on the mattress since cheap, flat pillows give me a headache. Can I stop buying them? Nope.<br />
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Moving on we have bed sheets. I MUST buy my bed sheets at Ocean State Job Lot and they can't cost more then 13.99. Of the last two sets I bought, one lasted 5 minutes and the other lasted a amazing 4 days!! With the first set the elastics in the corners snapped as soon as I put them on the bed and with the second set it turns out they were such a shitty thread count that we wore a hole in them...I mean how many couples who have been together 12 years can still wear a hole in their bed sheets. Well if you buy them at discount outlets you may be able to join my club! Since I discovered the hole today I have to make a trip back to the OSJL tomorrow. I like the night time exfoliation you get from 25 thread count sheets!<br />
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Now I will just list a few. The stories that accompany them are all hilarious but I am starting to realize I might have a problem.<br />
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<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>Tin foil from the dollar tree. Useless. Absolutely fucking useless.</li>
<li>Elf eyeshadow/mascara/eyeliner. Unless you enjoy a stinging, burning sensation in your eye then please be my guest.</li>
<li>Toilet paper from the dollar tree. Not actually a deal and there is like 5 pieces per roll.</li>
<li>LA's TOTALLY AWESOME WINDOW CLEANER from dollar tree. SHIT SUCKS SWEATY BALLS. Or if you like the look of smeared dirt then maybe it's for you!</li>
<li>Deodorant from dollar tree. As a kid one year we all got some in our X-mas stockings. Nobodies deodorant would roll up. We did what any self respecting cheapos would do and dug it out with various objects and smeared some on. Nice.</li>
</ol>
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Don't get me wrong there are plenty of great items there that will save you quite a bit of money. Here are some.<br />
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<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>Pregnancy tests. Fuckers work great. Take the 17 dollars and buy 17 more since you will instantly enter denial and need at least 17 more for proof of how screwed you are.</li>
<li>Greeting card. Who the fuck spends 6.99 on a greeting card? A asshole that's who.</li>
<li>Wine glasses. I smash those on the regular. At least once a <strike>night</strike> week.</li>
<li>Hummingbird feeder. Thing works like a charm.</li>
<li>20 oz Diet Coke. You know that shit costs 1.75 at the gas station.</li>
</ol>
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So there it is. I like cheap crap. Some of it worth it, some of it not. There is a old adage..."buy once, cry once" but I just can't seem to wrap my broken little brain around it. This is how I make sense of my problem. <b><u><i>The joy is in the purchase for me.</i></u></b> The act of buying it is what makes me happy. If I get to buy sheets 300 times a year I am creating my happiness. How sick is that? Oh well. :)</div>
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-33235330588334037082012-05-01T17:07:00.000-04:002012-05-01T17:27:09.224-04:00How racing a canoe can lead to divorce.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Anybody that has known me for about 15 minutes could tell you that I am not A) athletic or B) competitive. Not that I don't exercise but I don't like things like races, sports, gyms (come on we all know they're judging) and basically all things done in groups or teams. Now that being established I would like to take you back about two months ago. My husband calls me from work (amazing since I normally do all the calling during the day to scream about how much I <strike>hate</strike> love my children). He had called to ask me if I would be interested in participating in a canoe race on the Charles river. It had something to do with cleaning it up...the river that is. My immediate response was a emphatic NO. "No thank you, what time will you be home? I think I am going to kill the kids." Those were my exact words but I could tell he was let down that I was not as pumped up about this new endeavor. Granted I am sitting home with his two screaming, fighting children and not a bunch of excited coworkers looking to get together on a Sunday and have a cook out, but I digress.<br />
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I stewed on it for a bit and called him back to let him know that if he REALLY wanted to do it that I was in. This was my first mistake. When he got home I started pumping him for information about this little "race". Things like, WHAT THE HELL DO I HAVE TO DO? HOW FAR DO WE HAVE TO ROW? WHAT'S THE PRIZE AT THE OTHER END? To which I was told it was <u>"so easy"</u> and that it was<u> "not competitive at all!"</u> He actually told me that his team had decided it would be a nice paddle down the river to enjoy the sites. NO PRESSURE-just relax and enjoy the ride. He also said the team was broken up into groups of two and each group would be rowing about a 5-6 mile leg of the Charles. At the end...a cookout. I was hoping there would be a keg of Merlot but that was just my fantasy.<br />
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Over the course of the two months I freaked out several times, mainly after I found out that all his other co-workers wives had bailed, but each time he roped me back in with his promise of a nice afternoon without the kids and a leisurely paddle in a canoe just the two of us...NO PRESSURE. <br />
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So Sunday morning comes and at this point I have accepted that this was going to be FUN! We put on our team jerseys and out the door we go to meet up at our check point on the river. I knew the instant we arrived that I had been lied to. My first clue that things were not portrayed in a truthful light was the immense amount of Vibram fivefinger sneakers and spandex I saw sprinting across a main street in the middle of Waltham whilst carrying canoes over their heads and yelling things like "LEFT" "RIGHT" all while a adoring crowd screamed and cheered them on. Basically I turned to Dov and announced that I would like a divorce THIS FUCKING INSTANT.<br />
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Now I am made aware of the fact that when his two team mates arrive we have to heave the canoe out of the water and carry it about a half mile down the streets of Waltham to the next river entrance where we will board the canoe to the NEXT PORTAGE. Yes we get to get out of the canoe two more times and carry it down river to avoid damns and so forth. I literally wanted to rip his fucking face off with my fingernails I was so irate. Here I am dressed in jeans and my nice BRAND NEW Merrill sneakers and this is looking more and more like a shit fest as the true "information" streams out. When I asked if he knew of this before our arrival his answer was "yes." which only made me hate him more. I guess when I saw him wearing Tevas, a sweatband and shorts with a otterbox tethered to them I should of had my first clue, but I am blissfully ignorant when the quiet stillness of having no children to rear surrounds me. So that was my second mistake...the first one being the agreement to do this stupid thing in the first place.<br />
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His team mates are one of the last canoes to arrive at our checkpoint. This had me feeling confident that they were not in it to win it, so to speak. Well if they don't jam into the port and announce that we have to "HURRY UP CAUSE WE JUST PASSED ANOTHER CDM TEAM AND WE HAVE TO STAY AHEAD OF THEM." Yes. I started being a bitch right then. These team mates actually suggested we not waste any time putting on the wheel kit to drag the canoe! Yeah fucking right fella. Put the God damn wheels on before I turn straight exorcist on your ass!<br />
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Anywho...we made it. No we did not speak except for me to inform Dov that I was going to rest my arms so he better step up his paddle game. Yes we beat the other CDM team but honestly they must have been dead or paddling the wrong way cause sista was NOT trying very hard. By the time we reached the finish line the cookout was as good as over and even if it wasn't we had to drive to Hopkinton to pick up the kids and then haul it back to New Hampshire since Dov had a red eye the next morning to Wisconsin...convenient huh? <br />
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In the end it was good exercise and I ain't mad at ya baby. Well maybe a little bit. Have fun with Noah at the dentist Friday babe!<br />
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-90420568790558214042012-04-04T19:29:00.000-04:002012-04-04T19:29:07.020-04:00That table is perfect for blow.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On Monday I made a trip to Target for diapers and checked out with almost 200 dollars worth of...what I lovingly call CRAP. Well I won't say it was all crap just yet because I scored a little table for 30 bucks marked down from 100. So what if the first thing my husband asked me when he saw it was if I wanted to get some blow. I was damn sick of him thinking I was trying to put the moves on every time I leaned over him to get a tissue or put my glasses on the nightstand which was on HIS side of the bed. I wanted a night table and damn it I got one. It was the only table I have seen that was small enough and low enough and cheap enough for our slanted ceiling bedroom.<br />
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The blue light bulb is a mistake. Damn LED lights. Although it cast a glow that sorta makes you look like a corpse in the dark soooo that is not creepy at all right?<br />
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Also, Dov and I have started a little love affair with Amherst Earth Materials and spend pretty much all our free time and money buying mulch, compost, pea stone and such. We are both COVERED in poison ivy and my hands are as callused as a mans so I am hoping the yard looks freaking awesome because I sure don't. A few of the projects going at the moment are as follows.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you look REALLY hard you can see the bench and start of the garden. Right in front of the forsythia.</td></tr>
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The little box was our previous "garden." This will now serve as a herb garden? Maybe? We'll see.</div>
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Gotta have the fire poking stick. There is nothing this drunk girl likes more then messing with the fire!</div>
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<li>Raised garden bed-finally decided that if we are going to pretend to be farmers we should at least upgrade our 3x3 lettuce bed into something a little more substantial.</li>
<li>Pea-stone path through this ridiculous little island that use to house some sort of fish killing pond. This island is a work in progress. The little dogwood will tie it together if it ever decides to grow bigger then 2 feet. Oh and I decide to thatch and plant some 'real' grass. </li>
<li>Updated fire pit. The original one was started on a drunken whim and was made out of cinder blocks we found lying beside the barn. Lo and behold we used the pit so much all the blocks cracked. This time we dug it out and made it look "ghetto professional" or probably more "back woods fancy".</li>
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The poison. Of the Ivy variety. I will not disclose the body parts you are seeing but just know...I am VERY FUCKING ITCHY. And it has spread all the way down my back. You would think I rolled around in the crap. It is gawd awful. Dov is recuperating with steroids and I am starting to think I might give in and take the water weight if it means I can stop itching myself inappropriately every single place I go.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dov's calamine covered rash.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Some cuteness to balance the nasty above.</span></td></tr>
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<br /><br /><br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-78079827560118038532012-03-12T19:06:00.000-04:002012-03-12T19:06:00.194-04:00Overhaul...mind, body, closet.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So this weekend we tackled a project that I have wanted to accomplish since we moved into our house almost a year and a half ago. MY CLOSET! I kid you not when I say I had wardrobe boxes and 3 LARGE laundry baskets still filled with clothes from the move. I had NO clue what the heck I owned. My house (being old as dirt) has very small and limited closet space, one of the downfalls of loving antique homes. My closet was the exception though. There was plenty of space, since my room was an addition added on some time in the mid 80's. The problem was that it had been poorly laid out. There was just one l-o-n-g hanging rack and lots of dead space. To add to the problem the room has slanted ceilings on both sides, therefore large bureaus and wardrobes were out of the question. I had to hang literally every single article of clothing I owned...which of course I wouldn't do and most often I would just leave it folded in the laundry basket. This leads to wearing the same outfit at least 3 times a week, wrinkled, and not knowing what was at the bottom of the laundry basket EVER.<br />
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I would receive my IKEA catalogue about every 6 months and drool over the nicely organized closets. So this Saturday I dragged my dear husband and children all the way to Stoughton, a short 2 hour drive from New Hampshire, and picked out my brand spanking new closet system. That was the easy part, even the installation was easy compared to going through ALL MY CLOTHES. After I had them all out and piled on my bed and floor I actually felt tears burning in my eyes at the overwhelming task of sorting through all this crap! <br />
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I had clothes from three different eras and drastically different sizes.</div>
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<b>A)</b> Pre-pregnancy, size 7, fun, cute, sexy attire designed to get Mr. Jaffe to throw a ring on it.<br />
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<b>B) </b>Maternity clothes...nostalgia keeps me from getting rid of all of them and lets admit it ladies those elastic waist bands are pretty comfy! Guess A) worked out huh?! Also my husband loves those convenient nursing bras or as we lovingly refer to them "booby chaps".<br />
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<b>C)</b> Post baby frump attire. The size I won't disclose. But in my credit none of these frocks fit anymore because Mama is getting back in those era A clothes with a quickness! It was mostly yoga pants that have not once ever seen a day of yoga and Lane Bryant big girl britches.<br />
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It took me the entire day yesterday. From about 8am till 5pm with NO BREAK. I managed to trudge through the mountains of clothes and shoes...oh the shoes. I must really like to buy flip flops because LORDY there had to be 40 pairs. So by 4pm I had to make a trip to the clothes donation bin because I could not fit any more trash bags in my car. Now that is a mighty refreshing feeling. Letting go of all that extra bulk. As I drove away from that bin I felt about 100 pounds lighter. I know the car sure did.<br />
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So here it is, my pride and joy. I even got out the label maker. Now that is some Martha Stewart shit right there.<br />
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Check out my labels...</div>
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And hiding behind all of it is a entire other rack for all the dresses and formal crap I don't wear on a regular basis. Schweet!</div>
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Mom ain't wearing mom jeans no more baby! 25 down 20 to go!!!</div>
<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-29107943247634614942012-03-08T17:26:00.000-05:002012-03-08T17:26:13.303-05:00Progress (slow but steady)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Around Christmas this year I decided that the baby weight excuse was out the window. Slowly and steadily I have been chipping away at the excess baggage that two 8 lb babies and lots of trapped in the house boredom had created. I am happy to report the results are finally noticeable to me. Sorry for the Facebook body shots but this is more of a motivation for me to keep going then anything else. Hey I have to pat myself on the back sometimes folks. *pat, pat*<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is one of the pictures that let me see how out of hand this little "weight" thing had gotten. August 2011.</span><br /><br /></td></tr>
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February 2012</div>
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March 2012</div>
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-6846630707640895502012-03-06T19:35:00.000-05:002012-03-06T19:42:23.967-05:00Terrible two, three bourbons and a red refrigerator.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When I was a teenager there were people who would tell me that as I got older all those pesky teenage problems like acne would eventually get better and in some cases clear up completely. Not here. Nope. Since turning 30 it seems that my skin has decided it wants to have its cake and eat it too. Wrinkles (albeit not quite noticeably deep) sure, why not? Zits to rival a 15 year old, absolutely! WHAT GIVES? We already know that I was blessed with freckles which over time I have come to accept and even at times enjoy but zits and wrinkles??!! Come on already!<br />
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I seriously need some advice. I do everything right. I buy the oil free products, mineral makeup, wash my face diligently morning and night and still every single month, without fail, I am battling at least 2 major breakouts. Pro-activ works. Yes it does. It also dries out your lips and bleaches the shiznit out of every single towel in your bathroom. Then after you have ruined all of your towels and had your lips shed 10 times in a week they send you the second box of the crap at double the initial price. Soooooooo I cancel it. Then I need it again. And we do this at least 4 times a year. So that means we get new bath towels quarterly. Pretty expensive cleansing system if I do say so myself. Please, if you have any miracles send them my way. <br />
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In other news...widely announced on Facebook via slide shows and family adoration...my baby girl turned two!! Today we went for her well child visit and I am glad to announce I am dealing with a typical well child. Hooray for a clean bill of health. We had a nice little family birthday party for my girl and she made out like a bandit.<br />
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Daddy also has a birthday this month so we lumped them both together and celebrated Dov turning 30 last Saturday too. He got everything he ever dreamed of and now our liquor cabinet is filled with bourbon. Three different kinds to be exact. So needless to say Dov has been sleeping well.<br />
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We also took on a pretty significant project on Sunday. Chalkboarding our refrigerator. I had made up my mind that this was going to happen at about 7 o'clock on Sunday morning and by 12 noon the newspaper was spread out and the roller was in hand. I was not at all pleased when 5 minutes before the first swipe of primer my mother called to tell me, "DON'T DO IT!" Thanks but this Scorpios mind was set and there was no backing down now. I quickly got her off the line and began the process of magnetic priming my "elderly" fridge. I say elderly so that you know this is no brand new piece of kitchen equipment I was defacing. This fridge came with the house and is a good 10 years old. I basically figured that if this project became a monstrosity then worst case scenario would be me getting a new fridge. WIN/WIN right? I am happy to announce though that my family and I<b><u> LOVE IT!</u></b> I recommend that everybody paint their large expensive kitchen appliances with chalk board paint. :)<br />
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Sometimes you are doing something so crazy you just have to laugh at yourself...it adds to the whole "I have gone completely insane" image.</div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">~That about chalks it up~</span></i></b></div>
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****I also wanted to post a link to my group on Babycenter . I noticed that there has been a lot of traffic here from people searching "nuchal translucency". If you found me due to a iffy first trimester screen please head over and check out whats happening on BBC. <a href="http://community.babycenter.com/groups/a6728599/nuchal_translucency_ultrasound_information_group">Nuchal Translucency Ultrasound Information Group</a>. Lots of support and encouragement to be found .***</div>
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Happy Tuesday all!</div>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-63360124464977414142012-02-10T18:20:00.000-05:002012-02-10T18:20:11.828-05:00Things kids say...and do.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am entitling this post "The things kids say...and do" simply because today was a real winner. I decided fairly early in the morning that I wanted to venture out of our cave and enjoy some human interaction (i.e. shopping). Lets not get things twisted, I knew it would blow but I just could not stay put for another second. <br />
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To kick the day off my son went up to get dressed. About four hours later he appears in front of me wearing what I presume to be his coming home from the hospital outfit. I swear the kid was wearing a size 3 months...not actually but at least a 24 month and he is in a 4-5T. This is what I like to call a "motherhood failure". He is in these clothes because of my shitty mothering. I F-ing hate to clean out their drawers and closets. It is AWFUL. First off, you are throwing clothes that you bought two months ago into garbage bags and lastly because who wants to get rid of the cute little things they wore when they were cuddly babies? <br />
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So anyways once I have both the little lovelies dressed appropriately we venture off to Nashua so that I can get my Christmas Tree Shoppe fix. I know the whole way there that I am going to spend the entire shopping trip in a anxiety ridden state, trying to keep both the children semi-quiet and behaved. I knew I would not be let down in the embarrassment department.<br />
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Well Bella never ceases to amaze me with her rotten shopping cart behavior. She WILL NOT SIT IN THE FRONT PART OF THE CARRIAGE. Let me say that again...<b><i><u>WILL NOT</u></i></b>. What usually occurs is some sort of WW III battle of wills. I try to get her two writhing legs jammed into the damn leg holes while she screams as if I am tearing her limbs off...which technically at that point I kind of am. Then it concludes with me sweating and exhausted throwing her into the large part of the carriage as she grunts her approval. Oh and while this is going on Noah is dashing in and out of the electric doors and all the cashiers and patrons have on their ugly judgmental faces. Whatever. I just drove 45 minutes and I AM HERE BITCHES now get out of my way!<br />
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Bella and Noah fight over who will SLAM the items I want to purchase into the carriage and several times Bella breaks into hysterics because she is hot (even though we already took off her jacket) and because Noah has bashed her in the head with a giant dog bone. Old ladies come over and try to make things better by asking my sobbing, cranky, irrational daughter how old she is. Like that has ever worked. All it does in Bella's case is piss her off even more and make her want to be held since "old lady" is scary and has lipstick all over her teeth. Noah on the other hand thinks that they are instant best friends and wants to share intimate details about our life. Yup, mad dash away from the Ye do gooder.<br />
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Now I have made it through CTS and want to head over to Babies R Us which is located directly next door. I don't even bother getting another carriage (cause you remember how that goes) I just walk in with the CTS carriage with Bella still sitting in the front. Now I HATE Babies R Us but I needed diapers. I had not been in the store for 30 seconds when some employee comes up to me and asks if I could please put my daughter in the front of the carriage. HAHAHAHAHAHA NO. Nope I will not. Thank you for your concern but I obviously value my sanity over my daughters well being. Seriously I JUST WANTED SOME OVERPRICED Babies R Us diapers. Not a lesson in how a child should ride in a carriage. Do you think I don't realize how my two year old should be sitting in the carriage? Do you think I can't see the little step by step drawings on the seat? Do you think I somehow don't realize that she could fall and bust her head? Bitch I know ALL of that AND THEN SOME. I just choose to forgo a afternoon migraine and the awkward stares I would receive while my daughter loses her shit for the entire shopping trip. Not only that but when she sits in the front of the carriage she unbuckles herself and climbs out of the damn thing!! Which is about 1000 times more dangerous then having her sit in the big part.<br />
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People. Can't live with em, can't punch them in the mouth.<br />
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After that nice awkward exchange we are standing in the checkout line when Noah decides that he wants to have a staring contest with the woman standing behind us. He carefully explains all the rules of a staring competition to this poor lady who just wants to buy her nipple ointment in peace, and then he starts the game. Now I am so glad that he is standing still that I don't even bother to tell him that it is inappropriate to engage strangers in games of staring into each others souls. And then Noah blinks. The lady says, "<b>I win!</b>" and Noah goes ballistic. Denying that he blinked, trying to convince her that she blinked first etc. Boy was I glad to get the hell out of there.<br />
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There were a few more stops before we managed to get home. Each had their own crappy moments but we eventually did get home. In one piece. Alive. Therefore I call it a successful day! When I notified Noah that I was NOT cooking tonight and that Dad was going to bring home pizza he looks at me and says, "Well Mom, Pizza has a lot of fat in it. Sooooooo if you eat it your going to have to do A LOT of Zumba. But make sure you do Zumba while I am at school okay?" Kids, gotta love em.<br />
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TGIF.<br />
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-82451497197978944242012-02-01T09:19:00.000-05:002012-02-02T07:05:26.935-05:00The story of a man urinating out his window onto my grill while I watched.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A while back <a href="http://michellegtu.blogspot.com/2011/03/virginia-is-for-lovers.html">I had mentioned</a> that while I was living in "dirty, dirty Marlborough" as Dad so fondly called it, a neighbors son had relieved himself from his bedroom window onto my grill. I know this because I stood there and watched him do it. Me. The one who has no issue with confrontation, hand to hand combat, or telling somebody where to stick it. Boy am I glad that I just smiled and watched him give it the triple shake at the end because here he is now...<a href="http://www.wickedlocal.com/marlborough/news/x868518887/2-held-without-bail-after-Marlborough-raid-yields-guns-drugs">2 held without bail after Marlborough raid yields guns, drugs</a>. <br />
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Now I hope you clicked that link because if you did there is a photo of the lovely young man. The one with the braids was the urinator. Just to think I shared a wall with him. Rested my weary head after long days of work and listened to him BLAST his turn table until wee morning hours. Never once did I call the police or even give a dirty look at the mailbox. Boy am I glad now. I could of ended up on the evening news. Dead in my slummy apartment. I always found the amount of noise from across the hall odd. There was constant yelling and slamming things around. Several times his mother was taken by ambulance. At the time, naive me, thought she was just trying to get a night of sleep with out the sounds of his horrible homemade rap songs. Or maybe she had just gotten sick of him screaming for her to go F###k herself, which was also a nightly occurrence. But obviously she had either overdosed on cocaine or been shot by her son.<br />
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To be honest the above mentioned apartment was not the only shit hole I lived in. My very first one was a third floor, illegal, attic studio apartment with a VERY strange neighbor and consistently frozen pipes. Extreme and constant use of space heaters to keep the water flowing was probably not the hottest idea (well I guess technically it would be the hottest idea) since I would have burned alive with no secondary exit to be had. Just a three story drop onto a 1985 Chrysler convertible (my neighbors pride and joy).<br />
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This little beauty was on Broad street in Marlborough. About a stones throw from the wet shelter and the site of the biggest drug bust in Metrowest history. My neighbor was a man in his mid 50's who chain smoked and liked to gloat about his "convertible". The very first time I entertained my friend Amy at my new home my "strange" neighbor decided that he wanted to lock his <strike>girlfriend</strike> prostitute out of his apartment with no clothes on. So here I am trying to look mature and awesome with a place of my own and there is a naked woman screaming and banging on the doors outside. WINNING.<br />
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I guess I should of known something was off when the day I moved in he knocked on the door to introduce himself with a X-large Dunkin Donuts cup full of a noxious alcohol concoction...eight hours later he knocked again to introduce himself with the same cup, full again.<br />
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What brought about this post is the fact that last month the apartment building next door to my old digs burned. Yes, in the attic, from a space heater, in a illegal studio. Just brought back memories. is all...you can watch it here.<br />
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Not to say that I didn't love the times I had in both those rats nests. They were some of the funnest days so far. :)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is apartment #1 the day I moved in. Notice the jug of wine...just trying to fit in to my new surroundings.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was about 2/3's of the apartment. Slightly cramped for 2 but hey couldn't beat the 360.00 rent.<br />
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-90915206680364324342012-01-16T08:19:00.000-05:002012-01-16T08:19:00.276-05:00Are you there five? It's me Mom.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have a confession to make. I<u> can not wait</u> till both of my kids are in school. Not preschool, REAL school. The kind that lasts more then 35 minutes and also provides transportation. Right now Noah is technically in "preschool". That is where I pay money for him to basically stay home with me. No joking, he has been in school for 3 days in the last 3 weeks. First it was winter vacation. Then a illness brought on by the fact that 4 year old's are walking petri dishes full of rotavirus. Today, it is Martin Luther King day. So for the past month I paid the school district so that I could watch my own kid destroy my house and tear down my last bits of sanity.<br />
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On days were Noah does have school he gets dropped off by<u> me</u> at 8:30 am. When I say 8:30 I MEAN 8:30. The teachers stand behind the doors of the school watching us in our cars as the children jump around the vehicle from the front seat to the back, putting the windows up and down, touching all the dials on the dashboard, kicking the back of my seat, and instigating fights with their siblings. At exactly 8:31 they open the doors...not a minute earlier. Then I drive home, put the car in park, get my daughter out, have a cup of coffee, get back in my car and pick him up at 11:15 am. Yes I love the baby stage, I wish he would be little forever, blah blah, mother of the year blah, but please for the love of all things holy TURN 5 ALREADY WILL YA!<br />
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<b><span style="color: purple;">All the wonderful things that happen by the time they are five.</span></b> </div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li> They no longer consume formula and or breast milk (both of which will make your life a living hell). Formula is about the cost of your monthly mortgage payment and breast milk??? Well I personally couldn't go 6 months without alcohol consumption so rock on boob feeders.</li>
<li> Diapers are no longer on your weekly shopping list. Damn how I will be gleeful when that 20 dollars at Target can go towards some Mosimo clearance!</li>
<li> Hopefully they can communicate by then with words and the constant crying and whining to get what they want will end.</li>
<li>A school bus will pick them up in the morning and take them to a safe haven for a few hours.</li>
<li>I will be able to go back to school/work since I won't have to pay 4.000,000 dollars a month for a babysitter or "preschool" as they like to call it.</li>
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<br />
That is the short list but I am sure I could think up more if my son was at SCHOOL instead of standing here demanding food every 3 minutes.<br />
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So yes, there are times I wish they were babies again but that moment is fleeting and immediately followed by the extreme desire to spend my days doing something other then pouring goldfish and driving back and forth to the school. I've got a few months left on number 1 and a few years left on number 2. It seems very long from my vantage point but I know any mother of teenagers will tell me it flies. I guess it is kind of like a car payment, for lack of a better analogy. You spend 5 years making that damn monthly payment. Bitching and complaining and waiting for that last payment stub to be sent off. The day you do, you look into the driveway and start dreaming of the next NEW car and the cycle continues. <br />
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I am sure that when they are both in school I will find things to complain about too. Why? Because that's just the way it is. Today I can't wait for 5. By the time they are 5 I will probably be wishing they were 1 again. (Sigh) Probably not. :-)</div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-64451930793888757632012-01-11T21:11:00.000-05:002012-01-11T21:11:53.416-05:00Dog shit, Chicken shit, Baby shit.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This week I get to have the house, kids, chickens, dog, wood stove, snow removal, trash removal, and nightly meltdowns all to myself. Yes, Dov is away for work and I get to captain the ship solo. Not that Dov is on vacation or anything...but he might as well be as far as I am concerned. I would do just about anything if I got to do it alone. I just need to get away from this damn house! How could it be any worse then the chores that need to be done here with the two leeches hanging off me.<br />
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For example, Sunday the day Dov left, I had my parents here. While we were meandering around the yard I happened to notice that there was a exponential amount of dog crap in the yard. Guess I haven't been keeping up with that part of dog ownership? Well it didn't bother me till I had guests jumping over dog bombs all over the yard like a mine field. So out to the yard I went with the shovel and bucket in hand. Now the two children are out there as well, surrounded by power wheels, swing sets, tire swings and bikes but what are they doing??? shadowing me and stepping in every single dog shit I miss. Into the house we go clean dog crap off shoes. FML.<br />
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Now that the yard is all cleaned up for Tahoe to move his bowels in again, I head over to the chicken coop to get killed by my Rooster (yes the children follow me here as well). Now the chicken maintenance is minimal at best in the summertime but in the winter, if you are a cheapo like me who won't splurge 50 bucks for a heated water dispenser, you will need to change out the frozen chicken water throughout the day. No big deal if you are not deathly afraid of getting your face pecked off by a jacked up Rooster. This exercise in overcoming extreme fear has been going on for a week now...tonight it seems we have found common ground.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyylENrQvccpJTWqRnPyRDftGhbuzKh9Re2xP-RWCSkLxOHXkVhpUpylZoy7HE4DK2lCwiLP3A8I7RCF6vc-A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I headed in to get the water and check for eggs around 4:30 this evening. All the hens were lined up sweetly in their poop covered laying boxes dozing peacefully and there on top of all the roosting boxes was him, and by "him" I mean the assbag rooster. Stalking back and forth, stopping to periodically lift his talons and pretend he was going to launch into my face. Below him, on the coop floor lied one egg. I then had to work up the courage to bend over, rendering myself helpless prey, and pick up this egg. HE LET ME DO IT!!! HE DIDN'T EVEN TRY TO KILL ME! I think we have had a breakthrough. I know he wanted me to leave it there because if I did he would eat the thing. That is how gross he is. He eats his own fetuses. Gross right?<br />
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Anywho...there is all the animal stuff and then the day to day crap with the kids. Probably worse then the dog and the chickens combined. Kidding...I think? We are all plain sick of each other and getting testy. Bedtime just keeps getting earlier and earlier. Pretty soon they will be tucked in before dinner, saving me that Goddamn horrible job. DINNER TIME SUCKS WITH KIDS. Sorry it does. No matter what friggin awesome thing you slave over, they will not eat it. They will tell you it is gross, nasty, and that they want mac and cheese. You will end up shoveling all that hard work into the trash 20 minutes after it leaves the pan.<br />
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Okay and it is supposed to snow tomorrow. Here in the Nashua area we are going to get "some" accumulation...most likely just enough to make getting wood for the wood burning stove really annoying. Yes the "wood stove" that we are heating our entire house with. So this is a full time job in and of itself. I have to keep that thing cranking if I don't want us to all freeze to death. So here I am holding my eyes open with toothpicks at 11:30pm waiting to stock that beast for the night. Oh because if you do it earlier the stove goes out while you are sleeping and your pipes freeze...no responsibility there right?<br />
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Moral of the story...I will be covered in at least three different species shit by the time Dov gets home.<br />
Human, chicken, and dog. I am sure he will be so glad to see me! <br />
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We are all still alive. That is all that matters.</div>
<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-12025725726653448862012-01-05T09:43:00.000-05:002012-01-05T09:43:30.276-05:00kind of amazing how much changes in a couple years.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I was looking at pictures last night and was slightly amazed at how much my babies changed in the first several years of life. You can not tell what your child will look like the moment they are born or even a year after...I think it is somewhere around the fourth year of life that you can start to see just what your child might look like as a adult. Here are my examples.</div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">Noah (birth to 4 years)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFaF9YapLUKdWHg6diHDxFBo8ovSkaS5tilS-m5hE7LCsnR1Pbsp4h1MQiIqm8wPVPRhMsCFlfP2yLSEr8ABZSqQZ9mbqpOEJdCPrg_XbK5cZ7Oz4wKYcg-2dKH8cw7AJb2mkjzA-UJM/s1600/Picture+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFaF9YapLUKdWHg6diHDxFBo8ovSkaS5tilS-m5hE7LCsnR1Pbsp4h1MQiIqm8wPVPRhMsCFlfP2yLSEr8ABZSqQZ9mbqpOEJdCPrg_XbK5cZ7Oz4wKYcg-2dKH8cw7AJb2mkjzA-UJM/s320/Picture+010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Here Noah is exactly 20 minutes old.</div>
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1 month old</div>
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3 1/2 months old</div>
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7 months old</div>
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9 months</div>
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10 months</div>
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1 year old</div>
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2 years old</div>
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3 years old </div>
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4 years old. ;)</div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: x-large;">Isabella, just shy of 2 years. (birth to now)</span></div>
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5 minutes old</div>
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2 weeks old</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgDsPejA18y0R56GH-Ik_YEixNv5xwoHi7N7hlAQMxUhpWA5puUZ8KVa3kSQmNZ-7PGuCHgWjMPfWYtgDxRrAzhO-OYRbdo-eXWRC1uQqKX5rEGjLN4xXF2tztJYWcWgQdPeOQDrOS9w/s1600/IMG_1133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgDsPejA18y0R56GH-Ik_YEixNv5xwoHi7N7hlAQMxUhpWA5puUZ8KVa3kSQmNZ-7PGuCHgWjMPfWYtgDxRrAzhO-OYRbdo-eXWRC1uQqKX5rEGjLN4xXF2tztJYWcWgQdPeOQDrOS9w/s320/IMG_1133.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Almost 2 months</div>
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4 months old</div>
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5 months</div>
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6 months old</div>
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1 year old</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAHBbJnvjmTP0xDRMC5jEbk-G_HekRgRfzGVheEJWsBQa-fn8huJN11IN320gddGVA6SR6PsEi_Wsajfeg2CO4mmuwRDR37NPkuldgwfk0mYvI1luKroMG0BAt_7Q7VKw-MpGQSGQcZs/s1600/219561_1624279101591_1674918507_1247764_6583005_o%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAHBbJnvjmTP0xDRMC5jEbk-G_HekRgRfzGVheEJWsBQa-fn8huJN11IN320gddGVA6SR6PsEi_Wsajfeg2CO4mmuwRDR37NPkuldgwfk0mYvI1luKroMG0BAt_7Q7VKw-MpGQSGQcZs/s320/219561_1624279101591_1674918507_1247764_6583005_o%255B1%255D.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
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13 months </div>
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1 1/2 years old.</div>
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</div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-51400377313234069902011-12-19T14:20:00.001-05:002011-12-20T07:34:36.259-05:00Quitting for me.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Lets see. How did I start smoking...I remember clear as day. All throughout high school you could not have met a bigger anti-smoking advocate. If I found a friend smoking the ration of shit that followed would scare them into the closet, and then their car would forever smell of Yankee candle car spray and stale nicotine. Or they would just deal with the annoying barrage of insults thrown their way about the smell, the cancer, the yellow teeth etc. I was the girl who cried, "I grew up with a smoker and it is disgusting and nasty and blah blah blah."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNEKhAJ74hDNJSKn8v9X-zVrmCCDl0OvLf84OskCYCwXwJuqjprTcReoXycrfhKhoSuxIY7kLRgfi68BQuOtB8q5T2PHUeUXQlR4X_yOhOfbyk-MYN593pWhDoWmBOfOe20bBJhFdi8c/s1600/CCF06102010_00015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNEKhAJ74hDNJSKn8v9X-zVrmCCDl0OvLf84OskCYCwXwJuqjprTcReoXycrfhKhoSuxIY7kLRgfi68BQuOtB8q5T2PHUeUXQlR4X_yOhOfbyk-MYN593pWhDoWmBOfOe20bBJhFdi8c/s400/CCF06102010_00015.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still a smoking virgin here.</td></tr>
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Fast forward to a breakup, graduating high school, and the impending move away from family and friends for college. Those were the ingredients I needed to make my excuse that I wanted, slash that, NEEDED a cigarette. The first pack of "butts" were amazing. It was like a legal buzz. The light headed feeling, the low hum in your ears, the impending lack of appetite, it was everything I wanted at the time. Lots of late night hours spent cruising around my home town listening to music with my dear friend cigarette.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaeBYh_bfZ1IvXYyMofTcoKzlL2d5n0KVx9DCV33l_0HjwnD0t-KuJXo0JM__TzPQCZHcoTFa1WTOZ0ggPECOJ9ofryKwkEvU3sypVjEseTk-zKJaKlHz5mb3sDBjtC62024NXy-bglg/s1600/CCF06122010_00004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaeBYh_bfZ1IvXYyMofTcoKzlL2d5n0KVx9DCV33l_0HjwnD0t-KuJXo0JM__TzPQCZHcoTFa1WTOZ0ggPECOJ9ofryKwkEvU3sypVjEseTk-zKJaKlHz5mb3sDBjtC62024NXy-bglg/s400/CCF06122010_00004.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> 3 months later. The day I left for college. Note the butt hanging from my hand. Nice touch to any picture right?</td></tr>
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I had solidly convinced myself for the first two years that I was a "social smoker" that the butts alone in the car or before bed were just because I was "stressed" that day. But around year three I knew that I was a tried and true smoker. I had anxiety when I was down to my last couple cigs and couldn't get to the store till the next day. I would be out to dinner and all I could think about was when I could get outside to light up. I thought up reasons why it was good to smoke...hey more breaks at work right? Yes, year three I knew I was hooked.<br />
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Then I was getting married and things were going great. I was planning my wedding, eating healthy, exercising and smoking didn't fit the image I had in mind of the bride I wanted to be. I didn't want to be in my gown, huffing a butt down before the cake cutting. I made a promise to myself that I was going to quit. And I did. For 8 months. Then I gave in to the "stress" excuse and lit up two weeks before my wedding. And yes, I was the bride smoking a butt in her beautiful gown. GROSS. NOT CLASSY. and I was so mad at myself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8xD3Hdy-vOCEsmzVmcpbJL-qITz1dttMfgY0FXVXSKsQ64yHPf0rFYhDXR4cvYylJtPk2k8zjk88dCojJJajkEMbywo0SGT1Ptqf9ArlR8_OP8La-A0sWZUKT_sH-YcrqigKoq-CHY4/s1600/wedding+277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8xD3Hdy-vOCEsmzVmcpbJL-qITz1dttMfgY0FXVXSKsQ64yHPf0rFYhDXR4cvYylJtPk2k8zjk88dCojJJajkEMbywo0SGT1Ptqf9ArlR8_OP8La-A0sWZUKT_sH-YcrqigKoq-CHY4/s320/wedding+277.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes Dad had to come get me outside for our Father Daughter dance...had to have that butt!</td></tr>
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One month after my wedding I was pregnant. SMOKING WAS NOT A OPTION. As soon as the test confirmed that we were going to be three I threw my pack in the trash. I didn't think of them again for 10 months. Noah was about one month old when I picked up a cigarette again. I could not believe that I had gone back to it. I convinced myself that I would only smoke at night, outside, when I was not near the baby etc. etc. And for the most part I did stick to that. I never smoked near Noah or in the house. Not that it makes it any better. Hurting yourself is as bad as hurting your child.<br />
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With my second pregnancy I quit again. This time it was harder. I was far away from my family, my pregnancy had taken a bad turn and become VERY SCARY. During Bella's pregnancy there were definitely times that I wanted to smoke. I was steadfast though and didn't give in...till she was a week old. Again I had let myself and my family down.<br />
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Here is the thing. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, when my uncle was diagnosed with cancer, none of those things were enough to make me quit. I had to be REALLY sick of it. SO SICK OF NEEDING AND WANTING A CIGARETTE. I was tied to them and I hated it. I hated the feeling I had in the morning after a night of smoking. I knew that it was slowly killing me. I loved my family and I wanted to spend every minute I could get out of this life with them, not a cigarette. That is why it worked this time. I love the fact that my kids don't know I ever smoked...I want to keep it that way. Hey, little white lies don't count. Nagging won't work. Lead by example. When the person you love is ready, they will quit. I am sure they hate the fact that they smoke even more then you do.<br />
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<b>THREE REALLY GOOD REASONS</b></div>
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-29579893938558161282011-12-17T18:50:00.002-05:002011-12-17T18:50:48.519-05:00People throw rocks at things that shine.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I ventured out to do a few last minute Christmas shopping errands today and realized in short order that staying away from the holiday craziness would be better. So back home I went to deck the house out with flamboyant Christmas decor. I swagged, bowed, collected, twisted, cut, twirled and hunted birch bark...with a little help from Mr. Noah. Yes I have that kind of time people. Time spent doing crafts for our home with my kids is time NOT wasted. They love the little jobs as much as I love looking at our finished products. Noah collects pine cones and searches for the BESTEST birch limb and I cut evergreens and twist wire...it is good people...real good.<br />
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We also have decided to reclaim our downstairs. ALL THE TOYS HAVE BEEN BANISHED TO THE SPARE BEDROOM. Does that mean that they play up there? No. What it actually means is that I spend lots of time lugging toys back upstairs after they are done playing with it down here. I knew that it would happen but it is still better then looking at millions of broken Happy Meal toys and vacuuming up tons of plastic that the dog chews up. So now any overnight guests get a free stay at the playroom suite. Fully equipped with a queen sized bed, reading light, train table, playhouse, plastic kitchen set, and hobby horse. Sounds cozy right! <br />
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Well here is a rundown of the latest projects around Jaffe household. </div>
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This was a ugly potted dying plant. Now it is my tribute to the beautiful state my daughter was born in. And it smells good to boot!</div>
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Virginia</div>
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We like sticks in this house. Stick runner, stick centerpiece in a vase filled with Noah's hand picked pine cones. He said he only picked "THE BEST!"</div>
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Door swag. Simple, pretty and 25 dollars at the end of the street. FREE and took 4 minutes.</div>
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Now this I stole from Pintrest and put my own spin on it. This is our wedding invitation cut into strips, twisted around and a pencil and put into a vase. If you turn the vase around you can read the important parts of the invite. I just thought it was such a cute way to display such a important day. When I get around to Micheals I will be putting it in a clear ornament with a little glitter...SO pretty. For now it's a vase.</div>
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This here is one of those t-shirt scarves that are all over Pintrest. Since my husband HATES to part with anything I am only able to get my hands on REALLY ugly t-shirts. This might work for a Red sox game??</div>
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My little crafty helpers!</div>
</div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-58341067861212074562011-12-09T09:34:00.001-05:002011-12-09T18:01:14.038-05:00This is madness. Complete madness.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So to get in line with the whole holiday cheer movement I have decided to make the best of this monstrous head cold. Here is one MAJOR bonus of having so much mucus in your sinuses that it feels like your cranium is filled with cement. Your daughter can take a dump at probably 7 am and you won't smell it. Nope, not till you see it oozing out the side around 9 am. That is when you will know...you have had a motherhood fail. Not that she minds, she will fight you tooth and nail to stay in that shitty rag. I mean really!? Your butt is being eaten away by poo and you want to scream and cry and wriggle around getting shiat everywhere in the process just because I am trying to clean you up! No good deed goes unpunished right? Screw you little lady. Well not really screw her but ya...screw her. Well that wasn't as cheery as I had hoped but it is the bright side of being sick right?<br />
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Okay so there is the head cold and then the fact that I sheered almost my entire pad of my thumb off yesterday with a pairing knife, therefore throwing my crafting insanity on hold. When it first happened I called Dov at work in a panic. I was too afraid to look at the wound for fear that I would pass out and the kids would burn the house down (even though I could use the sleep). I thought that maybe somehow he could coach me through the trauma but nope, not really. His first suggestion was that I pull the hunk of flesh off and move on. Obviously he had some time to ponder my situation on the way home from work though because when he arrived home he had come up with a "better" solution for the necrotic flesh hanging off my thumb. Super Glue. Yes he suggested that maybe I should Super Glue it back on. Needless to say <i style="font-weight: bold;">that</i> didn't happen. So surgical tape and band-aids it is for the meantime. I am REALLY hoping I regain sensation at some point.<br />
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I have also developed a very concerning addiction to chalk board paint and am liable to slap it on any stationary object I see. I love it so much that I learned how to make it. ** DANGER DANGER**. Who knew that you could mix grout with paint and make a frigging chalkboard. Well, looks like my kids are getting bedroom makeovers. Hope they like inhaling dust because ohhhhh baby!!! Mama's got a brand new project! Seriously, it is mad cool! We already know that I can't get enough of corny sayings etched onto wood, they are ALL OVER MY HOUSE. Now I can scribble them down on my chalkboard and when they make me want to gag...POOF... erased and on to the next "my life is a blessing" quote I come across...cause I am ALL about positive thinking people. On chalkboards and framed art, just not in my brain. Keep calm and carry on my ass!<br />
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These are the backs of my kitchen chairs chalk-boarded. Instant place cards right! Now I wouldn't do this to any table but this is a Ikea yard sale special so rock on!</div>
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The wine glasses are chalk-boarded for distinguishing who's is who's or for any inappropriate thing you decide to scribble on there in your drunken state. Drunk art projects are the funnest right? Then we have the table tea light holders...just a cut up limb from the yard. Love it. Idea was stolen from my favorite blogger Kellie Hampton.</div>
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The barrel was a flea market find and I had two so one I decided needed to be painted with what else...chalk board paint! I love it...and might even do the other one.</div>
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T-shirt scarf. Now this wasn't my best project but I promise I will master this...and then every single family member will receive one for X-mas. Cause they are free yo!</div>
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Yeah so those tree coasters also make awesome Christmas ornaments. A little wood burner tool and you are good to go! Gotta love my hot pink wreath. </div>
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Oh Oh, and guess what? You can cut glass by soaking twine in acetone, tying it around a old wine bottle then lighting it on FIRE! I think I would feel better about this one if we lived in a town with a real fire department. HOLY PINTREST people! What to do with half a wine bottle? Well the possibilities are endless. To bad I drink it by the box though. Hey that just gave me another idea!...<br />
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Have a great weekend!</div>
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This just in from the coop...The hens are laying! Finally. Woohoo! :-)</div>
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-23839407842020112192011-11-29T10:49:00.001-05:002011-11-29T13:58:38.976-05:00The exhaustive exercise of Christmas shopping.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every year is the same. I know Christmas is coming. Since October 1st there have been Holiday decorations up at Target...and not Halloween ones, frigging Christmas ones! So I have been walking around my favorite store in the world with huge blinders on. It is one of the most exhaustive exercises, spending money that YOU DO NOT HAVE on CRAP PEOPLE REALLY DON'T WANT just because <i>it's Christmas!!</i> I mean there have been a handful of Christmas's that I have gotten something I could not live without...this year will be one of them. Tires. Yes you heard correct, I am getting tires from my husband. And truthfully, what is more meaningful then your spouse not wanting you to careen off the road with both the kids in the car during a blizzard? I think you'd be hard pressed to find anything as heartfelt as that. Would I love some new bling on my fingers? Sure, but what would happen is about two hours after the exhilaration had worn off I would feel guilt. Guilt that we splurged on something I WANT and now something WE NEED is going on the back burner.<br />
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So about this time of the year I feel the pressure. The infamous question starts getting asked, "what do you want for Christmas?" and if I was being honest I would say nothing. Just get gifts for the kids and maybe a babysitting pass so that Dov and I could go out to dinner some night. I am serious when I say that. They would need to do it without complaint though, that would be the GIFT part. No time limits or splitting them up, you get both and we come home when we please. BEST GIFT EVER! Lets take the pressure off of each other. We all know that raising a family of four on one income does not lend itself well to dolling out lavish Christmas gifts on everyone and their brother. If I had the extra cash I would be the first person to be presenting Ipads and flat screens and kindles or whatever the fancy gift of the year is going to be. I love seeing someone open a present that is awesome. There is no better feeling in the world! What I don't love is watching them open a gift that I know is not great and then watching the pathetic act of gratefulness that follows. Then the next year you get it wrapped up and given back to you (yes that has happened, you know who you are).<br />
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Last year I did try to pull back with the Christmas gifting and honestly it went worse then I had predicted. You tell people you are just going to worry about the kids having a nice Christmas and then your the scrooge when they blatantly ignore your request and present you with a gift. Well luckily I am a smarty pants and knew that regardless of my no adult gifting policy there would be gift swapping. So at the ninth hour, on Christmas eve, I went out and bought gifts for everyone. Could any of them tell me what their gift was now? Probably not. And that is just the point. Come on over and have a meal, I will buy it, cook it, and clean it. That has to be as nice if not nicer then any bath salts or body lotion right? At least I think so. So maybe I am a scrooge or maybe I have adjusted to living within my means and feel much better when I do. I am happiest having some drinks and a nice meal with my family, save the $10.00 prepackaged bath products for someone else...pretty please. Oh and Merry Christmas. Remember keep it simple, I love you anyways.</div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-55633161253022053442011-11-23T10:07:00.001-05:002011-11-23T10:45:08.852-05:00Thanksgiving (low key style)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Thanksgiving is pretty much the same for everybody I know. You either are the host or the guest. It typically involves a table set for 8 or more adults and 4 or more children. Lots of pre-day planning, meal prep, side dish options, appetizers galore, enough booze to sink a ship, and LOTS AND LOTS of money spent. Not this year. This time I am keeping it simple. We won't be packing the kids for a hour and a half ride nor will I be panicking for a week prior about who likes what and who will sit where. We are staying home. Maybe that sounds boring to some but to the mother of two young children who likes to get her drink on after turkey, it works out just fine. No driving, no stressing, no sweating over if there is enough gravy to go around.<br />
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To top off the unconventional holiday plan we are having lamb instead of turkey...OK I bought a small turkey breast, mostly for the smell not the taste, since turkey tastes to me like dried out chicken. I made one simple pie that MY family likes, I bought one box of wine that I like, one bottle of bourbon that my husband likes, and lots of juice for the kids. I am all set. the lamb is marinating, the turkey is in a brine, the pie is in the fridge and I have nothing to do but sit back and wait for my bailey's and coffee tomorrow morning while I enjoy the Macy's day parade for the first time in quite a few years. Hell, I might stay in PJ's tomorrow! <br />
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I think I just needed a year off from the hullabaloo, give someone else the chance to host the big day ya know. Yes I will miss the banter of a large crowd but when that food coma kicks in and all I want to do is lay on the couch and pass out...I will. And I won't feel one bit of guilt. Oh did I mention the savings...last years turkey day cost upwards of 250.00 for that one meal...this year we sneaked a whole weeks grocery shopping trip on top of the Thanksgiving meal and still only came in at 130.00. Not too shabby. Hey times are tough...I am all about pinching a penny folks!<br />
So I hope all of you are eating what you love best with the ones you love most...I know I am. <3<br />
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<u><b>Menu</b></u>:<br />
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Herb roasted leg of lamb in a orange, white wine, shallot, and garlic marinade<br />
Cranberry brined turkey breast (for the kiddies)<br />
Cornbread stuffing<br />
Petite peas with shallots and pancetta<br />
No. 7 Sweet potatoes (yes that No.7 is Jack daniels)<br />
Crescent rolls<br />
Homemade cranberry sauce<br />
Mint Jelly (for the lamb of course)<br />
Keylime pie<br />
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<b><u>Cocktail of the day: Blizzard </u></b>(in honor of the 2 inches of snow we got this morning)<br />
3 measures of bourbon<br />
1 measure of Cranberry juice<br />
1 tsp of lemon juice<br />
2 tbsp of simple syrup<br />
Shake the hell out of it with lots of ice and garnish with cranberries YUM!<br />
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I can hardly wait!!!</div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-16364037897053329432011-11-15T15:05:00.001-05:002011-11-15T17:39:40.315-05:00STOP WHINING!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So as for the break the blog has been taking...I just have not been inspired. By anything. The kids aren't being cute, the dog is still an asshole, and Dov has been working an insane amount of hours and I am here alone with the kids for days at a time. All this leads to me being, for lack of better terms, burnt the hell out! That, and for some absurd reason my internal clock has set itself to wake up at 4:30 am EVERY SINGLE DAY. I then lie in bed and have severe anxiety over how F-ING tired I am going to be come 7 o' clock the next evening when the kids are whining and needing tubs and jammies and stories and constant attention! The constant attention would be for Bella. That precious angel has become ungodly whiny and clingy and it <u>IS NOT HER TEETH.</u> If one more person says " Oh, she must be cutting some teeth." I will freak out. She is not getting any teeth...she just loves to be held...ALL THE TIME. It does not matter if I am cooking, vacuuming or driving, the girl cries until she is being held. If you think I exaggerate just ask her auntie Katie. She just spent the past day and a half with us, repeating "Bella! Whatsa matta?" over and over and over again.<br />
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The culprit</div>
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There is all that and then the fact that I have started to actually put some effort into getting back into shape. Something that I probably should have attempted before getting knocked up for a second time while still hanging on to the 40 extra pounds that baby numero uno blessed me with. Packing the additional 40 on the 40...not my smartest move. So now I have begun, in earnest, to lose the weight. I have passed the "oh she just had a baby" phase and moved straight into "Wow! She let herself go" land. So the mornings are spent exercising and trying to NOT eat the left over waffles on Noah's plate. So it's all...1,2,3 ZUMBA for me while Bell whines right by my side the entire time! Oh the joy.<br />
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As for how the blog will progress from here, I don't know. I guess I will play it by ear. Hopefully some day real soon Bella will decide that she wants to try out those perfectly good legs and I can get my hip back. Now that would be something. I might even get inspired again! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much sums it up.</td></tr>
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-51090573203362987752011-11-11T16:08:00.001-05:002011-11-11T16:08:17.796-05:00Nap time.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The blog is taking a nap.</div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4265234559204592769.post-39950251305634232442011-11-06T09:04:00.000-05:002011-11-06T09:04:20.030-05:00A November 5th Halloween<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Wilton, with all the storm damage and lack of electricity, delayed the Halloween festivities till last night. I wasn't quiet sure how it would be or if any one would actually do it, since once October is over it really does not feel like Halloween. A trip to the local Walmart convinced me it was over with all the costumes and candy heaped up in the front of the store marked for clearance. We took our chances that the good folks of downtown Wilton wouldn't let us down. And they didn't. Last night was great. Granted there was no haunted house at the Fire department but the kids had a blast. We met up with our friends down the street and took the gaggle off to get their trick or treat on!<br />
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When we got there it was hard to keep track of where the kids were in the dark with so many other people around but I really wanted to get a few shots of the kids ACTUALLY trick or treating so I asked my husband if he wouldn't mind taking some pics with his iPhone. He looks at me like I have twenty heads and says, "Ummmmm I HAVE been taking pictures ALL night." Well OK then. When we got home this is what I got for pictures. Nice right? I got about 2 of those. Grainy, weird, videos of God knows what.<br />
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I myself am not a big Halloween fan. Give me Thanksgiving and Christmas but not Halloween. Dov on the other hand LOVES him some Halloween. He has to dress up every year. This year was no different. So right before we leave for the night he walks to the end of the stairs with his phone playing the theme song whatever horrible horror movie this costume is from and managed to scare his daughter shitless. Hence why she is balling in every single picture and why Dov was banished to the outdoors. Pretty good get up if you ask me though.</div>
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<br /></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08479658033116895932noreply@blogger.com1