The end is nigh....

Holy mo! I am so close to the end. I am searching for the inner strength to enjoy these last few days with a perfectly sweet class of Pre-Kindergarteners. We're just all so tired, folks. TI-Red. I'm sitting right on the edge of summer and sleeping late (even with a little rugrat running around). Tomorrow is graduation and then the infamous end of year party--imagine the wildest kegger and then take away the kegger and add some sort of pinata/dangling donut game and ....cupcakes. There are always cupcakes--usually Publix cuz they rock. It's a tornado of bye little Mikey, give me a hug, (now there's icing on my dress), no wait you forgot your yearbook--oh, that's Donovan's yearbook because he sneezed on it yesterday--right, "Have a great summer!," deep breath and do it again fourteen times...Whoohooo!

So I'm baking muffins, without the little muffin cups, mind you. And I'll be damned if I'm dragging my kid back out in the fripping downpour that has become our Monday. I would not usually be baking whilst my child screams and holds onto my mud-spattered leg. But tomorrow is the extravaganza also known as Muffins for Moms and I've got to be prepared...

This has been a good week fraught with alot of bad things. I'm tired and stressed and sad--yet I've been in a helluva good mood.

As I sit here. Eli is pulling all of my horror dvd's off the shelf onto the floor. He's having a hard night. He's clingy and tired and teething. I am torn between picking him up to comfort him and having a few moments of time to myself. I just got to vacuum and play Eli's favorite game of can I attack mommy's Dyson while she tries to vacuum. Argh.

St. Patrick's Day....

Alright. So we aren't going to Savannah. But we are going to utilize every ounce of fun in our work-whipped souls to have a boisterous day. This girl went to market to buy corned beef and kraut and swiss cheese for Reubens. Maybe not the most Irish of dinners, but it will suffice when I attack the kraut with green food coloring. I am making Shamrock Shakes for my class tomorrow. I have also built up the arrival of "The Leprechaun" to the point that my class is essentially vibrating at the thought of his mischevious visit. I have to destroy the classroom a little (coats on the floor, trash-cans over-turned, little footprints on the ceiling etc) while the kids are occupied. But it's so much fun to see their reaction. We made paper-plates masks complete with red curly beards (will post pics later) and dyed pasta shamrocks...I am also preparing for a more adult shindig on Saturday with some of our friends. A weee bit late, but ever so Irish. Happy St. Patrick's Day my friends. Enjoy.

Thursday, March 26, 2009
It's time...
Did you know that your baby is considered full-term at 37 weeks. Well, I sure as hell know it. It's time to come on down, liitle man! Holy freakin cow. Eli has come up with ways to twist and stretch and basically create his own little version of the film "Aliens" in my belly. It hurts, alot.Even so, I'm scared to death of this whole labor thing. Go ahead and tell me women have been doing this for centuries. I dare you. Somehow that fact doesn't comfort me.

Monday, December 22, 2008
Christmas waddle
Wow. I walk like a duck. It is pointless to try and stifle it. Certainly it is true that the pregnant woman emits a glow--a sort of luminosity that screams "I got a baby cooking in here!" It is also true that my back hurts most of the time, I burp, like, constantly, and my boobs have their own gravitational pull. I had no idea that this was going to be so difficult. I had no idea that just getting off the couch would involve strategic maneuvers. Things that are supposed to stretch are stretching. Ligaments that support "things" are causing crippling pain, mind-numbing, curling up into a ball on bathroom floor kind of pain. And the most frightening part is that I'm only 6 months in. I can't imagine what I'll be like two months from now. The only thing making it worth every second is that he's (yes it's a boy) constantly letting me know that he's in there and he's alright. He's flipping and kicking and it's freaking amazing. So here's to my first dry Christmas in like....forever. And here's to making my third batch of fudge. Hope you guys are happy and warm. Love you lots. Merry Christmas.

Currently listening:Don't Shoot Me SantaBy The KillersRelease date: 2007-12-04

Monday, July 28, 2008
ER...and the weekly top 40 Current mood: blank Category: Blogging
Can't sleep. Going to blog so I can vent and perhaps lull myslef back to bed. The big ER(egg retrieval) is tomorrow morning at 8:20. So I can't have a HUGE glass o'wata like I want. I'm not as anxious about this one. I am looking forward to the valium and getting knocked out. This week has completely sucked. My poor ovaries are slam packed with eggs and I've been on enough hormones via injections to kill a small animal. So needless to say, I'm ready to get the whole thing over with. Last night I cried when I realized that I couldn't take my migraine meds. I developed a HUGE -ass headacher after the HUGE-ass trigger shot in my bum. Which is hella sore, thank you. I put poor, sweet Nick throught the ringer as I lay sobbing like a 4-year-old on the couch preparing for the big stick in the butt. I have no idea why I lost it. Could be the exorbidant size of this needle and knowing that he had to stick it all the way in. (All sexual references, even the hilrarious ones, are falling on deaf ears, thank you). But it was finally done and I was able to watch ultimate fighting in relative peace with an ice pack.
The whole retriaval process is so odd. You show up at the offiice just like it was any other visit and then they lead you to the IVF suite--as if adding the word "suite" should made a person feel more pampered. I did not feel pampered last time. I do not feel pampered anyplace where I am not allowed to wear my bra. After donning the lovely gown and footies and fetching cap, I get to go and sit in this rock-a-billy chair so the nurse can: A. give me my fucking valium and B. give me a shot in the arm so she can connect my IV. I was worried about the IV. But the shot numbs things up rather nicely. Didn't feel a thing. It was only after noticing all the large drops of blood on the floor that I realized I had a needle in my vein. Felt kind of queasy then. Then we wait. I remember feeling annoyed that Nick and I weren't having any mind-blowing conversations about life at this point. It seems rather trite to be thumbing throught the Sarah Jessica Parker issue of Vogue while waiting for such a monumental event to take place. But I did it anyway. (Thinking of bringing along some deeper reading material this time. Anything by James Joyce should be sufficient) Finally the lovely anesthesiologist appears and leads me to the "room." Didn't like the room. It feels large and sterile and reminds me of that scene in "The Exorcist" where Regan has all those horrid medical tests before she loses it and goes all spider-feral. It's cold and one feels quite vulerable when placed on such an ugly chair/table/stirrup thingie. It's not an alluring positon, believe me. Thank God, she knocks me out relatively quickly. I was hoping for the whole big room getting dimmer and blurry experience as the "drugs take hold." Nope, I was out like a light. Then it was over and I was rambling about a trip to Spider-Skull island a la Scooby Doo. Kidding. I hang out for a while and then get rolled down to the car. Yes, I get to ride in a wheelchair. I can only surmise that I babble on and on while Nick drives me home and plops me promptly in the bed. Let's hope it's as smooth this time around.
Dammit. Not sleepy at all....

Monday, June 30, 2008
sweet nothing.... Current mood: dorky
I've been watching alot of Jane Austen shyte lately. You know what I'm talking about: empire waisted dresses, intellectually colloquial banter, women treated like horse shit, and finally Colin Firth. That man rocks a waist-coat. It's escapism pure and simple. I'm wanting to frolic in a frilly dress...with a drink, mind you--but frolic none the less.
Summer here. I'm feeling like a bitch. I've taken up running again. Like I said, I've been watching WAY too many period pieces and reading books about swinging (not on a tree), Sylvia Plath, and darn-you-to-hell...Nancy Drew. That girl was such a tease. Apparently , I've developed a wheat intolerence....I know, I know. This news has you in a flurry of excitement. Nick and I have had about 72, 000 fights--of both trivial and severe in significance. I've decided that: I need to go out dancing more, I need to switch to red wine, I have a girl-crush on EMO girls, I both like and despise having bangs, I think most, if not all, summer blockbusters are complete and utter crap, men seem to be less aggressive downtown (or maybe my looks are going), finding a bra that fits is no small feat, the popcorn at the Plaza really is better (I'm sure they re lacing it with something), my skin really is never going to get over this whole puberty thing, Nick's grill really is the bomb, my brother is a hell of alot cooler than I was at 18, I could die listening to the Velvet Underground, MOST doctors are completely unaware how fragile human beings are, I probably won't tell you the truth, I need to tell people the truth more often, and finally I really love Oh's cereal (why can't I find it at Kroger anymore)....even though I can't eat it anymore...sigh.




Currently listening:The Velvet Underground & NicoBy The Velvet UndergroundRelease date: 1996-05-07

reminescent blogs...

and the cold wind blows.... Current mood: blah JAnuary 23, 2008

So I suppose that's the way it goes. Such a bland statement seems to fit this time of year. The cruel wind taunts the girl in the skirt...I'm that girl. I feel cranky, sad, uninformed (presidential race be damned) and ugly. Winter steals the sun and makes me blue. I'm not the only one. Death seems a bit more cruel this time of year. Imagining the ones you love battling the cold whilst they battle that bitch winter is intolerable. Feel better folks. Keep warm.

Hustle and flow..... Current mood: contemplative Feb. 3, 2008
Alright folks. I have a brief month to let loose and say adios to my twenties-- too sad, too much water under the bridge. Say what you will: Thirty is the new twenty, Fifty is the new thirty. YOU can blow that out your derrie-terrie. I wanna be twenty-four. Oh, that golden age of, "buy me a drink and I'll thank you tomorrow" and "No, sir, you must be mistaken, I'm not the owner of those panties...." Sheesh. No, I was not that much of a slut. But I had a hell of a time wishing I was. So, I say so long and farewell to the time I finally figured out it was ok to dance and not worry, to drink and not be judged, and perhaps even get up the next day and go to work. I'm not really sad. I realize that's stupid. I'm simply doing what girls do: lamenting our youth. SO, my sweet fellas, tell us we're gorgeous and incredibly hot. And MEAN it.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008
super-trashy birthday pants.... Current mood: blustery March 4, 2008
So tomorrow I turn 30. No melt down's yet. But then again, I've been ill for the entire month February. So the fact that I have been out of bed for 3 hours straight is a HUGE deal. I'm swinging back and forth between feeling fucking proud of my years on this earth and trying to figure out how I change my DOB from 78 to 82. Those four years are immeasurable. I've been on mind-numbing pain-killers for the past 3 days due to a monsterous ear infection that will: " eventually rob you of your hearing in that ear if you don't do something about it...." Thank you pissed off ER doctor whose name shall remain written in my little black book of jerznerks. Sickness sort of quells the savage beast of self-reflection. When not hunched over the toilet or or cowering in an ER in severe pain, one can usually look toward the brightness of his/her own future and wave hello.
I'm also telling myself not to try so damn hard. I could party hardy til I dropped or threw up when I was 24. Now I'm lucky if I'm not curled up on somebody's couch by three. Lame, but true. Concerts mid-week, lets just say I'd have to adore the band. I'm lucky to have a guy that is game for whatever stupid-ass idea I want to undertake. With our professions, we're not afforded those days of, "shut your sass mouth, I was up until 4" attitudes. I imagine some sort of birthday induced funk will rear its ugly head by the weekend. We can only keep our fingers crossed right? I'll save that for Nick in Savannah.