6 July 2011

A different kind of green

Looking a bit green around the gills, isn't she?

Yes, my poor little Petunia is feeling a bit under the weather today. She's got a fever and a cough and is pretty much all around miserable. And of course this is happening on a beautiful 70°+ day. Sun is shining, but I'll only get to see it peeking through the windows as my attention will be focused on this:

Which is okay because I'm still looking at a sunshine, a sad one yes, but still my sunshine.

Got Nuffin

So there's this song by Spoon called Got Nuffin. And I love it. Apparently a lot since my iTunes tells me that it has 1485 plays. I'm not sure I believe that though. I mean it's nearly 4 minutes long, so that would be about 5,940 minutes or 99 hours. I just don't think there is any possible way that I've listened to 99 hours worth of Got Nuffin. So I think there must be something wrong with my iTunes. Which doesn't surprise me at all because technology and I are currently not on speaking terms. 

But anyway, the reason that is the title of my post is not to lament about how my iTunes messes with my head, but instead to point out that I really have Got Nuffin. I have not had much desire to write anything lately and it's all the fault of the December Daily. Kind of like how some people will train for months for a marathon, run it, finish it and then not lace up their sneakers for a month following. Burn out. It's probably healthy to take a bit of a break, right? Yea, try telling that to my Mama. I know if I don't put something up here soon she's going to be sending a lynch mob my way. (Hi mom! Love you!)

So what I'm going to do here is cheat. I'm going to do a quick recap of the past week throwing in a picture here and a tweet there so that it will look like I've actually concocted a lengthy and delightful tale when all I'm really doing is regurgitating. Your job is to play into the farce--pretend like it's an interesting read. Ok?

Alright then, let's start with January 1--the new year. A fresh start. The day that I decided that perhaps I should also resolve to not wear this shirt every day of my life.

It's going to be hard as it's the softest most comfortable thing I've ever had against my skin. But I will make the effort.

Also, on this day I was a little cranky because the fireworks next door disturbed my beauty sleep. I require at least 8 hours of sleep every night or I get cranky. Crankier than normal I mean. If you can imagine such a thing. There's only one cure for that--body combat baby. Yep, while all the rest of you were sleeping off your hangovers, I was practicing my katas and working on my evasive side kicks. And boy am I glad I spent that hour getting all sweaty because it meant I could eat all of the yummy food at Brian & Teresa's basement warming party without even the slightest touch of guilt. The kids had fun there too--see:

Grandpa should be especially thrilled by this picture here:

Chase and Joshua worked and worked with their tools on Pooh's house. So apparently carpentry prowess is genetically based though it appears to have skipped a generation in my particular case. As did the cooking skills.

 

 Speaking of cooking chops--on Sunday we had the most delicious brunch at Adriana's. Girl can cook. Which isn't fair because she's also one hot little mama with a high powered career and a beautiful family. But I'm not going to complain too loudly, because she's always feeding me and my urchins. Which got me thinking that with the proper planning and social scheduling I could probably work it so I never had to cook for my own offspring again. I'm already putting this new theory into practice by going to her house yet again tonight for a Three Kings Day dinner. I've never celebrated this holiday before and don't really know what to expect, but it only took the briefest mention of the word lasagna for me to say: "I'm so there."

Hmm what else? Well there was this: 

Princess Amaya says an upside down crown still counts, and I'm not about to argue with her. Are you?

And this: 

Chase: Mama my eighth brother will be 10 in 2011, but this isn't him.

And after watching several women in yoga grimace and pull away from me in disgust, I finally got around to taking care of this little personal hygiene chore:

The winter pedicure sandal answer is not such a big deal when it's 50° outside. The salon was empty, and I think my technician was a bit entranced by her soap opera because she rubbed my calves and feet for like 35 minutes. It was heavenly. The only problem was that my feet were so lotiony, that I kept sliding all around in my sandals. I felt like I was under the influence of some wacky drug. Which brings me to my final offering of the day that begins with this tweet:

I think I might be addicted to cough drops. Do they have interventions for this sort of thing?

Which led to this tweet later in the week:

My Halls Pep Talk in Every (cough) Drop says: It's yours for the taking. This mentality is what got me addicted to them in the first place.

And guess what I'm doing right now? Sucking on a cough drop. I am quite certain that I will be carted off against my will to a rehab facility soon. That should make Drew happy since he force fed me Nyquil yesterday because my incessant coughing so annoyed him. I'm still looking into whether or not that's a punishable violation of the In Sickness & Health section of our marital vows. I think at the very least, he should bring me home another bag of Halls. Cherry please.

December 14

What can be said about today? Well, since I dozed on and off through most of it, I don't really know. I've been trying to kick this cold/bug/yuckiness for a couple of weeks now. Some days I come out ahead, but today was not one of them. Just to give you an idea of how ill I've been feeling--Andy bought me a slice of carrot cake on Sunday and it's still in the refrigerator. Unheard of in these parts. I have absolutely no appetite. I have to force myself to eat. And if you know me, then you know that eating is not normally a problem for me.  I hope I feel better soon because those presents aren't going to wrap themselves, nor the cookies bake themselves. But back to the point of the post which is this: A December Daily in three doses.

The good:

The bad:

The ugly:

I mean really who burns spaghetti sauce? Me apparently. Ho, ho, ho!



File under: 
Housewife Fail

Monday again?

What can I say. Mondays are just dullsville around here. Even Bernard fell short of inspiring today:

 I really had good intentions of trying to come up with something spectacular to share with you, but it just didn't happen. But, as luck would have it, I somehow fandangoed my way into a themed post anyway. I had taken this picture this morning when I was still riding that 'I can totally be entertaining on a Monday' train:

That's my son watching every second tick by on the timer so that he doesn't have to brush his teeth a moment longer than necessary. Heaven forbid such a thing would happen.  And here's where the theme part comes into play because in addition to the normal boring gym, laundry, grocery store Monday list, I had to go to the dentist. I have anxiety about going to the dentist. Not because I'm afraid, but because I've never learned how to breathe through my nose when my mouth is open. So I spend the whole time trying to hold my breath so that I don't fog up his mirror thingy. But I can't hold my breath forever. Believe me, I've tried. And thus the anxiety. But that's not the point really. The point is that today is Good Dental Hygiene Day in the Mellon house. I passed with flying colors--see how sparkly clean my teeth are?

Why yes that is the same shirt that I wore last Wednesday. But it's super soft, brings out my eyes, and I totally mixed things up by adding my new jacket I got with my Nordstrom Rack Groupon. So really I fail to see the problem here. Did I mention it was a Monday?

And the beat goes on

I'm feeling worlds better today, thanks in large part to this lovely pharmaceutical cocktail the doctor prescribed yesterday:

That was all taken last night before bed. Let me just say that I had no trouble falling asleep. Thanks everyone for all of your kind words and well wishes--I am certain that without them I would not be feeling so much better today despite the consumption of obscene amounts of (legal) drugs. Special thanks to my good friend Eva who is bringing me over homemade dumplings today that her mom made for the Moon Festival. That right there is pretty much worth all of the suffering I was made to endure. Mmm dumplings.

It seems that my return to good health could not have come at a better time. Perhaps you'll recall a tweet I posted a few weeks ago. What, you don't memorize all of the rambling nonsense I post on twitter? Fine. Here's a refresher for you:

 I hear "Amaya do it herself" for a vast range of tasks including, but not limited to, teeth brushing & advanced nuclear physics.

Yes, we are smack dab in the middle of the Do It Myself Phase which as luck would have it also happens to coincide with the Holy Terror If I Don't Get My Way Phase as demonstrated by this tweet:

The name Amaya originated in Japan and means Night Rain. In my daughter's case, I'd say Raging Tempest would be a more apt description.

This morning found us with Amaya insisting that she would get dressed BY HERSELF thankyouverymuch. Since I'm feeling better, I was able to not only indulge this fantasy of hers, but to also sit back and take pictures as well. Mother of the Year right here. 4 years running people.

And the finished product. Front:

 Back:

 

Mad style, yo. And no, I did not let her leave the house like that--I totally combed her hair first. 

Quick question

Does my nose look swollen?

Also, am I dying?

Ok, I know that was two. Send the bill to my estate executor.

Stand Tall Soldier

I give you Exhibit A:

Perhaps you remember seeing it before? Ever since this photo popped up on my laptop screen, I've had nothing but my poor posture on the brain. Aside from contributing to that pesky thing called osteoporosis, bad posture is just down right unattractive. Those slumping shoulders need to go--like yesterday. 

How fortuitous then that one of my favorite vintage fashion blogs recently started running a series of posts entitled: Friday Charm School. You can read her post on good posture and proper walking form here: Couture Allure Friday Charm School Posture Post.

So, fully armed with adequate instruction, I decided to take it upon myself to improve my chances of maintaining strong, healthy bones by improving my posture. As with all of the projects I engage in, I find myself running a mental commentary on my adventures. I thought I might share with you a few of the thoughts that I've had during Mission Perfect Posture. 

1. Standing straight and tall will introduce you to muscles you never knew you had. There will be a pinching in your back that will make you want to scream for mercy. Your abs will feel like they've gone a few rounds in the ring with Muhammad Ali. My dear friend and trainer Jeanne says this is normal. She even goes so far as to say that if I walked this way all day long, every day, I could cut my core training by half and still rock abs of steel. She also claims that if I stick with the whole good posture thing, it will eventually feel normal and that annoying searing pain will be but a memory. Of course this is also the girl who tells me chocolate is bad and tofu is good, so take her words with several grains of salt. 
2. It is mentally exhausting to keep up the perfect posture. My brain has no room for anything but thinking "shoulders back and down, abs in, head high, heel, toe, heel, toe" in a constant repeating cycle. If I miss even a single phrase of my inner monologue, the entire production falls apart. This intense concentration means that I can't focus on answering the difficult questions I'm posed during a typical day--such as"Paper or Plastic?" Add in the fact that my sinus infection makes me feel like my entire head is buried in a pot of honey, and I'm pretty much useless in the social realm these days. More than usual, I mean.
3. Once you start thinking about posture, you can't help but notice it all the time. You not only become aware of yourself sliding back into your shoulder slumping, frumpy ways, but you also notice how large a percentage of the population is right there loafing with you. I felt very conspicuous sitting with a perfectly straight back in the waiting room at the doctor's office when everyone else was slouched down in the less-than-comfortable chairs. I felt eyes watching me, and I imagined them wondering why I was all hoity-toity. As someone who prefers to blend into the background, I had to constantly fight the desire to drop my shoulders and curve my spine. So I distracted myself by playing with my iPad--I'm sure that helped convince them that I was not at all pretentious, right?

  It is generous to say that this project of mine remains a work in progress, and will probably continue to be so well into my 80s. Take for instance, Exhibit B: 

 While it's without a doubt an improvement, those shoulders could still stand to come back and up a bit more. But at least I have my facial features arranged in a somewhat normal alignment--so perhaps my brain is beginning to get used to the challenge of handling two jobs at once? Just don't ask me any questions.

Sickies Suck

I knew something was wrong when not even Brownie Bites could get the littlest to smile. Sure enough, a visit to the doctor on Monday found us with a diagnosis of strep throat--again.

Awfully pathetic looking, isn't she?

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Today, Amaya and I were extras on the set of a science fiction movie. No, not really. But it did feel that way when we were sitting surrounded by little kids wearing masks in the waiting room at the doctor's office.

I do believe it is possible that another life form has taken up residence in Petunia's body and is growing inside of it. How else to explain how ridiculously big she's becoming? She weighed 26.4 pounds putting her in the 90th percentile and was in the 97th percentile for height at 32.5inches. What was truly surprising though was that her 18inch head only placed her in the 50th percentile. Surprising because the original 12-24 month sized Halloween costume I had picked out was too small for her head. Apparently, that company only makes outfits that fit on 10% of the appropriately aged population. Had I known how little she would actually allow the headpiece to be on her noggin, I would have just kept the too small costume. Live. Learn.

During the visit, Amaya got 4 shots. Tonight she is cranky. Cause and effect? Perhaps. But additional factors leading to the crabbiness include the four teeth that are at this very moment digging through her gums clawing for the surface. She doesn't get a tooth here and there, not my daughter. She cuts quadrateeth. At least now I have something concrete to curse when she's fussy for the 17th hour in a row. Dadgumteeth.

She did put the fuss monster away for a bit during her play date with Emma and Mikey on Sunday. As long as I stayed near and no other mother tried to touch her without her permission, she was fairly happy. She didn't have any problems sharing her brother's toys with everyone and even took special pleasure in showing her friends how to work Handy Manny's tool box.




But then we had to go and change the plan by trying to take a picture of everyone sitting on the sofa. Not only that, but Emma's mama touched her. Have you ever heard of anything so terrible befalling a chicken? What choice did she have but to unleash a crying jag of record breaking proportions?


What is it with my kids and group pictures? I mean really? As if I needed any more future blackmail material.
I guess that she could blame it on the alien that has taken over her body. That excuse will work. Once.

Consumerism, take me away.

A couple of weeks ago, I signed up for the nutrition program offered at my gym. I've been pretty good about following it--mainly because the plan has me eating 5 times a day so I'm never hungry. Of course, hunger was never the biggest of my problems. Stress was my downfall. I am a huge comfort food ingester. Anytime something stressed me out--kids, husband, dog, grass growing too fast--I'd locate the nearest delectable goody and inhale it faster than you can say "Impulse Control Fail".

Now that I'm paying an arm and a leg to have a nutritionist tell me what to eat all day, I don't want to ruin those efforts in one fell swoop because my Tivo cut off Project Runway before Heidi said her auf wiedersehen. So, I have replaced this rush to gorge with a new, perhaps equally unhealthy, diversion: shopping.

Since making the substitution, I've relieved some of my tension by visiting Amazon, Etsy, Anthropologie, Sephora, Nordstrom, Old Navy and a few other random storefronts that we need not mention at the moment. I've worked out my own little algorithm for stress balance: as the calories consumed decreases, the dollars spent must increase.

Today, the floor people were here yet again to install the bamboo on the stairs. Strange people in and out of my house. Strange, loud people. Strange, loud people who like to sing odd Spanish songs in very off key voices. Amaya was terrified of the air compresseratorwhatchamacallit and thus screamed every single time it went off. Stress. STRESS. STRESS.

So what did I do? Went shopping of course. We went to the happiest of all places on earth--Target. Oh how I love Target. I mean who doesn't love a store where you can buy this


this


this


and this

all in one transaction. Shopping utopia it is. After an hour of roaming through the glittering aisles, my calm core had returned. It quickly evaporated when I returned home and had to become reacquainted with noise until 8:40 that evening, but we're not going to dwell on that. Nope, we're just going to keep looking at the pretty pictures of the stuff we bought. Chocolate free stress management--I might learn to love it.