The Most Expensive Free Kitten

 

So we got this free kitten, right?

(Click that link if you're in need of some major cute. Because I mean really.)

 

We've had him a few months now and he's rooted himself pretty firmly in this family's dynamics of two meh parents and two over-attentive kids and two other super odd pets and basically he thinks he's the king of the house.  So when he spent a whole day sleeping and seeming ... sad, as opposed to shredding rolls of toilet paper and repeatedly jumping on the kitchen table and purring incessantly at our feet, we knew something was up.

 

We took him to our vet and it was $700 worth of somethings.

 

Blocked urinary tract, kitty catheters, surgery and a 2-day stay at the vet, then three medicines and a $45 bag of prescription cat food.

 

 

That was super fun.

 

 

Ah, Pumpkin Pie.

Who knew free kittens would be so expensive?

The Bigger the Better, the Tighter the Sweater...

I have my bra stuffed today. Although that's nothing new. I'm the owner of many bombshell bras, which contain way more padding than underwire.

But today's padding is different.

It's full of rice. 

No, really.

There's actually a technical name for filling thigh-highs with a measured amount of uncooked carbohydrates, tying and cutting the ends, then stuffing into one's bra: rice sizers. They're used to (unscientifically) determine how a certain size breast implant will look on a certain body.

Because friends, after 16 years of contemplating a boob job, I'm finally getting one.

My first consultation was when I was 18, and despite desperately wanting bigger boobs, I opted instead to pay off credit card debit.

My second was when I was 26, and despite desperately wanting bigger boobs, I decided it'd probably be better to wait until after I started a family.

My third was last week, because here I am: 34, credit card's paid off, kids are had, and I'm still desperately wanting bigger boobs.

 I'm nervous, definitely, but excited and confident in my decision and ready.

So ready.

I've been waiting (praying) for boobs since I've been 12. I've logged countless hours as a teenage girl, sitting in my room doing the "I must, I must, I must increase my bust" exercise. Which doesn't work. I'm looking at you, Judy Blume.

At least they're perky!, I'd say in my boob's defense. I can't even say that anymore. A pregnancy, followed by eight months of nursing, then another pregnancy, followed by ten months of nursing has taken its toll.  My boobs are most certainly not perky anymore.

 And working out? Only increases my desire. The flatter my stomach gets, the flatter my chest gets.

My lingerie drawer is filled with water bras and wonder bras and push up bras and even those chicken cutlets. You know what I'm talking about.

So I'm finally doing something about it. No more talking (thinking, wishing, dreaming) about how much I'd love a boob job. No more being a baby about the pain or feeling guilty about the expense.

I want to feel 100% confident in my skin.

I'd love any and all advice from anyone who's had - or has even contemplated - one.
xo

That One Valentine's Day When I was Half-Naked and Completely Drunk. By Myself.

I've been awfully quiet about Valentine's Day, have I not? Usually I'm on the next morning with butterflies and rainbows and pics to prove it. 

But ah, not this time. Let's recap shall we? Remember how I mentioned in my last post that I had an "off-the-wall surprise" for Clay? Well it was of the more ... intimate ... variety.

Family, you're probably going to want to stop reading now.

We rarely do gifts on Valentines, usually it's just a bottle of wine and a card. Well I guess just a card, since the bottle of wine is a pretty normal occurrence. But I wanted this Valentine's Day to be memorable.

So I decide to act out something I read about in Cosmo many years ago: rent a room in a seedy by-the-hour motel and greet my surprised husband wearing nothing but a smile and heels. (Well, and knickers, because to be completely honest, I was nervous about my bare lady parts actually coming into contact with any thing in that room.)

I called Clay that morning, and mentioned how I just dropped our daughter off at school and oops, looks like she does have a Valentine's program. At noon. Can he make it? Wink, wink.  He's sorta flustered because he's already leaving early to make our son's afternoon Valentine party, but yes, he can rearrange a few things and make it.  

Did I forget to mention that I'm trying to plan a sexy romp immediately prior to our son's ice cream social? I wasn't really thinking logistics at this point.

I call a couple places beforehand to reserve a room, and run into a bit of trouble here; I come to the conclusion that establishments of this nature may not have big advertising budgets because their presence on google is nonexistence. Thanks to the help of my bestfriend, I finally track down a motel that does, in fact, rent rooms by the hour, but they don't do reservations; it's a walk-in kind of thing. Ok, that's fine. I get ready, pack extra sheets (because you just never know), load up the ipod, grab the wine, and head out.

I get to the ... interesting ... motel on the ... interesting... side of town, and walk into the office, trying to look as unembarrassed as possible. HI. I'M HERE TO RENT A ROOM. BY THE HOUR. FOR ME. AND MY HUSBAND. WE'RE MARRIED. TO EACH OTHER. I'm babbling, which is ineffective considering the very very old man at the desk apparently speaks very very little English.

I  hand him my debit card and I'm pretty positive I'm his only patron who's ever tried to pay for a by-the-hour room with a card.  He stares at it for a full minute, runs it, then tells me it was declined. ARE YOU SURE? HOW MUCH DID YOU RUN IT FOR? Twenty dolla. THAT'S HOW MUCH YOU RAN IT FOR? OR DID YOU INCLUDE INCIDENTALS? CAN YOU RUN IT AGAIN? I HAVE MANY TWENTY DOLLAS IN MY ACCOUNT. He now stares at me for a full minute, repeats "twenty dolla", re-runs the card, and again, declined.

In hindsight, I fully believe this was a message from St Valentine himself, trying to stop this train before it fully derails.

But not knowing this, I trudge on. I run to an ATM, easily withdraw $20, return to the office, give the man my money, and he leads me to the room where the magic is going to happen. Cue cheesy porn music: brownchickbrowncow.

I text Clay's coworker, asking her to stall Clay from leaving for (what he thinks is) our daughter's program until I call him. She texts back that he's already left. Of course the first time in his life that he leaves for something on time would be today... Next I text Clay, I need help, I have no signal and can't call, but I have a flat tire at this address, please come pick me up. Now. First. Before Em's party.  Then I start changing into my Valentine knickers. 

That's when I notice the room is unnaturally bright, like highschool-gymnasium bad-florescent totally-unflattering bright. And there's no lamp, just that one god-awful overhead bulb. For $20, I expect a damn lamp, thankyouverymuch.  No worries though, I brought a candle. But no matches. WHO FORGETS THE MATCHES? Anything is better than this light though, so I shut it off and am engulfed in total darkness. I open the curtains in the room's only window slightly and find that this one window faces the motels bustling "courtyard", which is filled with all sorts of interesting patrons engaging in all sorts of interesting things. 

WHERE IS CLAY. It's been ten minutes since I texted him and have heard nothing back. What if I really had a flat time? Or WHAT IF I'M NEARLY NAKED WAITING IN A MOTEL ROOM FOR A ROMP? I open the wine, pour myself a healthy glass, and call him. No answer. I call Emerson's school, and explain that when my husband shows up for our daughter's made-up Valentine program, please tell him to check his messages because his poor wife has a flat tire.

I wait another 20 minutes, texting and calling Clay, drink another heaping glass of wine, and try to figure out how to shut off the room's decrepit heating and cooling unit because it's a nippy 58 degrees in the room.

At 12:40, forty minutes into our allotted sixty minute "date", guess who shows up? My long lost husband. He's greeted with a half naked, drunken crying wife.

After his initial confusion with all his what-are-you-doing-on-this-side-of-town, but-what-about-Em, and where-are-your-clothes questions, he realizes that this was an impromptu rendezvous, but to be completely honest, I WASN'T FEELING IT ANYMORE. You just don't keep a half-naked lady waiting, folks, you just don't.

He spends the next few minutes consoling me, explaining how he was sitting in the parking lot of Em's school, waiting for me. He couldn't answer my calls because he was on the other line with work (a meeting he was phone-conferenced in since he had to miss it physically to make Em's "party") and his piece. of. shit. first generation iPhone is so old, it no longer buzzes when he gets texts.

Right when we decide to salvage our last ten minutes, someone walks by - and briefly peeks in!  MOOD. RUINED.  We get dressed, pack up, and head out.  I don't even have to check out because I was never given a room key!

My apologetic Valentine then takes me for coffee to sober up a bit before we have to party with 26 kindergarteners at 2pm. We laugh, I fix my tear-streaked mascara, and he makes me promise that I plan this again, only with him knowing in advance.

Lessons learned: Cosmo may not give the best advice, spontaneity is best implemented when it's fully planned and agreed upon by both parties, and Clay is getting a new iPhone. ♥

Love, Health, and Happiness

I ended 2012 and welcomed 2013 (and my 34th birthday) in a way I never have before- dying. Dramatic dying, from the cursed influenza, that I caught on new year's eve eve. Em and I both had it, and it wasn't pretty.


 


We only left the couch to move to bed, and spent at least forty of those first 48 hours asleep.  I'm still not completely recovered, with the flu giving way to bronchitis, an only slight improvement.





My husband, the amazing man that he is, made our new year and my birthday as wonderful as it could be though.  It becomes so apparent to me at times like this, when I'm stressed and overwhelmed and hurting, how much he does for me, for our family. How happy he makes me. I have this thing where I keep problems inside and they build up and eventually overflow and he's always at the bottom of that nasty current, reminding me to breathe and calm down, forever patient with my moods.





Which leads me to my 2013 resolutions: I want to find more ways to let Clay, and all the people I love, know how much I love and appreciate them. And I want to voice my problems as they come, acknowledge them, then let them go. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Cliched, but true.





So here's to an amazing 2013, filled with love, health, and happiness. And don't worry fabulous birthday shorts, I'll find an occasion to wear you before next new year's eve.

Feeling Christmas-y

Last week was our yearly tradition of seeing Santa and shopping for a new Christmas ornament.

It didn't go exactly as planned, and at the time I was so annoyed with all the setbacks.

I have had a different perspective (and still a very heavy heart) these last few days, so reflecting on this trip has me feeling more grateful than anything else.

I am going to enjoy every remaining minute of this holiday season - completely overlooking minor annoyances and inconveniences - and just be grateful for every second I have with my family.

 This is my reminder to myself that no matter what is happening in this big world we live in, as long as I have the health and safety and happiness of my husband and my children, I have everything.

And now to lift the mood just a bit, the Churches years-in-review as per their ornaments:

2007, the year we started our annual ornament collection, saw Narls' first Christmas,

 

and 2008 was the year Clay and I officially became engaged.

2009 was a pretty epic year with the birth of Emerson and buying our first house,

and 2010 we got Snowmeow kitten.

2011 brought our surprise Las Vegas wedding!,

and 2012 we got Lainey puppy.

Not a bad five years.

Nope, not bad at all.

Broken Hearted

Clay and I just got back from celebrating Christmas with his side of the family. 

We spent the night there, the kiddos played their hearts out with their cousins, Santa came, we exchanged amazing gifts, we ate good food. But my mind kept drifting away. To Connecticut. And my eyes would fill up with tears and my heart would ache and I'd meet my husband's eyes and he'd know because he's feeling the exact same way. And although we didn't speak about it, I think every adult in that house we feeling it. There was a somberness amongst us that has never been there before.

To think that our beautiful and bright and curious and cherished children could just be taken away in an instant is too much for my heart to bear. I hugged my kids tighter, let them stay up later, overlooked some sassy words... just so thankful that they are here.

I cannot imagine the pain the families in Newtown, Connecticut are experiencing. I am so, so sorry for everyone affected by this tragedy. 

So very sorry.

November Reflections

Guess how many pictures I took during the month of November. 23. Twenty three measly pictures (I typically average a couple hundred a month). There are no pictures of Thanksgiving dinner and all of its amazingness. There are no pictures of my little family decorating our Christmas tree the weekend following Thanksgiving. I don't even know why. I've just been consumed with life, I guess.

Consumed with trying to make sure Narls is at school on time (promptness isn't my strong suit; my boy already has five tardies). Consumed with running Em to gymnastics on Mondays and Poms on Tuesdays and running Narls to karate on Wednesdays and rollerskating on Saturdays.  Consumed with Sight Words and homework and training Lainey and laughing at stories told during dinner and grocery shopping and drinking wine while watching The Walking Dead with my husband and sleeping in on Sunday mornings.

This is my only real post for November and that makes me both happy and sad. Sad because this is my place to look back and reflect and remember, and I haven't been the best at preserving our memories lately. I don't want November 2012 to be forgotten: laughing with my inlaws during our Thanksgiving dinner, sweet moments with my children, hilarious nights out with friends, romantic dates with my husband, decorating our Christmas tree together.

I'm happy, though, because I know it's because things are just so. good. So comfortable and warm and wonderful that I don't feel the need to get the feelings down on paper because I know this is how things will always be. I'll always be this happy. We'll always be this happy.

Sadly

Only Boring People Get Bored

Rainy, drizzly Saturday.

Not much to do.

Clay's working, the kids are whining, and I could veg out in front of the tv catching up on Sons of Anarchy for the entire day.

Well, if it wasn't for the whining. Seriously, whining is my parenting kryptonite.

I'm boaaarrrwwwiiinnnggg. 

(My kids haven't grasped the difference between being boring and being bored. I have no intentions of correcting them yet; it's my own little personal satisfaction.)

So I sacrificed the pumpkin I picked from yesterday's field trip (and watching 45 more minutes of Jax's abs), busted out some paints, and let the kiddos go to town creating masterpieces.

We drank cider and listened to Pandora's Halloween channel (even the annoying Kidz Bop version of Halloween songs are preferable over the shrill sounds of children whining) and salvaged the afternoon.

What impromptu fall ~party~ is complete without a pumpkin-flavored munchie, though? NONE.

So we broke out the donut hole maker, which we lovingly refer to as the TimBit maker because my family's obsession with Tim Horton's knows no bounds.

And I had every intention on making healthy pumpkin timbits, truly I did, but no diet can resist the temptation of a lazy, rainy Saturday afternoon when all one wants to do is eat eat eat nom nom nom.

So we rolled those bitches in butter, cinnamon, and sugar.

And god, were they goooood.

Reading and Writing and Adjusting

Well the first two weeks of kindergarten have been interesting.

The Welcome-to-Kindergarten letter I was eagerly anticipating? We got it in the mail approximately four days before school started. It contained no school supply list, no bus information, no school menu- just a welcome paragraph instructing parents to attend the first day of school with their children, and oh, that first day is only an hour long for kindergarteners.

Four days later, 27 kindergarteners and their accompanying parents crowded into a tiny classroom that lacked air-conditioning, and listened to a darling, but very nervous, teacher explain what this upcoming year would bring. We also received the school supply list, the bus information, and the school menu.

For a compulsive planner and organizer such as myself, this was a nightmare. I need time to plan and organize and basically get my mind wrapped around a change before I can commit myself to it and this school was giving me very little time to do that.

Clay and I left that first day with our boy, took him to the store to get his school supplies, he caught the bus the next morning without issue, and I’ve always intended on packing his lunch so really that lunch menu was pretty inconsequential.

This is new. I adjusted. We made it work. And it was fine.

Which is how I’m hoping it will go with Narls’ behavior. He was in time-out the first two days of school, prompting the teacher to ask Clay at pick-up time “how old is he?” And Wednesday of this week, he was in time-out FOUR TIMES. In one day. He behavior went into “red” status (danger zone apparently) and he was asked to leave his music class for climbing on a table.

I’m shocked and disappointed to hear this, and I’m not even going to begin to make excuses for his actions. He had his punishment at school, Clay and I implemented our punishment at home, and we’ve had many discussions explaining to him how this behavior is unacceptable.

Clay and I attended an Open House at his elementary school last night and I apologized to his teacher. “He’s curious and he’s impressionable and he was doing the same thing his classmates were doing”, she replied with a smile. “It’s an adjustment for everybody.” Gone was the nervous woman from that first day and in front of me was a confident teacher who has faith in my boy. “Narls is very smart, and his vocabulary and imagination are outstanding.”

No focus on the bad, just a quiet assurance that he’ll do better.

Funny how much I, a grownup, can still learn from a kindergarten teacher.

This is new.  He will adjust. We’ll make it work. And it’ll be fine.