Wired Wrong and On Pepsi

I have issues. All at once now, "DUH!" I know if you are a regular on my blog you already know this about me. But for those of you who are new to my blog, Welcome and, I am not normal.

The issues I would be referring to tonight would have to do with my eating habits. I know we discuss them a lot and we already know I have issues in that area of my life but it occurred to me Tuesday night that my issues are worse than I previously admitted to.

You see, Tuesday nights I watch The Biggest Loser. I don't usually watch much t.v. but I do watch that show. It occurred to me while watching a couple weeks ago that I have NEVER watched an episode of The Biggest Loser without eating. I don't mean snacking on an apple or popcorn or eating dinner. I mean I have NEVER watched an episode without totally pigging out on junk food. Biggest Loser and cookie dough, Biggest Loser and caramel apple, sans apple, Biggest Loser and the entire pan of cupcake pebble crispy treats, Biggest Loser and the entire box of chocolate donuts....

It's like being so interested in watching the train wreck being put back on the tracks that I fail to see the train wreck occurring in my own living room. Deep, I know.

Last Tuesday, I was on a cleansing diet. I started watching TBL (I just realized The Biggest Loser initials are TBL...as in the abbreviation for tablespoon in a recipe hmm, sorry random I know, or not, I guess considering my mind has one track and it's food!) Anyway, I started watching and the urge to whip up some white cake batter was so strong I had to turn off the t.v. and go to bed. I can't do it. I cannot watch ten minutes of that show with out junk food. It is impossible.

On a different but related topic, if you are ever on a diet, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT light a sugar cookie candle. Trust me, it is a bad idea! Bad! Very, very bad!

For your information, for all of you who doubt my ability to stick to any kind of a diet, I DID IT! I did a week long cleanse and I did not cheat. Not even once! Not even when the boys had my favorite EVER maple bars (not that maple bars are my favorite and not that they aren't, but that these maple bars from this specific place are THE BEST EVER!), not when JC (he's a cheater) and the boys had pizza for dinner, not even when the boys had milkshakes, not even when I was offered a diet Pepsi...ON CRUSHED ICE, not when Dub had a cheeseburger from Checkers...well okay, I took one bite, BUT, I just chewed it up and tasted it real good and then spit it out, so that doesn't really count, sorry for the TMI. Now, technically, hour wise, I have been on this cleanse for 7 days, 168 hours...even though day wise the diet doesn't end until tomorrow, but hour wise I did 7 days. So I had me a diet Pepsi on crushed ice...thank you Country Boy Drive In! and now I am about to have a scoop of coconut milk ice cream in a waffle cone with caramel (I have the candle to blame for that craving), then I am going to mix up some cupcake pebble crispy treats and then I am going to run to get some maple bars for breakfast....and then after I watch the episode of TBL that I turned off on Tuesday I should probably do anther week on the diet because I am sure everything I am about to partake of is going to completely undo whatever the last 168 hours did for me.

Now if you will excuse me, my ice cream is melting!

Diet = No Brain Function

I'm on a diet per my doctor. I am not functioning well enough to blog tonight. I promise I have good suff rolling around in my head...somewhere. I will post all about it after I get some sleep and some chocolate donuts and diet pepsi brain food. Here is a video that I found earlier today. Enjoy.

Just Sayin' and A Lil' Linky Love

Okay, so here's the thing, I sometimes wonder if anyone reads my blog. Sometimes I think, "I should go blog" then I think, "Naa, no one reads it anyway." It gets kind of discouraging. Then out of the blue I get a comment from a "closet reader"! It absolutely makes my day! I am going to be honest, BLOGGERS LOVE COMMENTS!!!! It feeds our psychological need for something we didn't get back when because someone did....okay, it feeds our ego, it gives meaning to our otherwise meaningless lives, it makes missing an episode of The Biggest Loser and a bowl of carmel worth it. So please if you are a "closet reader", "blog stalker", "frequent flyer", "first timer", "hippie", "hobo" or "zebra" please remember you can change the whole entire mood of a bloggers day just by making a comment. So that being said, go check out a couple of my blogging friends and say hi! For my frugal friends go check out Mynde at Pennies to Pasta, for my friends who need a little JOY in your life check out Joy at JOY (Just Organize Yourself) and for a little Vintage Flare check out the Vintage Housewife. Happy Blog Stalking.

All About Boo!

This spider monkey just turned 7!
Rub came on his due date, which also happens to be my mother in laws birthday. We were getting ready for her party when I decided I didn't feel so great. By the time I had Vootz and Buzz bathed I decided I should probably go to the hospital. We dropped the boys off for cake and ice cream with Grandma and Buppa and we went in. I was already at 8cm. The nurse literally ran my blood work to the lab so I could get my epidural because I am a wimp . The epidural was placed, and Rub was born ten minutes later. The from the first contraction at home to the time he was born took less than two hours. Doc told me don't push, he's coming and I'm not ready. I didn't push, ready or not he came! He immediately peed all over Dr. C who hadn't had time to put on his disposable smock. showered Dr. C with love. Then he balled up his little fists, arched his back and screamed! When they handed him to me my first thoughts, and therefore words were, "He definitely has his dad's mouth. Look at the size of it." Hey, it's a delivering mom's prerogative to speak her mind. Especially after she deliverers a kid with a head circumference as big as Rub's. He tells me today that his head is so big because, "I gotta lotta knowledge stored in my brain!" He was 8lbs. 3oz. and, go ahead and get the lynch mob ready...I don't remember how long he was. He was and is still healthy. My heart breaks for him because he was only three weeks old when his Buppa died. Unlike Vootz and Buzz he didn't get to make any memories of Buppa. He only has the memories he barrows from the rest of us. When Rub was 3 months old I was in the hospital for a week. Rub stayed with my mom and refused to drink from a bottle for almost two days. My poor mom bought every bottle/nipple style she could find and three different formulas. I was to the point I had asked my BFF and Step mom to do double duty and nurse him because they both had boys within a month of me having Rub. Finally my BFF had one type of bottle he would take. He's slobbered like a St. Bernard from day one. He was/is my thumb sucker, even in his ultra sound picture. He only sucks one thumb though, they are NOT interchangeable. He had a rag quilt made for him that he would rub between his fingers, stick in his ear or nose while he sucked his thumb, but it was only a specific corner. As a toddler he would wake up screaming at night, "I tan't fine my cona!" He was affectionately (and just between JC and I)labeled as our "St.Bernard", "Emotional Child", "Stubborn One", "Remedial Child", "The Cave Man", "Tank", "Bulldozer"...and has since proven us wrong on the "remedial" label anyway. Pre "pre K" I could not get him to do ANYTHING remotely related to learning. He would not color, finger paint, sing, count...He wanted nothing to do with ANYTHING unless it involved firetrucks. We were worried he would flunk out of kindergarten. He has since proven us wrong. He is now affectionately our "smarter than you think" child or the "playin' you" child. His nick name came from Buzz not being able to say his real name. He called him Puppub and from there his name evolved to Rub. He is very affectionate which is how he got his second nick name of "Boo" or "Momma's Boo". It started with me calling him my snuggly buggly boo and got shortened to Boo. Nick Names, It's a Buppa thing. He is also very tactile. He's living up to his nick name, he likes to "rub" things. When he gets tired especially, he will run his fingers through my hair or rub my back. He also likes to have his tummy rubbed. When he would get tired he would lay down and pull my hand over to his tummy and rub it back and forth until he fell asleep. He is very funny, his facial expressions are the best and his smile is killer! From very early on he would cry anytime JC touched me, hugged me or kissed me, then he started pushing up between us and pushing him away. To this day they still fight over me...it's good to be loved! I am "The Pwincess"! You can read more about Rub here, here, here, here, here, HERE, here, here, here, HERE, and here.

When Did That Happen?

Snap back to reality. Ope there goes gravity...literally.
I realized something today that my body realized a long time ago. It tried to tell me, but being the stubborn girl I am, I didn't listen. See, there I go again. I said, "girl". I am not a "girl" anymore. I am not 16. I am not even 18. I am about to turn 29 for the 5th time. I sag in places no person should ever sag. I have no hair where I should have hair and hair where I shouldn't have hair and that hair is not the color it should be! I have to take Motrin to be able to get out of bed in the morning. My body cracks and creaks. I take pills to make my heart work, I take pills to make my digestive system work, I take pills to make my joints work, I take pills to make my mind function. I have to cross my legs to laugh, sneeze, cough and sometimes when I run. The scale refuses to read the numbers I use to be so embarrassed of when I was 16, but would be supremely happy to see today. All of this hit me like a ton of bricks today when I realized I can no longer subsist on a Dr. Pepper, a donut, a box of Hot Tamales and a stick of gum for the entire day. I CAN, but there are extreme consequences that I would never have experienced at 16...migraine, fatigue, gas, bloating, irritability, irrational thoughts, lack of focus.....It's just not pretty. It was reinforced when my kid told me he didn't want me to die. When I asked why he thought I was going to die, he told me because I am old like Granny was and she died because she was old. It was reinforced again when I was judging the science fair at my kids school and I was called "Mrs." Moncur fifty times! I know, I have been "Mrs." Moncur for almost 13 years, and it was cute and fun to sign my name that way for the few months before and after the wedding, but somehow after the wedding the whole "Mrs." part freaks me out, especially when it is coming out of the mouths of 12 year olds. After all I was just 12 myself a few years ago. Wasn't I? WHAT HAPPENED? HOW DID I GO FROM 16 TO 29 for the 5th time? Now that I have come to the conclusion that I am not 16 anymore and dealt with the emotional distress that followed with a bowl of carmel I wish someone would please tell my skin! Please tell it that I am neither 16 nor 91! It seems to be rather confused about my age. It says, "Oh, 16, have some pimples. At least one for every year old you are. Oh, would that be 16? 91? Oh well, a face full will do, to balance out the pimples lets throw in some age spots and wrinkles. We will just skip right over crows feet and laugh lines and go straight to the canyons!"
Did you know when you are not 16 anymore that "Spanx" takes on a whole new meaning? It is no longer a cute way to spell "spanks" which is so much more exciting than "Spanx" and a whole lot less painful too. When you are no longer 16, Victoria's Secret bras are just for looks and serve no other purpose. When you are no longer 16 the little lady at The Bra Shoppe measures you for your new bra that will serve a purpose, she actually picks your friends up and places them in the cups. And when she tries to sell you the matching underwear you think, "sure" until you see the tag says "support brief". Then you go home crank up the "old school" station because that is what they call your music now..."old school", paint your nails electric blue and sing into your hairbrush while you attempt to jump on your bed. Don't worry the asylum is really quite nice.

Runner Out Of Commission...Enter At Your Own Risk

I love it when I spend four hours of my Saturday morning in urgent care and leave, knowing no more than I did when I got there, but with drugs. Can you hear the irritation in my keystrokes? My knee has really been bothering me and it is getting worse, so I went to the urgent care today. I sat in the waiting room for a grand total of three and a half hours, and in the pharmacy for fifteen minutes, I saw a doctor, a nurse and an x-ray technician all in fifteen minutes. I left with an unclear diagnoses of "It could be's", crutches, a knee brace (I cannot wear because it has a hard support that smashes right up against the part of my knee that hurts), drugs, instructions to not put weight on it for at least a week, NO RUNNING until my family doctor releases me and here is the clincher...a note for a week off of work. Is there such thing for a mother of four boys? Going to an office to work would be more R&R than staying home, but even then, are you kidding me? How in the frick am I going to stay completely off of my leg, rest it, elevate it and ice it for twenty minutes every hour for a week and still have a house left standing when I can stand? I am not in a good mood. I don't like, "I don't know what's wrong with you, it could be this, this, this or possibly this, I don't read x-rays so we will have to wait for the radiology report, but here take these drugs and if the pain doesn't go away then we will do an MRI and maybe fix the reason you are having the pain to begin with instead of just drugging you out of your mind, either way, the longer I prolong your misery the more I get paid. The more you come back to me because I hooked you on narcotics instead of fixing the problem. Or the more you come back to me so I can do one test a visit for the next six months until I finally decide to send you to someone who knows what the heck they are doing. Either way it looks good for me and not so good for you." So, normally when I am this irritated I lace up and run, what do I do now? I have no cinnamon bears or sour patch kids to bite the heads off of. Really it is therapeutic. I did bite JC's head off, chewed it up and spit it out. He's not as therapeutic as candy, he bites back, plus he doesn't taste nearly as good. I have no Oreos, no chocolate donuts, no diet Pepsi. Ya'll might want to pray that I can run again real, real soon, for my family's sake. This is not looking good. Going to take a nap now. Over and out.

Many View Rare Full Moon

A summary of yesterday...

Burned my hand when I grabbed the wrong end of my flat iron.

Squirted onion juice into my eye.

Almost choked on a fried potato...TWICE.

Took JC's truck to get gas and ran out of gas before I made it to the gas station.

Smashed JC's head with the trunk of my car when he brought me the gas can.

Sent JC and two boys to the ranch to fix and electrical switch but realized, as I was cooking dinner, that I forgot to send the rent check with them. Stopped in the middle of cooking to drive out to the ranch with the rent.

Microwave in the shop at the ranch almost burned down the shop. Microwave thrown away and new electrical boxes installed...in hindsight, given the days track record, playing with electricity was probably not a good idea, but everyone survived, probably because I was not helping.

Two plugged toilets by my fifth son, his name is "not me". Two unplugged toilets by yours truely.

One new thermostat...WooHoo! We have heat!

So ready for a run...

Now the run went like this...

Less than a block away I flicked a piece of crushed granite into the back of my shoe. "Ouch!" was the word I should have used, but didn't My running briefs are crawling in the worst way. About a half a mile in, I had to pee. Yes mom, I went before I left the house. For normal people this would be no problem, just hold it. I am not a normal person, I am a mom, who gave birth to 4 large melon headed babies who for nine months used my bladder as a punching bag. I start evaluate my options. I can go home and call it a night, but I really need this run. I could see if I can find an open gate and bathroom at the school coming up, but the custodians would probably have me arrested. I could drop in, unannounced at a friends house, but she is not a close friend. She is the little sister of a close friend. A friend still the same, but she is probably having family night, or worse than that getting kids ready for bed. That would be real nice, Hi K! Just dropping in unannounced. Can you take your kids out of the tub because I need to use your toilet. Or I can hold it...as long as I can. Dang this murph! It took me long enough to evaluate my options that the only option I had left was to hold it. We had passed the point of no return, we had passed the school and we had passed K's street. About a half a mile later I have to re-evaluate the situation. I am now doing a cross between the pee pee dance and a run. I can just let it happen, I am sure I would not be the first runner who peed their pants and I know I wouldn't be the last, but ewwww and brrr. Or I can find a bush, but I have never been good at squatty potty. I find some hedges, not the best cover but I am out of time. Turn off my head lamp duck in behind them, no cars coming, drop 'em, adjust all headphone wires coming from the pocket in the back of my pants, squat...nothing. Stage fright or cold shock what ever, it wasn't happening, at least not fast enough. Then finally just as the awww factor hits so does the traffic. I am dying. I am behind the bush totally squatting down as far as I can go ducking my head, praying for invisibility beneath my glow stick adorned, reflective white shirt with my reflective orange wrist band and praying no one is paying attention to the iridescent full moon setting in the hedges. Ange tries to block as much of me as she can with her fake, "just doing a little stretch" poses but I can't help but think that she is drawing more attention our direction. We are cracking up. On the road again. Twenty yards ahead, perfect cover to hide an entire football team. Make a mental note of that spot just incase there is a "next time". About a mile later a plain white wrapper blows me off the road. Geesh buddy slow down! Unless you are investigating all the calls for indecent exposure on the next road north, then keep on going. I'm innocent, you can't prove a thing. I feel sorry for the person who would have to pick me out of that line up. Pretty sure my briefs are on backwards at this point.

Now Ange has issues. For a backwoods Indiana girl she just doesn't have enough...backwoods Indiana in her. She can't spit to save her life, she has serious mucous gag reflex issues (read: girlfriend can't hock a lugi)and she can't oakie blow. So when her nose starts to run, she HAS to blow it...in something. She had no tissues, I had tissues, but when I was laughing and trying to pee at the same time, I am pretty sure I dropped them. I can see her mentally going over her options...shirt tail, nope too much to blow this time, sock...nope too much time lost already, glove...yep glove. She is quite funny, because she is worried about if it will gross me out too much. I laugh, Hmm...option one you blow your nose in your glove. Option two, you gag and barf on my shoes. I think I will have to go with door number one.

We managed to finish our run with out anymore trouble. Felt great to stretch, shower and go to bed...where looking back, it seems I should have never left.