So much to tell you all!

As you all know, I was in Nantucket last weekend. Lots and lots to tell you all about that!

To summarize, TP and I were together constantly, and biked a total of about 40 miles, so we got some excellent exercise. We ate large bagel-ious and other starch heavy breakfasts (don't tell MY MOTHER), skipped lunch, and then had fantastic, huge dinners at hip, expensive restaurants. TP ate more than I did at these extravaganzas, though I certainly put in a yeoman's effort.

As of today, TP is three pounds lighter than he was before the vacation, while I gained three pounds. WHERE IS THE JUSTICE, I ASK YOU? I wouldn't mind if he just wasn't so damned happy about it. (Though I guess I do get a payoff, too, which I will probably try and collect on tonight, so I'm not complaining.)

To combat this distressing trend, I just brewed a pot of mint tea, and I will continue to try and flush the poisons out of my plump little body.

Other things you should know about my vacation:

I tooled around in a happy orange hat for much of our four days there. Bet you can't say the same! I know most of you are too cool for a little orange fisherman's hat. Too bad for you, folks! I can't wear sunglasses because I am hopelessly cross-eyed (Emphasize the HOPELESS -- I recently had this diagnosis confirmed at Children's Hospital, to the tune of $1,500.00. You would think for $1,500.00 they would have thrown in a pair of B cups, but all I got was dilated pupils and some sad head-shaking.) [Footnote: My Ancestry.com research (I have a lot of hot hobbies) has determined that my cross-eyes are of Irish origin. My great-grandfather, Dr. Lawrence Henry Goodwin Collier, a.k.a. "Dr. Can't keep it in his pants" named his illegitimate son Lawrence Goodwin. Turns out Dr. Collier's mother's maiden name was Goodwin. I was contacted by a Goodwin cousin, and they are all cross-eyed. I don't know if there are a lot of cross-eyed, Irish broads out there, but there you go, you know at least one! They also have heart problems and are mostly left-handed. Haven't determined if any of them also enjoy knitting and romance novels, but I have not completed my research.]

My HOPELESS crossed-eyes mean I only look out of one eye at a time, so I can't wear glasses or sunglasses, so I needed the cute, goofy hat to protect my eyes from the sun. It may not have been a perfect solution, but I bet I made a lot of friends/admirers, so I'm not complaining.

Another nugget I need to share with you:
Certain foods are very hot on Nantucket right now. Grits, for instance, showed up on multiple menus (I discovered I loved grits, not surprisingly, though I had not had them before. Or if I had had, they were called, "polenta"). Also, lots of confits, though it seemed to mean something different every time. As far as I can tell, they mostly used it to mean, "cooked, mashed up bits of meat." Churros and foi gras also seemed ever-present, which was a good thing, and probably responsible for some of those pounds I gained. Finally, lots of local veggies, including a kale caesar salad, which I enjoyed. A kale caesar salad is such a health food corruption, kind of like a wheat-grass cocktail, or seeing the pope give someone a [insert favorite sex act that you think the pope might be good at]. [Footnote: I would go with strip-tease.]

Last Nantucket Nugget for this evening:
Cucumber water. WOW! I'm going to buy one of those upside-down pitcher things, with the spouts? Know what I'm talking about? Then I'm going to have a lady party, and we are all going to drink refreshing cucumber water (which, by the way, is not fattening) and play canasta or maj jong or dominoes, (because I am open to games of all races) under an umbrella in my backyard. Seriously, I want to have a party just for the water. I don't even like cucumbers, AT ALL, in ANY circumstance, and I thought this water was delicious.

So, it's like I always say, you travel the world and you get a silly hat and fall in love with grits and cucumber water. Can you imagine what would happen if I went to a different state?

Anniversary Post

Yesterday was my parents' 20,000th wedding anniversary.  Seriously, they were married forty-three years ago.  Luckily for me and my inheritance, that was before I was born, which I have always found vaguely surprising, considering their subsequent inability to avoid conception.

Therefore it might be a nice time to consider how they've done it.  MY MOTHER, despite her strong personality and decided opinions, is actually very easy to live with.  She has good hygiene.  She practices what she preaches.  She has good posture.  She is rarely twitchy and never picks at her skin or scratches herself (probably because of the good hygiene -- there's a little life-lesson for you, kids!)

Seriously, though, as I sit here on vacation, waiting for my husband, the self-dubbed Total Package, to finish his work so I can go to the beach and get a sunburn, I think the thing I like most about MY MOTHER is that she is UP FOR ANYTHING.  Want to go on a bike ride?  Sure.  Want to have a drink or four?  Sure.  Want to host a few weddings?  No problem.  Want to make fifty fruit and coffee cakes for everyone you know every Christmas?  Time to put a smile on, roll your sleeves up and start chopping walnuts!

Now, you'd think most people would be that way, because it's definitely the way to have the most fun and get the most done.  If you don't go up to bat, you never hit a home run, dipstick.  However, most people are tired, or lazy, or pretty lame, actually, so they don't have evening cookouts on the beach or roller blade in the rain like MY MOTHER.  They don't ski like maniacs or paint their daughters' kitchens.  They don't call every like-minded voter to protect the Town's open space or schools.  And they don't laugh at themselves and everything else that strikes them as funny as they move through their day.

Bruce Springsteen once said, by way of my little brother, J Monster, MY MOTHER "has the heart of a ballerina."  I used to think that was a little prissy and delicate for my earthy, gardening, sexy mum.  However, then I remembered a ballerina's feet.  Nasty!  Those bitches go for it!  It hurts, but they twirl on, and they love it!  So I think Bruce and J Monster were right, and MY MOTHER and her heart are pretty cool to be married to, and to have in your life at all, actually.  I recommend doing something awesome with her, if you get the chance.

Mr. Lasagna, a.k.a., Daddy to a large group of lucky people, also has good hygiene, though he can be pretty gross on occasion (this site is too classy for any of those stories  -- quick two words -- bucket and boat).  He can whistle between his teeth, which he does when he is happy, and he pretends to know a great deal about wildlife.  This impresses those of his grandchildren that can't read.  Finally, he is fun to play cards with, as long as you remember that you wouldn't actually "get shot in Vegas" for dropping a card, something that has prevented me from braving that metropolis to this day.

Seriously, I think Mr. Lasagna is perfect for MY MOTHER because he thinks BIG.  If you are hanging with someone who is UP FOR ANYTHING  you better have some crazy cliff diving-type river rapids for her to dive into.  I also truly believe that if you have an over-inflated concept of what you can do, you often accomplish stuff that wasn't actually possible.  You can WILL things into being.  Hence the six kids (most of whom are pretty cool), the house expanded, the garage built, the tennis court built, the four houses built/renovated for his kids, the local laws passed, 1,000 + acres of land preserved, etc., etc. 

And he's funny (though not as funny as he thinks he is).  Which has kept them laughing and probably kept him alive.

Well, enough of this love-fest.  What have we learned today?  One, be UP FOR ANYTHING.  Two, you CAN do it (even if you actually can't).  And, three, try and get a good laugh in, no matter what you are into at the moment. 

I'm off to find TP.

The Coarsening of my Delicate Sensibilities

Once upon a time, I had standards.  I ate off my own plate with my own utensils.  If food fell on the floor, I threw it out.  I wore clean clothes that were ironed and in good repair.  I wore earrings every day.  I was positively uptight about bodily fluids.  I would say the same about my husband.  We were clean, well-groomed and proud of it!  Now?  Not so much.

I blame my children.  And it started right at the beginning.  Try giving birth sometime.  For those of you that have not seen a birth, it's not something you want to do on a white couch.  Or even in your home.  Blood, mucus, vomit, poop -- it's not for the faint of heart.

Then bring the baby home.  Suddenly, for the first time in your life (unless you are a medical professional or a pervert), you are being peed, pooped and vomited on.  My youngest daughter, The Bean, once pooped across the room.  She was a teensie little infant on her white changing table, on a white blanket, in a white outfit, and I took her pants off to change her diaper.  There was a bureau with a pile of white cloths on it across the room.  She she shot out this liquid, mustardy poop that splattered all over her, the changing table AND the whole bureau.  It was amazing in all the worst ways.

Do you let people you aren't boinking have a sip of your drink?  I didn't until I had kids.  I still resist it, but sometimes when it's a choice between giving one of them a sip of water or getting up and pouring another one for them, I give up.  And I was much more particular about my hair and clothes when I was the only person I was dressing.  Now if someone notices I've lost a button, I like to pretend that it "must have just fallen off." I have one jacket I've worn that way for four years.
Ever reached down a full toilet to get a tube of toothpaste or other dropped item?  Not cool, but often necessary when your five-year-old is an uncoordinated pain-in-the-ass who wants to "do it herself."  It breaks something in you.  The scary part is that then you have to defend throwing the item out, like you're the unreasonable one.

The girls are nothing compared to the boys, though.  As you probably know, my son, Mister B, is a gorgeous, sweet little man.   Unfortunately, hygiene is not his strong suit.  Many a time, we have found an unflushed toilet in the bathroom, BUT THERE'S NO TOILET PAPER IN THE BOWL.  Think about it.  It's upsetting.

On the upside, his revolting personal habits do pay his sisters back for the emotional torture he's undergone at their hands for the last six years.  This morning, my oldest daughter, who's self proclaimed rock n' roll name is "Thorn," ran downstairs screeching.  She explained that Mister B had overshot some pee onto the floor, and then wiped it up with a towel.  So far, so good for Mister B.  Unfortunately, he then put the towel on the counter and Thorn used it to dry her face after her morning ablutions.   The worst thing about it is that TP and I really didn't think it was a big deal.  We both PRETENDED we were upset to mollify her, but after she went back upstairs, TP said, "I almost told her, 'It's only water.'"  The TP I fell in love with would not have thought it was only water, but then, that innocent manchild had never have been forced to wipe his son's nose with his bare fingers in a moment of desperation, either.

I try not to worry too much about breakdown in standards.  There have been a lot of wet, rather disgusting kisses that I would never have missed along the way.

I'm back, baby!

As many of you know, one of my little cousins, Tootsie, is getting married on August 18th, less than two months away!!!!!! As such, Tootsie is officially nominated, "My Favorite Damned Cousin" for the rest of the summer. She is my little cousin, because she's much younger than me (Five years!) and she's tiny (rumor has it the bitch has been eating kale for lunch every day). [Footnote: Kale is gross. I know it's good for you, but I just cooked about four pounds of it for dinner last night, and I wouldn't eat it even if it were dipped in chocolate.]

Despite her lean, young body, and her repulsive eating habits, she is really awesome, and she mentioned to me when I last saw her that she used to read my blog when she needed a break at work. A multitude of other readers (four or five hundred) have also asked that I re-start the blog. I have therefore decided to come out of retirement (much like Brett Favre, but without the dirty pictures) and give these blog entries to Tiny Tootsie as a little wedding present. [Footnote: Tell your husband-to-be that that will not negatively impact the size of the actual present. I am not one of those jerks who "helps someone move," or "reupholsters a chair" for a wedding present. You will get your chunk of change, as is your due. By the way, did anyone else know how to spell "reupholster?" I had to look it up -- why do we spell that that way? Should be "reapolster," yes?]

I have already completed much of my Wedding Checklist, which I am sure you are very concerned about. Step one -- Killer dress/shoes/earrings. Went to Pilgrim's Progress, the best clothing store in the world, so done. Just a piece of advice when you are a smokin' (or slightly charred) lady dressing for a wedding in August -- It's going to be hot, and you are going to dance your patottie off. Dress for sweating. My dress is strappy, floaty and fantastic, so I'm all set. If any of you try and wear the same thing, I'll claw your eyes out. That includes you, Miss R who works upstairs. I'm watching you.

Step two -- Make hair appointment. Done. No roots allowed at the wedding.

Step three -- Get in shape. Done. My main squeeze, TP ("Total Package"), and I just completed the Insanity workouts. Nine weeks, six days a week. I eat lightning and I defecate thunder. I AM AS STRONG AS AN OX. I look back fondly on giving birth after finishing those videos. Seriously, I would be happy to prove it by beating up the bully of your choice.

Step four -- Get thin. Having a little more difficulty with this one. Quelle Surprise! Seriously, I've once more lost the ten pounds that I've lost and gained about six times in the past five years, so that is good. Unfortunately, I have not progressed beyond that. So here I am at 130 pounds again, well-muscled, with a layer of fat over what I hope is a killer body.

Also unfortunate is the fact that I have not grown. I am still at 5'3", with no boobs, shoulders or hips to speak of. If I were not 5'6", or a D cup, the math would be much more in my favor. Now that I am in my forties, I think hoping for a growth spurt is overly optimistic, however, so I think I am going to have to eat less.

So there it is! Time for another journey! Can I lose ten pounds in eight weeks? A NEW ten pounds, that is? Yes, I can! I'm in shape (albeit well-padded shape), so the rest should be easy (or easier).

To kick off this journey, TP and I are going to go to Nantucket for four days and nights. We've already made reservations at four different incredibly decadent restaurants, so I should lose some weight on the trip without even trying. That's my motto, "Set yourself up for success!"

Hope you enjoy the posts, and please let the other cool cats know I've started up again! Love you!

Big K