2011 Resolutions

Okay, enough is enough. Time to wisen up and get serious. After careful consideration, I've determined that these are the areas I need to improve upon...

1. STOP SMOKING.

2. A renewed commitment to the WLJ.
Seriously, enough is enough. No more procrastination, no more bingeing and fasting. Back to the healthy eating and daily exercise, even if its just twenty minutes. The 2012 Final Countdown is a'comin' and I need to be in fighting form. (I'm only half-kidding.)

3. Be a KINDER person.
I know most of you will think, 'But you ARE a kind person, Beau!' Well, honestly, a lot of the time I'm not. I think unkind thoughts, I make snap judgements about people based on their appearance or actions (when I know damn well what happens when you ASSUME), and I hold grudges. I need to make a conscious effort to be nice in both deed and thought. I think I'll become a much happier person.

4. Tame back the road rage.
I used to gape in horrified amazement when Hubs would let loose the road rage and think to myself, 'Wow, he has some ISSUES!' Haha. Well now I find myself being the one screaming at other drivers, letting loose angry tirades about the stupidity of mankind. Some reactions are uncontrollable, like when that jerk cuts you off or passes too close. But sometimes I find myself being fully aware that I am unreasonably angry (I mean, c'mon, is it that big of a deal that buddy waited until the last second to put on his turn signal?), and yet I still yell and curse. I justify it by telling myself I am teaching my children what NOT to do so that when they are drivers, they will be aware of the kind of things some idiot drivers do. And while that may be somewhat true (yes, now they know to be defensive drivers and be watchful for morons that try to run red lights, etc), do I really want my kids to see me exhibiting such rage?

5. Be more PATIENT.
This is kind of related to the kindness thing, but this one in particular is aimed more towards my children. And I'm sure you all think (because I've heard it said) that I am always ever-so-patient with my kids, yaddayadda. Its a show! A put-on for the public! Not saying I'm an evil raging bitch behind closed doors, but sometimes, a little. I find that I don't have patience or even the desire to be patient when it comes to getting what I want done. For example, if I have to tell my kids to get something done more than twice, I can literally feel my blood pressure rising and then its like, "NOW!" I realize this is normal for any parent, especially one with four kids, but there is a lot to be said for recognizing that these are just KIDS and as such, they flow on their own time path. When Ryder is taking forever to get his coat and boots on, I need to stop and take a breather because what seems like such an inconsequential thing is actually teaching him independence and self-reliance. Little things like that, where I tend to take over just to get it done quickly, or bigger things like Gunnar waiting til what seems like the last minute to get his papers done... those are moments when I have a learning opportunity, to become a better parent and create stronger relationships with my children. Give them a break, understand where their behaviour is coming from (after all, its -20 outside, would I really want to be delivering papers in that?), and just let it be, go with their flow.

6. Show true appreciation for what I've been given, and what I've had to work for.

7. Be more loving to Hubs, and more expressive to him how I'm in love with him.
Many times I lose patience with him (there's that patience thing again) or get angry because he doesn't see something the way I do, or if he says or does something I don't agree with. I can be very short-tempered with him or flippant, or I say something disrespectful like 'pffft!' or roll my eyes. Very rude and its embarrassing to admit that I do that. I am a very stubborn person and I tend to think I'm always right. At times my personality can be very dominating and bossy. If you're not with me, you're against me, that sort of thing. Plus, I have a lot of issues with 'authority' that stem from my teenage years, when I felt very stifled, repressed and controlled. A sure way to get me to do something is to tell me NOT to do it. You know? A lot of times I'm actually reacting to the tone of voice or the manner something is being expressed to me, rather than the actual words. Ty might say something to me and his voice sounds angry, but really its because he just got home and had a stressful day; I'll take it in as a criticism or slight, and then in return I've got a bitchy tone and I'm resentful. Its so stupid and childish but its a rut I get stuck in. And so it needs to END, and I need to grow up. Treat my man as a MAN, not my father, not my child, as my HUSBAND that I've willingly chosen to bind myself to, and as such give him the respect, admiration and most importantly, LOVE, that he so deserves. I always compare our relationship to Levi and Amber's, "Why don't you treat me like Levi treats Amber? Why don't I get PDA's and sweet little kisses when noone's looking? Why don't my feelings come first?" etcetc. But its that old adage that I firmly believe in, 'You reap what you sow'. And I'm a big hypocrite! I want all that stuff but I don't expect to have to return the actions, or initiate them in the first place. So that all stops this year. This year I am going to be the best wife ever, considerate and unselfish, thoughtful and caring. And LOVING. The best example of how true mates should treat each other will always be my parents. No matter their issues, no matter the situation, the highs and lows, they were always about showing each other respect, consideration and love. My mother would NEVER have rolled her eyes at my dad. From now on, I will ask myself, 'Would Mom do this?' (we'll call it: WMDT?) and that will be the measuring stick I hold myself accountable to.

8. Stay in better touch with my loved ones, and be the first to initiate contact and communication.
I am sooo bad for this. I leave it for the other person to contact me. (Well, with the exception of Mom and Christine.) But I mean with my brothers, Fred, Kelly, my grandparents... its usually them who calls me, not vice versa. So this year I'm going to really try to be a better friend, sister, daughter, etc. If I find myself thinking of someone or remembering something funny or cute about them, well then dammit I'm going to call them up right then and there and tell them about it! Its something my mom has always encouraged (she's so wise) and I'm going to start doing it more often. So be prepared to be seeing my number on your call display more often!

So there you have it. My list of resolutions for 2011. While I've accomplished some of last year's resolutions (be more organized, procrastinate less), there's still more work to be done. And this will be the year!

So I will it, so shall it be. :)

Just... UGH.

I love my boys, I really do. You know I do. But sometimes...  I tell ya, that old family threat of "I'm going to sell you to the Indians!" (or was it gypsies?) really sounds good.

There is a certain behaviour that children exhibit, more specifically - MALE children, that just makes me want to SCREAM!! And I can't even say that they grow out of it because my youngest brother is a perfect example (and Amber, I know you know what I'm talking about). He still continues to do it to this day, and he flat out admits to doing it!

WIPING SNOT ON THE WALL.

I'm about done, people. DONE. For some strange reason I was in a cleaning mode this morning, took a microfiber cloth to the china cabinet, baseboards, shelves, etc. And then I thought, 'Hmm, might as well do a couple of walls while I'm at it.' Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

You know, it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't such a blatant, obvious display of "I-know-this-is-wrong-and-gross-but-I'm-still-going-to-do-it". You don't accidentally wipe snot on the wall. Doesn't happen that way. And if I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times: WIPE IT ON YOUR DAMN SHIRT.

Which may horrify and disgust you but think about it. That way, you never have to see it, never have to touch it, you don't even know its there. The shirt goes into the wash, comes out clean. Easy. Done.

On the frickin' wall? Try getting that stuff off with just a cloth, I dare you. Its impossible. No, you have to wrap a cloth around your finger and then SCRAPE with your fingernail. And the entire time, your brain is stuck on repeat: This is snot. This is snot. Dried, hardened snot. This is snot.

And also, its frickin' embarrassing! Try explaining THAT to guests when they come over. "Oh, don't mind that. Just leftovers from last month's cold. Sorry you leaned against it, though."

And another thing... it also wouldn't be so bad if it was just one or two snots on the wall. But I counted six! And that was just on one wall, in one general area! Not even the entire wall! If I did the math (which will probably come out wrong, I don't claim to be Einstein), that small area was about 1/6th the size of the whole wall. So multiply that by 6, you're looking at at least 36 snots! Just on the one wall! I have like a billion walls in this house!

What the hell is wrong with my children? No, seriously. Levi, maybe you can explain to us in the comments the mindset of a snot-wiper. Is it just habit, or a deeper compulsion? Like, 'you didn't buy me the video game I wanted so ha-HA!'

I don't get it.

But I tell ya, I'm about at the point with those boys that I'm going to threaten that they have to scrape those snots off with their TEETH, every last one. And when I have them utterly believing, crying and begging, promising on the birth of their firstborn that they will never, EVER snot-wipe again... then, I will hand them the putty knife.

I need a cigarette.

Does this mean I'm 4x dumber?

I had oral surgery (I love saying that) last Wednesday to remove my four wisdom teeth. The oral surgeon said three of the teeth would be easy but the one on the bottom had an abscess behind it and was pretty close to both a nerve and bone, so it would be a bit tricky.

Surgery day came, I was "nervous and allergic", but everything went smooth and I was sent home to recover. The pain wasn't near as bad as I was expecting (thanks in part to the wonderful percocet!) but I could've done without all the gloopy blood and saliva. Ewww, TMI! Sorry.

I followed the after-care instructions to the letter. Well, except for the "no smoking" part. I lasted almost a day smoke-free, then thought Screw it and lit up. I figured as long as I was keeping my mouth clean and being careful, I'd be okay.

Then I read in the pamphlet about how smoking creates "dry sockets", whatever those are. Started to worry that I'd messed up my mouth. Still didn't stop smoking, though.

Well, anyways, long story short: I had my post-surgery consultation today and everything is fine! The visit literally took less than five minutes. He said my face looked great, no bruising or swelling. He was surprised because the surgery had been "intense", what with that one problem tooth and abscess. He shone a light in my mouth, looked around, praised me for "keeping my teeth and mouth so clean!", said everything is healing wonderfully, then sent me home! Obviously he couldn't even tell I'd been smoking (because I certainly didn't volunteer that info). So hah! No, but seriously, I'm very lucky because I've heard nothing but horror stories from people about their wisdom teeth surgery.

I tell ya, I lead a charmed life!

Omg, I'm one of THEM

And by 'them', I'm talking about those disgusting slobs that wander into Walmart (for example) with crazy outfits and/or crazy hair and/or crazy personal hygiene.

Of course, I'm not quite that bad. I (usually) take pride in my appearance and make sure the hair, makeup and clothes are on-point (because its always been just my luck that the one time I dress down is when I run into an old highschool friend).

So tonight I made a midnight run to Winks for smokes and because it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, I just wore what I had on: white capris, a t-shirt, flats and a coat.

It wasn't until I got home that I realized that my INCREDIBLY HAIRY, UNSHAVED LEGS were on full display for the entire world to see.

*sigh*

Peeve of the Week: Ciggie Butts

We were at the acreage last night, cleaning the 2-mile stretch of ditch that runs from the stop sign at 781 to the crossroads by Earl and Ruby's. Earlier in the week, we'd made arrangements with Levi and Mom (Granny Hag) that we would meet out there Wednesday night to finally get it done. Levi had to cancel due to an unexpected night shift and so we all decided to reschedule.

It was such a beautiful evening though, that Tyler and I loaded up the kids, along with the quad and little trailer, and headed out there. Ty dropped me and the three oldest off right there at the stop sign with our garbage bags and gloves, then he continued on to the acreage with Ryder. Lena, Gunnar, Ardan and I made a fan formation and swept through the ditch like little litter-picking machines. I had the top section by the edge of the road, the protective mother in me coming out I guess. Plus I didn't have to wade through deep grass, haha. The downside?

Cigarette butts.

First off, I was guilty of it myself so I can't judge too harshly. But then again, hell YES I can judge, and curse at, and flat out want to ass-kick those ignorant cusses that huck their butts out the car window. I probably picked up well over 200 butts along that 2-mile stretch. And while that number may not seem that high, picture yourself having to bend over and pick up a tiny white piece of foam buried in gravel and grass. Over 200 times.

By the time we finished the entire north side of the ditch, two and a half hours had passed, dusk was well upon us, my legs, back and arms were aching, and we had six full garbage bags. We had a good time, though. The kids and I walked the ditch until we got to the power plant (whatever that thing is), where Tyler and Ryder were waiting with the quad and trailer. The kids all hopped in the trailer and Tyler pulled them back to the acreage while I continued walking and picking. By the time I made it there they'd all had a nice rest and drink of water, and were ready to carry on. We hadn't planned on doing the full two miles, but then we thought Why not? It was still light enough out, I had tons of energy, and I didn't want to waste the opportunity of having all those sets of helping hands.

For that second-mile stretch Gunnar and I walked, doing the upward slope of the ditch, while Ty rode beside us on the quad with the three youngest in the trailer, and they did the level part of the ditch. Eventually even Gunnar hopped in and then it was just me walking. And picking. Trudging along in my black-and-white polka dot rubber boots, jean capris, black tee, black hat, sunglasses and work gloves. Quite the sight, I'm sure.

I've never been so satisfied with a job well done as I was when we finally finished. Threw my heavy, full bag into the trailer with the kids and hopped on the quad. Ty scooted back so I could drive (copped a feel when the kids weren't looking, niiiice) and we tooted along at a nice slow pace back to the acreage. I was shocked to see the time was 10pm! On the way home past Mac's, we stopped and got our hard-working, deserving kids some screamers. Kids hit the sack immediately, after I made them wash their hands and faces of course!

Here's a small sample of some of the items we collected:

• the bleached-out skull, ribs and vertebrae of a deer, and one furry knee-to-hoof deer leg
• an entire garbage bag of beer and pop cans, juice boxes, beer bottles, and one wine bottle
• giant plastic potting soil bag
• metres of plastic twine
• twisted metal and cables
• fast food containers, drinks, straws, cutlery and bags
• two used condoms, GROSS! (Ardan says "Mom look at this cool thing I found!" and holds up a bright blue slightly-decomposed condom, I shrieked "Drop it in your bag!!!" Gunnar laughed hysterically)
• a CD case, sans CD, of some really lame wannabe-grunge band
• about ten used packets of Arby's ketchup
• pieces of foam
• soggy giant cardboard box
• shredded pieces of tire
• 10+ cigarette packs

And of course, the hundreds upon hundreds of cigarette butts. There was a ton of other miscellaneous stuff, the majority of it plastic. It makes me sad that so many people think nothing of littering, and such random junk too. Like, someone was eating a pudding cup while driving and then just thought, No way I'm waiting to throw this in an actual garbage can, I'll just toss it now! Hey wait a minute, it was probably some school kid hucking it out the bus window, don't you think? Darn brat kids.

But seriously, the cigarette butts. It keeps coming back to that. A smoker thinks nothing of tossing the butt, its so tiny and seemingly insignificant. But that little non-biodegradable piece of foam is full of chemicals and toxins that leach into the soil.

So to any smokers reading this (you know who you are), its time to consider buying a portable travel ashtray to keep in your vehicle. They're cheap, found at most dollar stores. Time to go green, people, time to think about your impact on the world around you.

And to the person who dumped a frickin' ROTTEN DECOMPOSED COW'S HEAD in the ditch, screw you. You are evil. Something is wrong with you, mentally. Screw. You.

(P.S. Figured out the calories burned for this exercise -- using that new website -- 2.5 hours continuous walking at steady pace holding 0-9 pounds, on slight incline through gravel and high grass, repeated bending and grabbing motions: just over 1400 calories burned! NICE)

UPDATE Mission: Butt Out Pt. 2, Day 6

Its now Day 6 and I feel like I'm slowly starting to lose my mind. I can't say that I'm having any physical withdrawal symptoms, other than the occasional headache, but its my mental state I'm worried about, lol.

You don't realize how much of a crutch smoking becomes for you until its no longer there. Before, it was like if I was stressed out, anxious, nervous, bored, hungry, or whatever, I could have a smoke (or two) and it chilled me out and gave me something to do. Now I don't have that and I think I might be going slightly insane. My mind goes in circles, over and over, always thinking thoughts and there's no nicotine-break to stop the cycle. My hands want to do something, they want to repeat that hand-to-mouth motion, so my mind says "Eeeaaatttt sssoommethingggg..." so my hands can do the motion. But I flat out REFUSE to replace smoking with eating, oh no, I am so not going down that road. Instead, I give my hands the motion of bringing a glass of water to my mouth, less satisfying but less fattening, lol.

When it gets to the point where I just can't stand it, then I have to put my body in action. I have to physically do something that will give me a feeling of satisfaction. (And seeing how I chose to do this during Aunt Flo's visit, my favorite activity is off limits, boo!) So as a result, I have now accomplished the following in my house: installed two hanging candle holders in the livingroom, put up the picture shelf in the hallway, sorted and put away a box of filing stuff in my room, cleaned all the upstairs bedrooms, cleaned the microwave, and did ALL the laundry (even blankets and pillows). The next projects I have lined up for the coming days are: scrubbing the ever-lovin' shit out of the dining table and chairs, sorting the other box of filing in my room, vacuuming the cobwebs in the high corners of the walls, cleaning and organizing all the kitchen cupboards and cabinets. There are many more such projects but I have to ration them to get me through the coming month.

And I'm proud to say that I haven't touched a drop of DP in these past 6 days, as well. Or any other type of pop. Its been just water and the occasional glass of juice or milk. It totally sucks but I am doing it. And I've lost six pounds so its worth it. Woohoo!

My 200th Post! And I can't even have a smoke to celebrate

200 posts on the ole blog... *clearing my throat*... "I'd like to thank the Academy... my fans and followers, who read my posts religiously and give me support and encouragement, and the occasional comment... and, of course, my husband and children, who give me inspiration on a daily basis for my posts. Thank you, thank you everyone!"

It is now Day Four of Mission: Butt Out Pt. 2 (because Pt.1 went so well, haha) and I must admit I'm doing okay. The worst times for me are in the early morning and late at night. I used to wake up in the morning, the kids all still in bed, and I'd sit down at the computer with my cup of coffee and chain smoke my way through the entire pot. During the rest of the day, I might have the odd smoke here and there, but I usually get busy doing other stuff that I don't even think about it. But late at night, when the kids are in bed and its just Hubs and me, watching tv, out come the ciggies and the Diet Pepsi.

I don't even know why I suddenly decided to quit, but one night I smoked the last butt in the pack and I thought to myself, "I'm not going to buy more in the morning." I woke up and purposely did not make a pot of coffee, I just drank a couple glasses of water. And come that night, I sat and drank water while watching tv. It just about killed me that first night, giving up not just the smokes but the Diet Pepsi, because I am hugely addicted to that stuff. But I can't have one without the other, so that's the way it has to be. (Plus, I have an idea if I stick with the water instead of the DP, I'll drop an easy 10 pounds!)

So its now been four days... four days of withdrawal, bitchiness, headaches, grumpiness, fierce cravings for caffeine and nicotine (still no coffee or DP!), and did I mention the bitchiness? Haha. It doesn't help that I chose to do this while it was that time of the month for me. Poor Hubs and the kids. Those first two days I was like a walking ticking time bomb. Ty took the kids to the park many many times, lol.

And so now that I have all this 'spare' time on my hands-- itchy, tense, nervous, spastic hands that need something to do other than hold a smoke-- I find that I'm doing, ugh, I hate to even say it... housework.

This morning, knowing that I was going to do a blog post (something I've avoided because it used to go hand-in-hand with smoking), I needed a diversion and so I completely cleaned and organized my computer desk. I'm talking even pulled out the hard drive and dusted all the cords and vents.

So I'm hopeful and optimistic that this time will be the one. I'm stubbornly adamant that I will not go to the store and buy a pack, and even though I know Hubs would go for me in a heartbeat if I asked (he likes to keep me happy, lol), I won't be asking. The only situation I'm dreading is being in a social setting with smokers. I think I will handle it okay, but who knows, right?

But you know what's funny? I'm missing my DP more than the smokes!

Don't mind me, I'm just having a mental breakdown...

I love my life, my kids, and Hubs. I DO. Really. But sometimes I feel like my head is going to explode, and on my gravestone will be written, 'She was a good girl, but sometimes she went a little mental.'

It was Father's Day night, we'd just returned from camping and finished eating supper, and I was getting Ryder ready for bed. As I went to place him in the crib to get him changed into his jammies (makes it easier if he's confined and can't constantly run away from me), he started to gag. I had literally like one second warning, just enough time to tip his upper body toward the bedding (so much easier to clean up when all you have to do is gather up the blankets, take note), and he let it loose. Only, I had angled his body in such a way that not only did the puke spray his entire bed, but all the bars of the crib, the wall behind the crib, AND...*drum roll*... my Ed Hardy purse. Which had just happened to be on the floor beside the crib (I use it as a diaper bag).

Now, if you know me you know that that purse is my most prized possession, I take it everywhere and love to act smug when people comment on it. What can I say, I'm a wannabe fashionista.

At this point, my brain was already smokin-hot with disgust and rage, so I wasn't thinking too clearly. If I'd had a working braincell, I would have placed Ryder in the soaked crib to finish his puking episode. But I wasn't thinking. And I put him down on his green shag area rug. Which he promptly covered in more puke.

I lost it.

Stripped the kid down to bare skin, gathered up all the nasty bedding and clothes and threw them in the hamper, then used like a hundred babywipes to wash him down. Put a clean diaper on him and foisted him off on the boys, so I could concentrate on wiping down the crib, walls, and area rug. I wasn't even going to let myself think about my purse at that point.

I realized after a few seconds that the mess was simply too much, too chunky, to use a dampened cloth. So I filled an icecream bucket with warm water and started scrubbing. At some point I noticed that my shirt was wet, but what I thought was puke spray was actually tears. I hadn't even noticed that I was sobbing my eyes out. I saw something out of the corner of my eye and turned to look, and saw Gunnar standing at the bedroom door, staring at me with obvious concern. He must've heard the insane wailing and wanted to see if I was okay. I couldn't even talk to reassure him that no, I wasn't in the midst of a mental breakdown (which would have been a lie), all I could do was weakly gesture to my purse. He got it.

And so during the half hour it took to wipe everything down, I just let myself cry it out. I was muttering, I was cursing, I was outright screaming at one point (probably when I realized that no amount of picking and scrubbing was going to get the chunks out of the shag area rug). I knew I was acting completely insane but I didn't care. It was so unfair! Why did this have to happen to me? Why did Hubs get to sit out in the livingroom and not even extend an offer of help? Just because it was Father's Day? Why should he be so special? Why was I cursed to have a child with such a sensitive gag reflex? Did he have to puke on every single bar of the crib, when they are impossible to clean without dismantling the entire thing and hosing it down? And for the love of God, why did he have to get my Ed Hardy purse?!!?

By the time I finished, with the cleaning AND the crying, I was in that hiccuping phase of crying and all I wanted to do was just go to bed for the rest of my life. But, being a FREAKING MOM, oh no, I had to remake the bed, get the little brat in his jammies, frantically spray the room and carpet with Febreze, make the brat's bottle and put him to bed, THEN and only then could I let myself think about my purse.

I was dreading to even look at it. How bad was the damage? I'd only seen the puke on one side of it, but what if it was entirely covered? What if the puke got inside the purse? What if it was all in the zipper and buckles?

My relief at seeing the actual damage was overwhelming. It wasn't that bad at all!! None got inside, and the zipper was safe. Still, there was enough on it that I had to spray it down with the shower nozzle at full-blast. Took a while (I had to obsessively go over every inch of the material), but it actually looked brand new when I was finished. I hung it up to dry.

Then I went into the livingroom and because misery loves company, and I was a miserable bitch just then, I let Hubs have it. In that super-sweet voice most men have learned to fear, I said "Thank you sooo much for all the help in there, I really appreciate it. It meant so much to me that you cared about my mental state and came to see if I was alright and needed some help." Of course, he blustered and got defensive, typical man. But I'd said my piece so I just let it drop and went to my room to read and chain smoke and chill myself out.

But I got my revenge an hour later when Hubs went out to unload the bikes from the trailer and all the other gear that was in there. Because we'd driven home in the rain on gravel roads, everything was covered in grimy sandy dirt, including the motorhome. Rather than go to the carwash to clean it all (and end up spending like a hundred bucks) he washed it himself with our little pressure washer. It was raining outside, and between that and the backspray from the pressure washer, he was soaked in seconds. He was out there for over an hour. And did I offer to help? NO.

What goes around, comes around, baby.

Hangover Sunday

Yesterday was Ardan's hockey wind-up party and as you can see by the title there, I obviously had a blast. The party was originally supposed to be held at the new arena, there's no ice so the kids were going to play floor hockey. Then one set of parents volunteered their warehouse/shop that they have over in the industrial area, so plans changed. It worked out much better because then we didn't have a set time limit of how long we could stay, plus, as some of the moms pointed out, then us parents can have a few drinks! And let me just say, I did not plan on drinking at all.

We showed up around 4:30 and the joint was hoppin', as the saying goes. It was a potluck, so I brought my pasta salad (the only thing that Hubs could eat, with his gluten/wheat allergy). Lena was "so shy" at first, hiding behind me for a good ten minutes, but eventually she chilled out and played with the other two little girls there. They were so cute! One girl's mom brought a case full of coloring books, markers, stickers, and.... glitter glue! Of course, us moms were so busy chatting and whatnot, that we just kind of let the kids do their thing. I looked over at one point and saw that Lena and Kylie were doing "makeup" on each other, using, what else, markers and glitter glue. Kylie's mom was all frantic, scrubbing her face desperately to try to get the glitter glue off. No such luck. So I was just like "meh" and let Lena run around looking like a glittery beauty queen clown. She was having fun so I didn't care.

There was one little incident between Kylie and Lena, and it was friggin' hilarious! At least to me. Kylie's mom wasn't too thrilled, but only because her daughter was the 'bad' one. I guess the girls were drinking water and Kylie up and spit a mouthful of water right in Lena's face. Lena's pretty 'go-with-the-flow', like me, and she just wiped it off. But you should have seen poor Carolynn (Kylie's mom). She was like, "KYLIE!!!" and marched her right outside, where we could all hear the heck she was giving her daughter. Poor little Kylie came back in shame-faced and apologetic, said she was sorry, and the girls were off and running. No big whoop. Carolynn came over to me, sooo sorry for Kylie's behaviour, and she was a little shocked at my response. "Well actually, I'm glad Kylie did that." What?! "Yeah, Lena's been going through a spitting phase, even got me in the face one day, which earned her a smack upside the head. So now she knows what it feels like to get spit on, right in the face. I think this will teach her a lesson." Oh. Oh-kayyy. So you're not upset? "No, not at all! Consider it a learning experience for Lena. No worries." Carolynn was so relieved. Haha. I took Lena aside later and asked how it felt to be spit on ("Not good") and that that is how we feel when she spits on us. She got it.

Lena and Kylie playing tag.

So I had brought some vodka lime coolers to the shindig, just in case, you know. Didn't want to be the only one with no booze, even if I just sipped on one cooler the entire time, at least I wouldn't look like a nerd. I took my time getting ready before the party, too. I painted my nails black (Rimmel polish with minerals and Lycra, in Black Satin, LOVE IT!!!), used my new TruBlends mineral powder, applied my new Loreal "beauty tubes" mascara (that give you the look of lash extensions, don't know about that, but they looked a little longer), and my new Covergirl Outlast lipstain in Wildberry Red. It looks like a huge red child's marker, with thick felt tip, so its like you're 'drawing' the lipstain on. It lasts, like, forever. Seriously, the day I first got it, I still had most of it on when I woke up the next morning. The color is amazing, a "true" red that makes your teeth look brilliantly white, and I knew the red was the exact shade I was looking for when Lena said to me, "Mom, your lips are bleeding!" Hah! I had my new Smitten Kitten shades on, and my skinny pants (the ones that make my legs look superlong and slim) and OF COURSE, my new black studded Ed Hardy purse.

I knew the look I was going for was an obvious hit when the mom's all exclaimed, "You look AWESOME! Like a rocker chick!" Yep, I told them I'd been "Glambertized". Only a couple of mom's got it. One mom was so jealous of my "diamond" encrusted skull-and-crossbones necklace, "Where would you even find something like that?" Hubs got it for me, isn't he great?

So by the mid-point of the party, I'd only had one cooler, had a nice buzz going on but by no means was I drunk. I'm careful about stuff like that when there's kids around. I never want my kids to be embarrassed and ashamed that I'm one of those "drunken moms" that use any excuse to tie one on, even if its a family event. Know what I mean? Well, the coach set up a little game for everyone to play together, basically like a shoot-out between the kids and parents. He would choose a parent to take the shot, and the parent would choose a kid to be the goalie. Then it would switch so the kids would take a shot at a parent in net. Everyone was having so much fun. Ardan was chosen as a goalie for another parent and they blind-folded him. No other kid-goalie had been blind-folded, probably because none of them are amazing goalies like Ard. So it was quite a thing, everyone giggling and "ooooo"-ing. And darn if little Ardan didn't block the shot, with the blind-fold on! It was awesome, I think every person in there gave him a hug or pat on the back or high five. He was loving all the attention.

So then the coach calls my name to take a shot. I wanted to pick Ardan or Gunnar to be my goalie, but they'd each already had a turn so I picked another kid, who was just thrilled to finally get called. I grabbed the stick, got in the hockey stance, and started toward the net.

Now, here's a little back-story for ya, just to explain how what happened next came about. I wore my black knee-high boots to the party, and had to walk through the gravel parking lot to get to the shop. My boots have a tendency to get small pebbles and rocks stuck in the heel, which I then have to pry out. Of course, walking to the shop, I picked up several pebbles in both heels. I was able to get all of them but one out, it was in there too deep. So I just stomped my foot a couple times, to push it in deeper so I wouldn't feel it every step I took. Except it refused to go in all the way and stuck out about 1/4" from the bottom of my heel. So there's the set-up: I had a rock stuck in my heel.

I made my way closer to the goalie, doing some fairly decent stick-handling, and I raised the stick to take my shot, lowered it and smacked the ball a good one. Next thing I know, I'm half on my knees, half on my ass, staring up at the faces of all the parents. Horrified, embarrassed, laughing my ass off, "What the...." My one foot had slid to the side and shot out from under me (that damn rock!) and sent me to the ground, right in front of the goalie. You could say I kind of did the splits. All the kids were laughing hysterically, of course; while the parents were trying to restrain their laughter and show concern for me, even though I knew, I knew!, it had to look funny as hell. As I got to my feet I said to one mom, "Thank GOD I wasn't wearing a skirt", which everyone heard and they all burst out laughing. "I'm so embarrassed! I can't believe I did that! And I can't even blame the coolers, because I only had one!" (At that point, I HAD had only one, it was afterwards that I chugged the second, mostly to drown the lingering embarrassment.) Gunnar later took me aside and told me, "Don't feel too bad, Mom, you were the only Mom who was able to raise the puck." I was? Really? "Yeah, and the goalie just barely saved it, you totally would've got a goal." Even though I fell on my butt and looked like a fool? "Mom, how many other people would've been able to raise the puck AND almost get in in, while they are in the middle of falling down? So you should be proud." And I was. Am. Not of myself. Proud of my wonderful 10 year old who took the time to comfort and reassure his mom, because he was sensitive to her embarrassment and wanted to make her feel better.

The rest of the party was spent chatting and getting to know the parents better, chasing after my littlest one (who was obsessed with "escaping" the shop to go outside and throw rocks at the vehicles, arrghhh!), and eating, of course. One mom had also brought a pasta salad, she was originally going to bring a greek salad, but do you know what she did? She made the greek salad, minus the lettuce, and just added pasta to it. And it was the frickin' BESTEST pasta salad I've EVER had in my LIFE! Cherry tomatoes, sweet pea pods, crumbled feta, chunks of cucumber and REAL cooked ham (my salad also had ham but it was canned, haha!). I ate two big helpings of her salad. But it was weird that whenever I looked at someone's plate, it was my salad they were eating. And I honestly couldn't tell you why, her salad was like a 10 while mine would maybe score a 6. She said that in the summer, they cut up some bbq'd chicken breast and add it to the salad, and that's their meal right there. So that's what I'm going to do from now on, too. The party ended around 8:30, we made plans to get together with some of the parents that we really like, it was just a great time. And I still had two coolers left.

Here's all the kids getting their awards, Ardan got "MVP" (Coach said he also should've got Top Scorer but each kid can only get one award and he thought Ardan deserved the MVP the most.)

When we got home, the kids were exhausted and by some silent agreement, they all went downstairs to the hide-a-bed, turned on the tv and fell asleep together, like little sardines all squished together on the bed. So cute. Ryder was so tired that he fell asleep even before we got home. Hubs took him to his crib, changed his diaper and put on a sleeper. All without Ryder even cracking an eyelid. He was so tuckered out from all the running and playing he did with his little buddy Cooper, who is a month older than him. They were "the little hockey guys", with their Gap hoodies on (that was kind of a weird coincidence) and ministicks, chasing each other and the puck around. Adorable.

With all the children in bed and sleeping, what else was there to do but keep the party going, right? I finished my coolers right away, then that sneaky Hubs of mine started bringing me Jack Daniels & DP. I think I had about two of those. Oh, and over half a pack of smokes. The night is kind of a blur after that, but I do remember us laughing hysterically at something on tv, Hubs convincing me that drunken-blogging is never a good thing (but think how hilarious that post would have been!), falling off my chair three or four times and Ty just shaking his head at me, and somehow managing to spill almost an entire bag of popcorn twists all over the floor. I still ate them of course, just scooped them up off the carpet. The 'three second rule' becomes the 'five minute rule' when you're drunk and hungry. Haha.

This morning was a different story. Not feeling so hot today, oh no. I skinned my knee when I wiped out so that was hurting, not to mention the pounding headache, scratchy sore eyes and stiff muscles. Various other body parts were a bit tender and aching too, but that may be a bit TMI for you. Hah! Oh well, what can I say, drunken sex is HAWWWT. You don't quite remember all the details, but somehow you just know you had a really really good time. So now that I've put those images in your head, I'll take my leave and bid you a...

HAPPY HANGOVER SUNDAY EVERYONE!

One (baby) step forward, two steps back...

I could have chosen to lie to you all and keep up the pretense that I'm doing awesome on my Mission: Butt Out. But I'm going to be honest with y'all and admit that I am a weak woman. I made it almost three days, then that darn sabotagin' hubby of mine bought me a pack. He's really big on the weaning thing, and is convinced that I can do it that way. After all, "That's how I did it," he said, "I'd have five one day, four the next, and in a week I had quit smoking." Hmm. I do recall that he was able to quit after the first try, with no relapses. I don't know if its because he's a man and is hard-wired differently, or he has stronger willpower, or what.

I definitely am smoking less than I used to. During the day I hardly smoke at all. Its just early in the morning and late at night that I have a problem. But even then, where I'd maybe smoke five, I'm only having three. So that's good. Right?

I hope this doesn't discourage you, Mom, from your own Mission: Butt Out. You're a strong woman and I know you can do anything you put your mind to. I'm still on the Mission, but I guess I've learned that, with me, there's always setbacks and mis-steps. I just have to keep the end goal in sight, and work towards it slowly and steadily. I think maybe I set my sights too high, just thinking I could beat this thing without suffering those setbacks. I've changed my way of thinking -- it doesn't have to be "all or nothing". Even the cutting-back I've been doing is a baby step in the right direction.

So I'm going to remain positive, and work towards my goal at a steady, realistic pace. I know I'll get there, its just going to be a longer journey than I expected.

Besides, did I really expect that I could stop smoking with all this damn Easter chocolate in the house? My scale was crying for mercy.

Mission: Butt Out, Day 2

Sunday night I smoked my last cigarette. Its not like I made a conscious decision at the time, like "Okay, this is it." It was more like, Dang! all out of smokes. Guess I'll get some tomorrow. But when I woke up Monday morning, I thought that maybe I should give it another go. Try to quit cold turkey one more time. See, that's the thing. The only way I can quit is to go cold turkey. The whole 'weaning' thing doesn't work for me, mainly because I have no will power, haha. If I have a full pack of smokes, there's no way I can limit myself to five a day or whatever. Not happenin'. Its all or nothing with me.

Tyler has unknowingly sabotaged all my prior attempts at quitting because he does believe in weaning. I'll be going strong, several hours into my attempt, and a wicked craving will come over me. He'll immediately suggest that he go buy me a pack and I can just have like four that day. Me being the sneaky, lying, weak-willed woman that I am, will instantly agree, "Yes, that sounds great! You go buy me the smokes and I'll start weaning myself off them! Yes!" Only to have the pack finished by the next day. Oops, sorry honey, I really meant to try the weaning thing! (yeah right!! lol)

Of course, Monday morning I started nicking out right away, the second I poured myself a cup of coffee and realized I had no smokes to go with it. I debated all day whether I should run to the store and get some more, but by the end of the night I figured that if I'd made it that long, I could handle a few more hours. It was getting pretty iffy there around 10pm, though. That's the time of night I usually start chain smoking, my "witching hour" -- the kids are all in bed, Ty's usually passed out on the couch, all the good shows are coming on. But I did it. I made it through (of course, I ate about a pound of chocolate mini eggs, damn!)

And so today is Day Two of Mission: Butt Out and if I've been a little jittery and tense, everyone knows why and they're cutting me some slack. I've been downing the kids Easter chocolates like they're going out of style, though, and that has to stop! I'm gonna weigh 500 lbs by the end of the week!

I have such an addictive personality that I'm going to have to replace the nicotine addiction with something else. I've considered drinking a glass of water every time I get a smoke craving, so I might try that. Maybe I'll whittle a carrot into the shape of a cigarette and just pretend I'm smoking it. Gawd, that's pathetic. But its all about baby steps, people. Taking it one day at a time. All those cliches that are now going to become my mottos, haha.

The thing that really sucks about quitting smoking is that you have to really want it, and I'm the type of person who will always love smoking. I love the feel of the cigarette held between my two fingers, I love that first deep drag of smoke into your lungs, the moment where you hold your breath and keep it in, then the rush of the exhale. I love how its the perfect way to pass the time when you're bored; how its an ice-breaker between strangers, when you're standing outside; how it gives you an excuse at work to go for a break (not that I technically "work" anymore but I remember those days, "Smoke break?" you'd say and like five people would perk up and you'd all sneak out for a quick puff).

The main reason I am trying to quit is, of course, because of my children. I would never want them to be motherless, to go through life with that sense of grief and loss, all because of my selfish choice. So that is another mantra I'm clinging to: Do it for the kids.

So cross your fingers for me, knock on wood, rub the rabbits foot, say a little prayer, whatever!

Baby steps, one day, one hour, one minute at a time....