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    Days of Thunder

    December 30, 2006

    My husband, at this very moment, is making me watch Days of Thunder.  I’m sure this is retaliation for days of An Ideal Husband, Little Women, Much Ado About Nothing, Baby Boom and The Breakfast Club.

    He only wants to watch it because he heard that it was as funny as Talladaga Nights. 

    He is very confused, with a confusion that can only be mastered by blondes. 

    D:  Why did Tom and Nicole break up again?
    K:  Other than the fact he was gay, I think it was because she got pregnant and he was shooting blanks.
    D:  But he has a baby now.
    K:  That is the rumor.
    D:  Did he cheat on Nicole with that girl he is with now?
    K:  Uh, she was like 4 years old when that movie was made.
    D:  Hey, I thought this movie was supposed to be funny.

    The concept of irony has apparently escaped him.  Meanwhile, I’ll be out in the middle of the street, waiting for one of my neighbors to run me over. 

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    But Dad called them socks

    December 27, 2006

    and this is what your tree looks like when all your ornaments are living in a Pod container somewhere….

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    They look so innocent, don’t they?

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    When 8 weeks turns into a million years

    December 26, 2006

    You think I would learn.  But NOOOOO.  “The Heartburn” is back.  In case you were wondering, “The Heartburn” should be said aloud much like a 75 year old complains of suffering from “The Dia-Beat-is.”  I find myself acting like a poorly behaved 75 year old diabetic, hiding heartburn-causing food in a pocket here or behind the couch cushion over there.  A piece of chocolate snuck here and a glass of soda in closed container that cannot be easily identified.  Until now, I have managed to dodge the heartburn bullet for the last 4 months but it appears the party is O-V-E-R.

    Christmas Eve I hopped into bed after slamming back a prenatal vitamin and chasing it with a glass of iced tea.  It only took me a second after my head hit the pillow to realize that something in this combination (or perhaps was it the spinach artichoke dip with Tostitos earlier????) was not going to make for a pleasant evening.  I instantly sat up in bed.

    D:  What’s wrong?
    K:  I think it’s going to be a Zantac night.

    It really isn’t fair because I didn’t eat anything late or anything awful.  No chocolate, nothing spicy.  Maybe it had something to do with the little foot that kept repeatedly kicking me in the stomach, sending acid up my throat. 

    My husband is a little self-rightous about the Zantac.  He is anti-medicinal when it comes to pregnancy and then he did have $20,000 surgery to make sure that he can eat a plate full of fajitas at 11:30 p.m. and chase it with a bottle of Louisiana hot sauce.  But you just know when the Tums aren’t going to make the cut.  So I sent him off to find the Zantac.  Luckily it only takes an hour to kick in.

    So when he walked into the kitchen last night and caught me eating a fistful of chocolate-covered raisins and desperately looking for a place to hide the box before he caught me, he shook his head condescendingly.  I already had heartburn from drinking Gatorade (how the hell am I supposed to win around here?) so I figured what the hell? 

    One Zantac, 17 Ultra Tums later and 3 hours later, I found myself sleeping sitting straight up on the couch .  The couch that was really, really comfy when I bought it 7 years ago and would probably be happier sitting out on the curb waiting for the trash collector today. 

    So much for not eating too much crap, staying comfortably on track for the recommended pregnancy weight gain and just saying “no” to the nightly bowl of ice cream.  Where are you gonna go if Gatorade gives you heartburn?  Maybe my mistake was taking Zantac instead of Xanax….

    Special shoutout to my husband for his “well maybe it will all get better in 8 weeks” statement this morning. 

    Bastard.

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    I’m not sure but I think I might conceivably be out of control

    December 24, 2006

    There is craziness afoot in this house.  For some reason, my family thinks that because there are Christmas cookies in the house, they should be able to eat them.

    WHATTTT????  Those cut-out cookies that took me all day to bake?   Are you crazy?  What made you two think that they are for eating? 

    My husband is faced with a terrible dichotomy–dealing with my insanity and his need to eat every cookie he can get his hands on.  I keep finding either The Boy or His Dad with the large ziploc bag in his hand.  I started to hide it, but to no avail.  This morning I came down to find The Boy standing in the middle of the dining room table, routing through the Christmas box from his aunt, yelling “COOOOOOOKKKKKKIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE.”  With that he yanked out the bag that I had stuck in there last night when no one was looking and grabbed two.  Two being his second favorite number.

    Two being the number of cookies he is allowed to have.  He is catching on to our scam of taking one cookie and splitting it in half, offering him “two” instead of one cookie.  Now he looks at my TWO cookies and says, “No, MAMA, TWO cookies.”  Damn.  What can you do when they become smarter than you?  And he isn’t even 2.  I am so screwed.

    So here we are.  Cookies for breakfast.  Cookies for lunch.  Cookies for dinner.  Who needs nutrition when you have cookies?  The detox on the other end of Christmas isn’t going to be pretty. 

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    Tis the season for a cold

    December 23, 2006

    The other night I tucked both of my boys in bright and early.  Neither could breathe.  So I made them get back up and get into a steamy shower.  Ethan cried his best “I’ve-fallen-down-a-well-why-won’t-anyone-come-to-save-me” cry and I just kept wondering why Derek couldn’t just PICK HIM UP SO HE WOULD STOP CRYING.  It got so bad that I considered getting into the shower to hold him.  But as our shower has a 1.1 person maximum capacity and The Boy thinks he is 1.0 person who is entitled to be under the entire stream of the shower, I wasn’t getting my 1.9 person body into the shower with the likes of the two of them. 

    They got back into bed and that was the last I heard of them.  I went in at midnight to find The Boy draped around his father’s head and shoulders like a cat and Derek’s top half of his body sleeping on the nightstand and the bottom half of his body straddling 3 inches of bed. 

    D:  Wha???
    K:  Would you like me to move The Boy?
    D:  If you wan’.

    Next morning.

    K:  Do you know that you were sleeping on the nightstand last night?
    D:  I thought the bed seemed kind of hard.
    K:  Really?  Because the entire top of your body was SLEEPING ON THE NIGHTSTAND.  A reality that one would think would be difficult to miss.
    D:  I took a Benadryl last night. 

    Just another Benadryl story to add to the list. 

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