Dirigibles.

According to the Bloggess, swearing makes everything funnier.  Case in point:

I hate big boobs. 
OR
I fucking hate big boobs.

I rest my case.

Just so you know, I fucking hate big boobs.  Especially mine.  Aside from providing copious amounts of milk when needed (hence the title of the blog), what the fuck is the point?  Women with much smaller boobs are able to provide just as much milk & feed even more babies.  I know I'm kinda fat.  Its just the way I am built (and the way I eat...), but add big boobs and it makes me look even more beastly.  Some women who are bigger around the middle and have smaller chesticles actually look pretty good.  Some days, it looks as if I'm carrying around two speed humps, one just below chest level and the other belly button height.  Big boobs make your back hurt, you can't buy pretty bras or even cheap ones.  Forget finding a bra at Wal-Mart, or even Sears or The Bay.  Wonderbra really fucked up on that one, not making bra sizes big enough to hold large boobs.  No, you have to go to a special store, and then suffer the embarrassment of an old lady coming into the room to examine every single bra, clucking her tongue in disapproval because the middle of the bra doesn't come up against your skin because your boobs are too close together because they are so fucking huge.  Nice.  Actually,  I managed to buy 2 bras from Addition Elle, however they didn't last nearly as long and one day in the middle of a lesson in front of my male teenage students I noticed a large wire poking up through my shirt.  It was an awesome moment in my teaching career.  My sister keeps telling me I need to get a boob reduction.  She's totally right, I really do.  I just need to lose some weight before that happens, and I'm a little worried about taking some time off of work.  I mean, we live in a place where you can't exactly schedule your surgery, you take what you can get and run with it.  I also don't understand what guys see in really large boobs.  I can understand perfectly shaped, perky, pretty, slightly on the bigger side boobs.  But boobs like mine are just gross.  I have cleavage in every shirt but a turtleneck and in pictures it looks as if my cleavage is going to eat my chin (or double chin for that matter).  FYI, it doesn't feel fabulous when they are squeezed either, it just feels awkward.  Big tits suck.  Just call me Hooty-McBooby, Chesty-LaRue or Tits McGee.  Thanks Homer.

I looked in an online thesaurus for other words for big boobs.  Here they are in alphabetical order:

Bazonga (wtf?); bazoom (I've used this one); bee stings (for the smaller chested I guess, not sure why this would show up in a thesaurus entry for big tits); bolt-ons; boob; boobage; breasticles (kinda funny); bust; can; can-cans; charlies (who names their tits this?); chesticles (I really like this one); chest puppies (even better); fun bags (I'm on the fence with this one); gazongas (really?); girls-the; headlights; hooters; jugs; mammaries; man-boob; melons; moobs (hahahahahahaha); na-nas; puppies; sweater puppies ( I assume this refers to large un-restricted boobs); ta-tas; tracks of land; the twins

I'm sure I could find more.

 

My cup runneth over.

*I wrote half of the following during one of my "ambien nights."  The more than usual grammatical errors drove me nuts when I read it tonight.  I apologize.  Lets see if I can clean this up a bit.*

Today's post is dedicated to the amazing circle of ladies that I have surrounded myself with.  This includes my family (mom, sister, aunties, cousins, etc...) and friends.  I know that these women, without a doubt, will drop what they have and will be there for me the moment I ask--well maybe not that instant.  Some of you may need some travel time in there.  You get the idea.

I've worked so hard to carefully and selectively cultivate the people I choose to share my ideas, thoughts & gossip with.  Each of you have something to bring to the table, something unique, and something wonderful.  In each of you, there is something  about you that I need, and that you fulfill.  Perhaps I'm a bit of an emotional parasite, sucking "the nutrients" from each of you to give me what I need, to sustain my life.  My life is full.  But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Each of you represent something with in, that thing not being possible until you arrive, and it is only with our relationship that something amazing comes alive.  Each of you sing a different song in my heart.  There was a time, not to many years ago when I felt a little lost in my own skin.  My oldest friends had moved away, and my life was moving in a different direction.  And even though I had my family I still felt lost without my friends, at times upset and very sad.  I know that these friends still exist, and our friendships are truly existential.  For a time, though, to me, it felt as if our relationship existed "on hold," with me existing in some sort of friendship limbo--no longer a part of the action.

I timidly tested waters closer to home, to see if I could find what my soul required to survive.  Jubilation.  It did.  The women I hold close to my heart, close to my home and those women far away,  I would like each of you to know that I hold you with the utmost regard and respect.  And please know that I could not survive without your unique character, your loving friendship and your understanding.  I am truly blessed.  Blessed be.  Friends near and far, family close and away.  I am the woman I am today because of you.  I could not have conquered life thus far without the support you all provide.  Know that I hold you in my "Master Mind" group.  I know I have a mind of my own and I am quite confident in my life decisions, but trust those of you close to my heart to help me with the hardest.  I know I can count on all of you to kick me in the ass when I need it,  and provide me with the warmth and sympathy that only those working toward a common purpose can provide.  Thank you. 


So please, raise a glass in your honor and give yourself a pat on your back.  Thank you.

Life according to tv

Here is what I have learned so far from watching tv:

• You can plan a surprise wedding, complete with all of the trimmings (fully decorated backyard with beautiful twinkle lights, large sprays of flowers & perfectly coiffed unknowing brides)
• Police department crime labs are always decked out with cutting edge technology.  Did you know how easy it is to identify a victim when you can generate a true likeness of what they used to look like with just a minimal amount of information?  PLUS its even better to positively identify criminals in a matter of minutes because someone's fingerprints ALWAYS get a "hit" in just a matter of an hour or so. 
• DNA tests don't take long at all.  Its a simple process and the technicians are always able to "put a rush on it."
• Its totally professional and respectable to address your bosses inappropriately and delay the process of giving information for a little sexy/witty banter
• When someone "plants a bomb" there is always a timer.  Just in case you didn't know how long you had.  And it turns out its always super easy to disarm.  Just try to figure out the "code" based on something important to the "un-sub"
• So called "ugly" girls who never get "the guy" never realize how beautiful they actually are until the hottest guy passes up the super pretty, but super artificial best friend.  They always like the girl despite the fact that she obviously isn't as pretty as the other girl (this one pisses me off--because the actress playing this part is totally gorgeous)
• When you are having a baby, it always happens dramatically.  Like your water breaks all over and then you immediately need to get to the hospital.  And when you are in labor, you always look good, and just a couple of pushes is all it takes to get the baby out.  When that baby comes out, they are super cute, never covered in goo and don't look like an ugly wrinkled and red old man--that just doesn't happen in real life.
• When you have a yeast infection, it can really get in the way of "your day."  Like going to work, or walking down the street with your family.  Really, if you didn't have that medication you'd be stuck in your bathroom scratching your vag all day.  
• Doctors always have time to curl their hair, have inappropriate conversations when they are performing intricate surgery (ok, I don't actually know if this doesn't happen or not, but I seriously hope not).  AND they always have time to have sex.  In a special room, that some poor orderly has to clean up because it appears to be used quite regularly by the doctors (ew, gross.  All those crusty hard sheets...)  

There are so many more things, but I'm kinda tired.  I think I might go to sleep.  Feel free to add your own to this list.

Wine & Ambien

Its been dead interweb here for the past couple of weeks.  Not much really, just kept meaning to get on, something would pique my interest, then I'd get to the end of the day and......it all goes down hill from here. 

I thought I was past depression.  I thought I was past feeling low, I mean I stopped needing "those meds" for a long time and have been generally happy with my life.  What's not to be happy about life at the moment?  My babies are WONDERFUL and insanely cute.  My husband is so attentive, so helpful and really motors around work and house like he is superman.  My life is literally PERFECT.  So, why is it, when things are perfect, I can't just let it ride.  Nope.  Something starts, slowly building inside of me, only coming out to make my heart race for something.  Or to have a moment of anxiety about ridiculous mundane things.  I mean, why can't I just let things fucking be?!?  As soon as things are perfect (really, you would be so jealous as to how much love is in my house at the moment, how hard we work and how AMAZING our future plans (yes we are that nerdy and have made 5, 10 & 15 year plans).  Nothing to feel terrible about.  Just good things to look forward to. 

BAM!  Those little moments of anxiety that creep up occasionally eventually start sprouting seeds of doubt in your mind.  Things like "you don't deserve this Cindy."  Or my favorite "you're to fat to feel this good, you look awful, why do you try?"  And the always classic horrendously embarrassing memory that pops up causing you to speak out loud to yourself about what you should have said, or even respond to yourself by telling yourself to "shut the fuck up." 

Anyone else find how weird this is?  Me talking out loud to myself?  I hope not.  Then there are even more issues I don't want to deal with.

Well, mommy guilt is deeply rooted in my psyche--I should WANT to spend as much time with my babies, but oh lord is it acceptable to admit that when they scream, tantrum, hit and pinch that I really don't want to see them at all?  I want to be like a certain type of "Grandma" at these times where I just like the thought of children--I don't necessarily want to deal with them.  Much better for the image than actually getting my hands dirty right.  SIGH.  But I'm not that "Grandma", I'm the mom.  And I really shouldn't be sarcastic to them when they get hurt, or give them shit as they fell off the coffee table and are now hurt.  My response should be "Awww, poor baby, are you ok?  Here, mommy kiss it better."  Instead I catch myself saying "Well, should you being doing that?  No, and now you're hurt.  Deal with it." 

Depression started to demand my attention with a soft knock on the door this past Friday night, but I just didn't want to answer so I closed the blinds and pretended I wasn't home.  Unfortuneately she saw through this plan and blasted down the door.  When she begins to beat me with her depression boxing gloves I aquiece and realize that the wily fighter behind the door has come to beat me down.  My loving husband understood that there wasn't much he could do with a blithering idiot of a wife, so when I suggested that I just go to sleep for the weekend and stay out of his hair he took it like a life line.  Knowing that had he stayed awake with me, he would have ended up being sucked into my distorted negativity and ultimately would have been a real obstacle in me successfully coming out alive on the other end.

Thankfully I slowly emerged on Sunday morning.  Not nearly as despondent, but not yet ready to face my children--if I'm not feeling so overwhelmingly depressed over my weight and lot in life waiting for the world to fall around my shoulders.  By Sunday night children became tolerable and I was able to muster up some energy and cope with the fact that I had to suck EVERYTHING UP to make it to work.  At my job, there is no time for ME to be depressed or mentally unstable.  You have to just be ON.  I did it, made it through one day, however the next night hit with anxiety like you wouldn't believe.  I find when I sleep a lot, I can generally manage my anxiety.  This was not one of those nights.  Self medication has commenced.  I can report I am feeling basically much better and able to get through the day.  My children are safe from me getting over the top upset over little things and I think I can do it all after a little "bambien" (bath, wine & ambien). 

So, I'm signing off for now,  but not forever.  I will battle this illness and I will overcome.  I hope you understood everything you read....because I'm writing with a glass of wine and may have just taken an ambien.  AUDIOS AMIGOS!  See you soon.

Lord love a duck.

The title of my post is in honor of my mother.  She used to utter that under her breath when she was mad at us.

Anyway, my day started off normal, but around 6:50am, it all went to shit. 

6:50am: Receive phone call from Nanny.  She's sick, can't make it in.  Have minor panic attack, WTF am I going to do?

6:53am: Phone the "sick" phone at work, end up swearing on the phone to poor lady/friend who takes the calls.  Fuck.

6:55am: Phone Travis to see if he can come home, then silently laugh to myself at my stupidity.  When can he ever take time off?  Slowly feel rage building.

7:00am: Get kids up and ready to take to school, because OF COURSE I don't have anything written down for the day for a substitute to follow.

7:30am: Haul 3 kids out in the rain, all the way to work.

7:55am: Make it to work in record time.  Try to write things down in daybook & get class ready for a day without me.

8:05am: Holly has to pee.

8:08am: Holly is afraid to go into the bathroom.

8:10am: Yell at my own children while I try to get work done.

8:20am: Students show up.  Awesome.  Discuss with E.A. what the day should look like, say good morning to my students and silently pray that the day will be okay without me.  HA!

8:40am: Finally make it to McDonald's.  Feed children, let them play for a couple of minutes.

9:05am: Quick dash into Safeway.  I can already tell its going to be a long day.  Nothing beats stress like making and then consuming copious amounts of homemade bread.

10:00am: Drop Hannah off at school.  Finally.

10:30am: Receive first of many phone calls from school.  Major crisis.  Awesome.  Glad I'm not at work today--not really.  I really needed to be there.  Totally saw this coming.

11:00am: Begin making bread.  I need me some carbohydrates.

11:25am:  Auntie 'Tal comes over to hang.  While I make bread.  And try to amuse the world's busiest, bossiest and "'tude" filled preschooler. 

12:30pm:  Field more calls from school.  Continue to worry about crisis.  Make more bread.

1:30pm: Try to turn on a movie for preschooler & toddler.  Doesn't work. 

2:00pm:  Realize I don't have bread pans for MAKING bread.  Didn't think this one through.  Head to local store.  Wander the aisles and whisper-yell at my children.

2:30pm:  Make it back home, continue making bread.

3:00pm:  Realize I bought WAX paper and not PARCHMENT paper.  Fuck.  House smells like burnt wax.  IDIOT (in a Chris Farley/Tommy Boy voice).

3:30pm Commence beer drinking. 

Really, it could have been worse, but just the stress from the morning really set the tone for the day.  I can't elaborate any more about how stressful the situation at work is at the moment, but let me tell you this.  Even if I HAD been sick, there would have been no way I was staying home today...if it were up to me.  Oh well.  Life happens.  Deal with it.



P.S.  Homemade Pizza Buns---DA BOMB.
Mennonite Girls Can Cook

Off the wagon

I have been off the wagon and completely derailed a train.  I haven't been following any kind of "healthy eating plan" since the end of February.  Basically, its been a see-food diet--I see it, I eat it.  I also haven't stepped on a scale in a long time, because my theory is if you don't see it, it doesn't exist.  The same applies to checking my online credit card statement.  That's a doozy.  It's even worse when your husband makes a random statement like "The credit card should only be at _____, right?  I mean, you haven't used it for anything else other than what you told me about, right?"  Sure.  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

I keep telling people, that I've decided to just love my body the way it is.  I like food way to much, and what's worse is that I like making yummy food even more.  My kids love it, and so does my husband.  So I don't look good in a bathing suit?  So what.  So my legs are way more jiggly than I would like, so what?  Everyone who matters likes me.  The only thing is, is that I don't really like "me."  Don't worry, I'm not going to jump off a bridge or anything, but I am unsatisfied with my body.  And I also know I only have one person to blame--ME!

I will try to eat better, I will try to exercise more and do less internet surfing.  I will become more active.  That is my pledge.  I know I can do it, I've done it before.  Ugh, the motivation is killing me.  Wish me luck.

Post Script: (9:00pm) After a long walk, I am thoroughly enjoying a peanut buster parfait at the moment.  DQ is my kryptonite.

Move over Beyonce

Music is an amazing thing.  It can inspire great works of art and invoke emotions from one end of the spectrum to the other.  Music soothes the savage beast, tends a wounded soul and sends our praises of exaltation to the heavens.  The choices in genre are limitless.  Beautiful hymns, hypnotic chants, simple rhymes, soulful jazz, booty-moving-rump-shaking beats, pounding rock, haunting lyrics and bubble-gum pop.  Its all there for our enjoyment. 

In our house, music is everywhere.  Holly serenades us daily, if not hourly with her own special brand of made up music consisting of singing about daily life.

Example (sung in her pre-schooler falsetto): Now I'm running away, and the cat jumps to get me, but she can't.  Outside there is a bird, I love ice cream. 

You get the picture?

I sing around the house, humming or belting out my favorite tunes.  I swear I sound just like Stevie Nicks.  Maybe even better on Saturday mornings during chores.  In the garage, MacGyver will have either the local rock radio station to keep him company outside or some raunchy hard rap/rock combo.  Hannah says she "kinda" likes Justin Bieber, but I know the only reason she says this is because all of the little girls at school are nutso over him.  She isn't quite brave enough to admit that she'd rather listen to Kings of Leon, Adele or Taylor Swift.  I love this about my little punk rocker in training.  I'm trying my best to let them hear a variety of music, not just he watered down crap Disney and Nickelodeon pump out (think: Selena Gomez, Miranda Cosgrove, Miley Cyrus, Big Time Rush, etc.).  Some of this stuff is cute, don't get me wrong and I may find myself humming one of their tunes, but its all to contrived.  No substance, nothing to hang on too.  I mean, how blown away were we at "that age" when we discovered that lyrics and songs had real meaning and we wanted to identify ourselves with our favorite band/singer.  For me, Sarah McLachlan inspired dreams of love and loss with her haunting lyrics, or Courtney Love and Hole made me want to rock out and rebel against.....whatever (Oh make me over....I'm all I wanna be....A walking study....in demonology!)  Sublime, well--love's what I got, don't start a riot, you'll feel it when the dance gets hot--hang on here while I roll one and smoke one.  HA!

I will never understand those religions that don't allow dance.  I can see why some TYPES of dance may not be viewed as appropriate but how can dance and music for that matter be frowned upon when every little baby on the planet is born knowing to shake their little booty to a beat.  Music is good for the soul.

Today I spent the day at home, not at work.  It was wonderful.  This morning Hannah, Holly and I looked up a song we had been hearing on the radio and that all three of us loved.  Turns out, the video is even better.  Breakfast became a dance party sing along while I tried to explain some of the lyrics to Hannah (she is getting to 'that age' where she wants to know what things mean...) and the nuances of relationships between men and women.

Holly absolutely loved the woman in this video, so we found more of her music as a solo artist.  Holly AND Hannah really loved this next video.

Both amazing artists and amazing songs.  For the rest of the day, Holly and I danced along to Gotye and Kimbra.  We love finding new music that isn't all about booty shaking, rubbing things against each other.  Just really good music.  As our dance party was coming to an end, Holly made one last special request.  Her all time favorite.  Enjoy.