I May Need Intervention...

Anyone else notice how stores are selling holiday items earlier and earlier each year? I don't recall seeing artificial trees or isles bellowing holiday greetings until after Thanksgiving as a child. I have a theory though- the direct correlation of early holiday accoutrement sales, and the growing obesity epidemic sweeping the nation is no coincidence.

I’ll admit it. I frequent Target stores. Sometimes, I put in the same amount of hours as the store manager, but in shopping. Just last month, nearly a quarter of the store was roped off for frenzied back-to-school shoppers. Trust me, if you need pencil sharpener anywhere near this time of year, you may want to consider your kitchen knives as a safer alternative.

The minute schools were back in session all the Target stores plowed their back-to-school sections to make way for Halloween delights. The floor to ceiling bags of sugary bliss, filled with mini bites of candy bar goodness; trick-or treat canisters lined up neatly beckoning to be filled with the fruits of labor of going door-to-door. Shelves overflowing many, many weeks before the season had even changed. Do parents really prepare this soon in advance for Halloween with success?

Let’s be truthful here. How many people actually make it to Halloween night, without eating half of their candy stash?

I’m not an impulsive shopper. I’m not the one who grocers strategically bait their check out lines with candy, gum, and snacks for. I purchase my gum by the 6-six pack from a different isle in the back of the store, just because it’s cheaper. But when it comes to Halloween candy…it's a whole new bucket of worms. Stores are now heavily armed in all corners of the building, so that you’re completely surrounded, and must eventually surrender to the candy artillery (not to mention their low prices that you swear will be higher in a few weeks).

Every year, I promise myself not to succumb to the candy pressures until closer to Halloween. But stores like Target marketing them sooner every year is making it tough. Throw in a $1 off Sunday coupon, and it's all over. I now own more pounds of individually wrapped chocolates than I do fruit. And the candy probably won't even last a week. At least now I can show my daughter how a bag of healthy grapes in our fridge can slowly turn into raisins! The frantic scene of me digging through cabinets for leftover restaurant mints as trick-or-treaters come banging down my door, has become a tradition in our house; one that I am obviously not going to break this year. My flabby mid-section is praying those shiny, pre-gift wrapped boxes of Russell Stover are kept off the shelves just a few more weeks.

Maybe We Need More....

I am not sure if this is a sign of normality or a subtle hint in disguise. Ella has now taken on interacting with inanimate objects. Not the usual baby doll intermingling- giving a bottle, feeding them her unwanted peas. The photo to the left is of her chair cushions. Yes, orange crab chair cushions she sits on. And it appears as if they were thirsty because she’s giving them refreshing, hot imaginary tea from her Disney Princess teapot.

I assure you, my daughter is not a caged monkey with a fake cloth mother sitting in the corner. She socializes nearly everyday with other children, either through a play date, class, or trip to the playground. But it is always the same once we arrive home. There is no one left to play with, but me.

It is times like these I wonder if she needs something more- like a sibling. All of her friends have siblings. She has now reached an age where everyone she knows either has a brother, sister, or one on the way. And lately, she seems especially lonely in her car seat when I peer through my rear-view mirror. She gazes at the passing cars, looks down at her own fingers, and usually just sits alone quietly.

If it were up to my husband, we would have had another child already. But I am not sure if I’m ready to re-live another 9-months of relentless pregnancy. He did not have to give up contact with the outside world while imprisoned by bed rest. He did not have to stay on a restricted diet due to gestational diabetes, never to taste a slice of bread or sugar for months. He did not have to take Turbutaline everyday to hold back premature contractions, a drug that makes a human heart race faster than a greyhounds. He never endured any of it. In fact, he was hardly there to witness it. He was always at work. And still is.

So I guess for now all she has for company at home besides me is our dog Pete. Their relationship very much resembles a brother and sister's. They both compete for my attention. His world fell apart once she was born. She pulls his hair. He loyally protects her. And she annoys him to no end.

I know. Maybe we need fish.

I Used Behind My Husband's Back....

Have I ever mentioned how much I dislike mornings? Besides peeling myself from my warm and welcoming bed, the entire process of getting my family and myself ready for the day is quite unpleasant. I am NOT a morning person at all. I’ve spent the greater part of my adult life getting home from work and eating dinner at 8 am, and now I find myself still adjusting to the more human sleep/wake cycle. I can barely utter a word before a cup of coffee, and on weekends, I can shuffle around like an 80-year old man in Pj’s for a good few hours. Sadly, my weekdays don’t allow that. My recent alarm clock has been a 2-year old tugging at my arm saying “mommy! Wake…UP!” So I have two choices: 1) Get out of bed and shower so I can drive my husband to work on time and get my daughter out of the house 2) or, Let my husband watch her for 10 more minutes so I can continue to be in a half-asleep/awake state. Today, I chose option 2. Which meant shower time was going to be tight.

I did my usual bathroom routine- brushed my pearly whites, washed my tired face, and then stepped into the steamy shower. Everything was typical, until I realized I needed to shave. Yup, definitely needed to shave. I turned around and looked for my razor, and it wasn’t there. I pushed open the wet shower curtain to check the counter; it was nowhere to be found! It must have made it into the trash somehow. This was an emergency. I needed something. Now! In a state of desperation, I looked up and found this…
No, that is not a woman’s razor. On the contrary, it’s one of those Mach XXXII, or what ever they’re called. The ones with a few dozen blades, because beards and mustaches have somehow evolved into dense forests that require instruments like these to whack them down. I’ve felt my husband’s beard before. Okay, maybe I can see the justification- But for my legs? My underarms? I was a bit skeptical. But I did not have time to debate this issue. Oh well, I had no choice. I lathered up, and began pulling the razor up my leg. And to my surprise, it felt kind of nice. Really nice. Hey! My razor doesn’t feel this nice; like a gentle mower, not the weed-whacker I expected. Maybe there really is something to the hoard of blades…((Gasp!))…The bathroom door peeked open. “We have to leave soon!” I stood frozen; with his razor stealthily tucked behind my shampoo bottle. “Okay!”

Whew, who would have thought using paraphernalia behind his back would be so hairy? My smooth and silky legs are thankful though ;)