The Weight State

We spent the last week in Texas. We went out there for my little brother's wedding, which was great, by the way. They used the fool-proof fun wedding format -- ten minute cermony, six hour party. That WAY beats those horrific hour-long ceremonies.

Anyways, despite the fact that I grew up in Texas, going back to visit freaks the bejeezus out of me. One reason is that EVERY single conversation involves weight. Here are the rules for conversing with another female in Texas:

1. Start by saying "hi" (pronounced "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-iiiiiiii") and give a five-tap backpat/hug.

2. Now you must both spend the next five minutes talking about your size. Politics? No. Poverty? No. Current Events? No. Weight? YES.

3. The heavier person in the conversation should talk first. She should tell the thinner person that they look great.

4. Now the thinner person should deny this, and explain all of the flaws with her body. Then the thinner person should tell the larger person that she also looks great.

5. Now the larger person should say that they do NOT look great, and offer a myriad of reasons as to why not. This is when the larger person should say things like, "It has been hard exercising with the kids" or "I have been too busy at work to find the time to work out."

6. Now that both of you have bashed your own appearances, you are free to discuss the weight loss or gain of every single person that you know.


I can count on one hand the number of times that I have discussed my weight in a conversation since moving to California. I am a totally average size, by the way. Not fat, not skinny, just "normal," so there is not really much to discuss about my size. Unless I am in Texas. What is up with that??

Diaper Data

I hate changing diapers. HATE IT. I didn't start out this way, but have I ever mentioned that my little guys are spirited? This means that every diaper change consists of my elbow in a child's chest, trying to get them to be still and not kick me long enough for me to use the 30 wipes necessary to clean the sewage spill that threatens to seep onto the furniture. It sucks.

Hnery was potty-trained at age 3, but we still have a few months to go with Quinn. I am so burned out that three months sounds like an eternity. I realized that I have been changing diapers for over five solid years WITH NO BREAK, which got me thinking about exactly how MANY diapers I have changed. Here is a rough estimate:

Henry = (365 days)*(3 years)*(5 diapers a day) = 5475 diapers

Quinn = (365 days)*(2.6 years)*(5 diapers a day) = 4745 diapers

Grand Total = 10,220 diapers

And that is only an estimate. Those numbers completely ignore the 10-diaper days of newborns, not to mention the 20-diaper days of stomach viruses. I guess that balances out the three diaper-free weekend vacations that I have taken, plus the diapers that I don't change when the boys are at school. Which leads me to the kicker....

Here is what happens when Quinn poops at home:

I see him squat. I see his face turn bright red. I hear noises. I smell odors. I say, "Quinn, are you pooping?" He says, "No, I not pooping. I just have gas." I say, "Come on, Quinn, let's go change that diaper." He says, "No I no want to change my diaper." I pick him up and say, "Let's get it off of you so you don't get a rash." He says, "No, I not get rash. I no want to change diaper. I not pooped." I lay him down to change him. This is the part where I USED to try to hand him a toy or book or other distraction, but I have since learned that the words "Quinn" and "distraction" do not belong in a sentence together, unless you are being ironic. I then begin wiping while trying to prevent his flailing feet from coming into contact with my face.

Here is what happened when I picked Quinn up at school the other day:

I picked him up right after his nap, and he had a poopy diaper. I said, "Do you have a poopy diaper?" He said, "Yes. My teacher will change it, Mo-om." Then I watched him walk VOLUNTARILY over to the changing table and GET IN LINE to have his diaper changed. While his teacher wiped him, he was as passive as a little lamb on painkillers. Does that boy play me like a fidddle or what?

The Phrase I Am Trying To Eliminate From Our Household

I know this is a little ironic based on my last entry, but there is a phrase that my two little guys say at least 20 times a day that drives me up the fucking wall. "I win." Aaaarrrrggghhhhhh.

I am not some uber-hippie who believes that competition is the root of all evil or anything like that. I am all for a friendly race down the sidewalk. But this is more than that. I win to the table! I win to the swing! I win to the bath! I win getting dressed! I win brushing teeth! Seriously. I could go on, but I will spare you. Let's just say that I have solid evidence that my boys will be seeing who can pee the furthest once Quinn is out of diapers.

What is it about little boys that they feel the need to make everything into a competition or race of some sort? I tried to give them a warm and fuzzy story about how it is better to brush your teeth longer, so the real winners are the boys who brush teeth slowly, but it didn't fly. Ditto on my attempt to convince them that brothers should be friends and support each other, not try to beat each other. Just some blank stares and obligatory nods on that one.

There is some comfort in all of this. I did a little internet digging on the topic (as I do in every situation where I need info on something -- what's a library again?) and it turns out that the boys are textbook cases. So I am not alone. Furthermore, unlike little girls who typically compete to feel superior and/ or make some other little girl feel less superior (that is the website talking, not me, but having been a little girl myself I mostly agree with it), boys compete merely as a way of establishing their identities. In other words, they mean no ill will toward their competitor. So that is a relief.

This doesn't make the "I wins" any less grating, however. At what point does one consider duct tape as a parenting tool?

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On a side note, I think I have the all-time winner for the CREEPIEST Google search ever that someone used to find my blog. Chag, I know you have some good ones, but this one takes the cake. Brace yourself:

how to get into my stepdaughters pants what to say or do


What the fuck? Is this dude for real? That is just so sick. I wish I had some way of warning the stepdaughter, or better yet the police. Doesn't that just make you feel gross?

All The Muck That's Fit To Blog

I have been gone from the blogosphere for a while. Wow, have things been busy, but busy in a good way (mostly). Here is all the muck that's fit to blog from the past couple of weeks:


1. I am now allergic to lobster. I turned kind of blotchy the last two times I ate it, which I thought was weird since I have eaten it so many times before. I chalked it up as a minor allergy, but when I went to the doctor for a check-up on my horrific dust allergies (thanks to our remodel), I casually mentioned the lobster thing. I said, "By the way, I am allergic to lobster now, too. But it could be worse, I just get kind of blotchy. I don't swell up or anything." That is when he looked at me with utter terror in his eyes and told me to NEVER eat lobster again. Apparently, these types of things get worse each time, so if I keep eating it I will be one of those people clenching their throats in a restaurant and possibly dying. I asked if shrimp and crab were still okay -- nope, they're not! Darn. And he said never to let them use iodine on me for a cut, xray, cat scan, etc., and that for any medical procedure I need to say that I have a shellfish allergy. Great. I was already paranoid enough about death, so now I have one more way to kick the bucket. Speaking of paranoid, I found a dark spot on my back, so I am going BACK to the doctor YET AGAIN to have THAT checked out. They are going to think that I am a hypochondriac.


2. I win! I win! As you may or may not know, I had some conflict with a corporate sleazebag who built a house next to us strictly to turn it around and sell it. He wanted to make a quick buck, so he just slapped a cookie cutter house up with no regard for the lot, and because he put ZERO thought into the floorplan, he ended up having windows that align directly with ours. I should mention that our houses are 4 feet apart -- welcome to SoCal living! I talked to him about it and he didn't think it was a big deal, nor did he think he was at fault. Well guess what? He can't sell the house! Hooray! He wanted 1.975 million initially (again, we're in SoCal), but there were no takers. Then he lowered to 1.85, now 1.8, and still no takers. I have made it a point to have my blinds WIDE OPEN for every Open House that he has had. So he finally put up lattices in between the windows to try to fool potential buyers. But there are still no takers. And he has to sell two more just like it on the next block. I hope he majorly tanks.

3. I found a gray hair. I am not one bit happy about that. I will be 30 in July, so I thought I had a few more years before I had to deal with finding a gray hair! In all fairness, I look really young. Teaching high school, I am mistaken for a student at times, and I got carded to buy paint remover the other day (apparently, you have to be 18, and while I was flattered, I would think that having all 4 kids with me would have given the cashier enough info about me to know that I was older than 18!). But still! A gray hair! Blech. However, I am determined not to be one of "those" types of women. I will age gracefully, I will NOT have Botox or surgery, and I will be grateful for every year that I am alive and healthy. Still, I yanked the hair. I tried SO hard not to, but I couldn't NOT do it. Maybe after I am 30. Just give me until 30!

4. I am flying to Texas for my little bro's wedding. Seems he and his girl are in the "family way." Of course, he is really just copying me because I started that family tradition over 5 years ago. Ahhh, Texas, how I do not miss your mosquito serenade, nor your city-sized Wal-marts. But it will be good to see all of my family. Literally ALL of my family. I have about 200 relatives in Dallas. Family reunion, yee-haw!

5. Life has been pretty great lately since I went back to work. I am much more fulfilled, much calmer, and am really appreciating my kids a lot more now that I am not with them 24-7. Quality, not quantity, I guess. Plus the kids are getting older and so much easier (not that we don't have our bad moments, but lately it is only a few bad moments in a sea of good moments). But I realized that I have not been blogging BECAUSE life is so good. I COULD blog every day, but it would be so boring (not to imply that THIS entry is not boring as well). Who wants to read a blog about how great life is? Not me. I want the blogs with conflict, drama, tears, heartache. And lately I haven't had any of that. Great for me, but not great for my blog. Why is it that as humans we are so drawn to conflict as a form of entertainment? I find it so interesting.

That's it for now. Maybe we will have a broken leg or something to spice this blog up. Knock on wood.