Putting the "Manic" in "Manic Depression"

Alternate title: The North Pole of Bipolar.

So the thing is that me manic and depressed mostly shows itself through a lot of teeth-grinding and insomnia and no will to do actual housework or whatever, but me manic and not depressed can be pretty awesome. Last night I did not sleep at. All. At five thirty this morning I finally put my head to the pillow and slept badly for about an hour and a half. At seven my alarm went off. Black Friday, and to work for a wench like me! I got Leila dressed and ready (she looks ubercute in cuffed jeans and a polka dotted top) and then I got dressed superduper fast and pulled my hair back and whizzed out the door and zinged into the car and jumped out at the mall, grabbed my coffee, and didn't look back.
I had a $2,000 sale before ten thirty, including FOUR cashmere sweaters. I banged out the rest of my shift and then ran over to Lord & Taylor to tackle their amazing sale. I spent sixty dollars and got two shirts for Leila, a "Belle" of Beauty and the Beast doll (for Leila, her first dolly of that type. She thought it was super neato for about two seconds.) and an outfit for each of my three nieces, plus two awesome kits with wooden beads for bracelet making for them to take home and torment their mother with. (I always give them craft related gifts and clothes. It's a thing.)Some of the pieces ended up being priced as low as pants for $3.74. It was awesome. I tried on a corduroy skirt for me that was an unbelievable price, but it was too tight, and even period bloat could not excuse how awful it looked. Also tried on a DKNY tee that was TEN BUCKS and it was cute and all, but a bit tight, and truth be told, I'd rather put ten bucks towards my kid anyway.
I have been REALLY GOOD about saving my money and I had to give the girls good-bye gifts, so I don't feel guilty.
I then went to Gap and I do feel a little guilty about the stuff I bought there. But I needed another present and then they had these really cute tees on sale! I got a super soft henley for $16.97, and two tees for Leila for $6.97, plus an adorable dress for the youngest niece for $7.97. Two pair of over the knee socks for my sister in law who loves socks pushed me to fifty bucks. $110 and a whole mess o' goodies later, I am still riding high.
I walked to the bus stop and all over creation because the MetroBus dropped me off in some random-ass spot on the side of 29. I feel like a million bucks. I need to go grocery shopping, but I'll settle for the laundry and a general clean-up.

However.
God help us all, if I don't get sleep tonight.

Leila-ism of the day: "Mommy, turn on the light. Thank you, Mommy, for light. Thank you, Allah, for light."

The Worst (or least dependable) Blogger Ever.

My friend France: "You must really be in a funk. You never write in your blog anymore."
The voice in my guilty, guilty head: "You are not blogging. You are not using a god-given talent. Instead you are scrolling through endless nasty gossip sites about celebrities who don't matter to you and movies you'll never see. YOU NEVER FOLLOW THROUGH WITH ANYTHING BAAAAAAAH!!"
Other voice in head: "Waaaaah I never follow through with anyyyyythiiiiiiiiiing. I'm such a bad peeeeeersssssssoooooooon." (sob)

So. Okay. Hi. Trying this thing one more time. At least.

On my list of things to actually follow through with, as facilitated by friends and cheerleaders:
1) Driving lessons. Important. Must. learn. to. drive.
2) Saving money. Checking account should not dwindle down to double digits.
3) Healthy eating, helped along by:
4) Meal planning, and,
5) Grocery shopping! (Husband should not have to eat grilled cheese for dinner more than once in a blue moon when wife likes to cook. Is a good cook. Also a lazy biatch.)
6) Consistent mental health care. Taking meds. Seeing therapist. Very important! (Did you know I'm "bipolar"? They say I am. I can see it.)
7) Consistent general health care, including regular exercise of some sort. I know, I know. I always say that. But I mean it this time! Also, walking to the bus stop does not count! I mean, it counts, but not as the only exercise of the whole day. Especially since soon I will not be walking because remember? I am Getting My License.
8) Standing up for myself on the job. I am only working certain hours, or I am finding another damn job. Period, people. Seriously. Do I look like a doormat? I must. But I am determined to erase that "Welcome!" from my forehead!

Lately I've spent a lot of time thinking about the things I've done wrong in my marriage/with my child. One of the things I feel truly terrible about happened a lot at the beginning of our marriage: people would invite us over, mainly extended relatives of my in-laws, and we would not go. I would always whine and give a lot of excuses--I don't speak Bengali, too many people will be there, I have social anxiety, I don't feel good, etc, etc. My husband's aunts and uncles are all extremely nice. They have been so sweet to me from the very first time we met. Now I am hellbent on accepting every invitation I can, and today we had three separate Thanksgiving dinners, one of which was cooked specifically because I mentioned that I was sad that I wasn't going to get to cook this year. Can you believe the utter awesomeness of that? She even had pumpkin pie and twice baked mashed potatoes--and the woman had never cooked a turkey dinner in her life!
It made up for the fact that her mother asked me why I have gotten so fat and then told my husband to stop feeding me. Three times.
I wanted to explain to her the intricacies of Depakote, but somehow, I don't think there is a good translation for "My crazy meds make me fat and cranky."

Right Now

My child is eating her weight in grapes, and I am trying to commit to writing every day. Even though I go back to work next week. Oh yeah, I spent some time away. But I'm back, ladies. Filling your brains with sheer fluff, one post at a time.

A Royal Wreck

So this morning at about five Leila woke up and started talking to me. That usually does not happen. In the morning she usually just repeats, "LaLa doodoo," in a tiny pathetic voice until I get up and give her a bottle.
(Dood is milk in bengali.) I got her a bottle and she just kept chitchatting and then she SAT UP and I was like, "Oh, no, we are NOT getting up this early."
And then she threw up all over me.
Feroze mercifully stayed home until about ten so I got another hour of sleep. Less than an hour after I left, she barfed all over our second set of bedding. However, being SmartMom, I had washed the first set and took it out of the dryer all warm and cuddly. Right now she is snuggled down into it and I am tempted to join her.
I've been naughty. I haven't been blogging, I've been eating a lot of junk, I've been lazy about my walking because something is wrong with me and my calves and feet hurt really extra super bad. The house has gone to hell and I've been eating out constantly because dinner is just too much to deal with.
In short, I am majorly depressed.
I go to the psychiatrist on Tuesday--wish me luck. Things have got to change.

She's baaaaaaaaaa-aaaack!

Sorry guys, I never meant to be gone for long, but somehow my vacation week stretched into two.
It was hella hot in Arkinsaw but it is EXTRA hot here--and true to its nature, our car has lost its air. There is nothing more awful than driving around on the first truly hot day of the year with no air conditioning. I was soaked in sweat and so sick to my stomach I thought I would die.
I know I sound like a wimp, but I come from a family that does not deal well with heat. My brother ended up in the ER severely dehydrated every year that he played sports, as did my mom. I usually got off with just a migraine or barfing. We also sunburn to blistering within an hour of un-sunscreened exposure. It's pretty yucky.
All in all, I think I got pretty screwed genetically. I'm predisposed to depression and anxiety, I have the same issues with my girly parts as my mother and grandmother did, I get migraines just like both of them, and though both of my parents are great at sports, I suck, and my brother got both all the good looks and the athletic talent.
HATE!
So today it was a-frikkin-hundred degrees here. I was sweating everywhere two seconds after I walked out of the house. Then I tripped over my concrete stairs, went down like a ton of bricks, had to go back in and band-aid myself...by the time I actually got to the bus stop, damp and irritable, I wanted to cry.
Nothing sucks more than coming back to the reality of your daily life after a vacation.
At least I have my adoring public...~snerk~

T-Minus 48 hours...

I am supposed to be Doing Things right now, namely cleaning and packing and also getting ready for work, where I would be handing in my resignation if this wasn't my last day for the next two weeks. Between resignations, family emergencies, vacations, and understaffing, Jennifer and I have taken a beating in the last few weeks. Understandably we were a bit testy with each other yesterday. Our "help" from another store ended up being not much more than warm bodies. I actually feel a bit guilty this morning that I am going on vacation and she is not...of course, I have been without a vacation for the past year and she has only been at my store for three months, but it's been three months without a chunk of time off. And that gets old, fast.
I should also be updating my food journal, and I should clean the bathroom as well. I have to leave for work in three short hours.
I have a headache the size of Montana.
Leila and I fly out at 6:10 AM on Wednesday to see my family and friends in Arkansas. I am crazy excited. I'll see my friend Liv, from high school, who lives on the other side of the country, and I will attend her sister's bridal shower, which seems so strange and surreal. They both adore kids in a not-irritating way, (you know what I mean, all, "wook at da wittle CUTIE PIE,") they're very matter-of-fact and talk to kids like, you know, little humans. Which they are. Anyway, they are dying to meet Leila and I, of course, am dying to show her off. She is the cutest and smartest baby ever, you know.
I guess I should stop calling her a baby. She'll be two in a month and she's crazy advanced. Her sentences are a little backwards and muddled, but she's bilingual, so that's normal.
I had the Worst Mother's Day Ever, which was really bad when you consider it coming on the heels of the Worst Birthday Ever, just over a month ago. Feroze and I had a huge fight in the morning and thus all of our plans were spoiled for the rest of the day. We just went through the motions, basically. Then on Sunday I had to work all day, and it was crazy busy. I mean CRAZY. Then in the car on the way home I burst into tears and yelled at Feroze until he decided that the only way he could prove his love to me was to drive down to Alexandria and get me kabobs from Kabob Palace. I was starving and drained, and the little place was stuffed to the gills with people, so we drove BACK home with our food, listening to "The Big Show" on NPR just like we did last year.
I had a hard time falling and staying asleep--it has been almost two weeks since I last had a good night's sleep--and this morning I have a huge headache and it is a rainy Monday and I just know that it will be dead at work tonight, but that's okay. I will bring tons of new merchandise onto the floor and help rework the sale section so that Jamie doesn't freaking die when she comes back from Puerto Rico and sees the store looking like a hot mess.
This may be my last update for a bit, but rest assured that I'll be back before June arrives with sweltering DC heat.

Something's Afoot!

Over at The Shrinker one of my girlfriends is recording her struggle battle with weight loss. She and I have been discussing co-blogging through a weight loss plan and fitness regimen for months, and she finally got her blog up--now it's my turn.
I'm in a difficult position as far as exercising goes. I've recently started the steroid shots for my chronic pain and I'm not supposed to do anything strenuous (like pick up a two year old) but on the other hand, it's warm outside, and I'm doing a lot of walking. I figure it can't hurt to get off the bus a few stops early, or powerwalk around the mall in the morning before work. About two weeks after the third shot I'll have the go-ahead to do some low-impact type things.
I may have mentioned this, but my baby brother is getting married in July, and I am a bridesmaid. Everyone involved in the wedding has put on weight due to stress in our individual lives, from the bride herself right down to my mom, we're all struggling. My mom has her variety of drugs that are taking away her appetite, but right now I have no such help.
One of my biggest issues since graduating high school has been impulse control. Back then, I was a model of self-control. I was abstinent, I didn't swear, drink, smoke, or do drugs. I ate normal portions at meals (I could never finish my meals at Chili's) and I ate my mom's cooking most of the time. We didn't keep a lot of stuff in the house--we were poor--so if I munched it was typically on apples or generic cornflakes.
Fast forward. I'm the one in charge of the groceries, and I buy a mess of ice cream, cereal, candy, chips, popcorn, coke, etc. I'm not running myself ragged with school activities and I definitely don't munch on apples for snacks.
I've never been a really active person as far as sports and exercise go. The biggest change in my life has been sheer consumption of junk. I want to change this. For one thing, I am terribly affected by what I eat. If I eat grease, I feel terrible, sick and lethargic and depressed. But if I eat fresh food, like apples and crispy salads, then I feel energized! Healthy! Light! When I eat sweets I feel so heavy...when I eat a light, savory meal, I feel so good.
So why am I still eating McDonald's and Edy's Ice Cream? Simply put, I have no willpower. I am lazy. I indulge in my every craving...I don't know how to moderate.
Well, I'm kicking my own rear into gear. Tomorrow begins a food journal. You can find it at The Shrinkers because I'm so terribly original.
I will also be documenting something else over there, under the "Mood" category...this will remain my makeup-n-mommy blog, but that one will be dealing with my health, with my eating, with That Thing We Don't Talk About, and also with my sanity. Which is fragile right now.
So you can choose! Do you want to read about mascara and Finding Nemo? Do you want to pretend that I live a fabulous life with no problems? Then stay over here. But if you don't mind getting down to the nitty-gritty and reading an OCD-esque log of my food and drug intake, you can head on over yonder, and shrink with us.

Le Sigh.

Today was one of those days where I'd convinced myself I was a horrible person before I'd even gotten out of bed and was fighting with my husband before eight o' clock. I went to work convinced I was fat and was sniffling an apology to Feroze an hour later.
Then he picked me up and we went for a long drive, down to VA for Kebab Palace (best. kebabs. ever.) then back up to Potomac to look at the pretty houses, all the while pleasantly chitchatting amongst ourselves.
I blame the pressure in the air. A gray sky hung over the District damply, and everything had a vaguely spoiled smell, like the rain waited so long to break that it went bad. I won't make the obvious comparison to my life, I'm sure you can infer it.

Fluff Piece

--How come celebrities always stand all funky? Toes in, toes out, hips thrusted, head cocked--why can't they just STAND there?

--With all that money, don't you think they could find someone who would tell them the truth about how awfulterriblescary their clothes are most of the time? I mean, who let SJP out of the house in that heinous dress she wore to the Met benefit? Who let her think that was a good idea?!

This is a Public Service Announcement:

If you are riding a bus in the DC Metro area, and you see a chubby redhead in fabulous Versace glasses, that's me. Please don't sit next to me unless you are small enough to only take up one seat, smell nice, and are reasonably sane. Also, from one chubby girl to another: If your cheekspread covers three seats? And just lumbering down the bus has you all out of breath and cranky? You might want to consider getting off a couple stops early, and possibly forgo that box of Ho-Hos I see in your grocery bag. It's for your own good, really, because if you lose a few pounds I won't have to stab you with a pencil the next time I have to stand up all the way from Rockville to Silver Spring because you've taken more than your fair share of seating.

Laws of Parenting, Part 1

IF you are so tired you are dozing in front of the computer, and your child runs upstairs to visit with her grandma, so you lay down on the couch, the child will come back downstairs the instant you fall asleep, followed by her aunt, hollering that the child needs a diaper change.
IF you then sniff the child, determine the stink is of gas origin as opposed to solid, and send her BACK upstairs, the instant you fall back asleep her grandma will then begin yelling down the stairs that there is actual solid poop in the diaper and also she is leaving, so come get the child.
And then, IF you resign yourself to not getting a nap, change the child's diaper, smack yourself in the face a few times to wake up, make everyone lunch, and sit down for some quality time with your blogs, your child will promptly fall asleep face-first into her corn and chicken, and then you will cry, because you're never going to fall back asleep now.

The Sea Monkey Has My Money.

The floodgates have opened and we are officially a Nemo household. The Leila-ized pronunciation is "Ne-nah-mo," repeated in a keening wail until one of us breaks down and puts the movie in and allows her to rot her tender little brain. I have most of the movie memorized, and I keep trying to get her to enjoy "Shrek" or "Ice Age" but I guess they're just not as visually appealling. It looks like I'm going to have to break down and purchase some Elmo videos or something.

I'm about a week into my latest plan to take care of myself better. This plan does not really involve a change in eating habits as I've proven myself totally incapable of that. I've just been drinking a lot of water, walking more, and most importantly, dressing nicely, fixing my hair, and wearing at least a little makeup every day. It's really improved my outlook. When I look in the mirror, I see a real live grown up who cares about her appearance, instead of a pasty blob with frizzy hair. Once I get my haircut I will probably feel even better. It's really weighing my face down right now. I'm hoping all the walking I have been doing will help me lose weight, but I'm not focusing on losing weight, you know? It is pointless and frustrating. I'm trying to eat a bit less sweets and go back to fruit, which I tend to do during the summer anyway, and I've cut down on the coffee. (Switch to passion tea lemonade with lots of sweet-n-low.)

I am totally rambling! You know, I come up with these thought-out, hilarious posts, with lots of funny metaphors, jokes, and anecdotes, but then when I sit down to write, that stuff just doesn't come out! Bear with me...hopefully I'll strike some sort of balance.

More cuteness

ahmbalah = ambulance
kuwalah = squirrel
fun = phone
ahsside = outside
doh = door
dohttee = dirty
keen = clean
kohn = corn
tull = chul (Bangla for hair)
turi = churi )Bangla for bracelet
teet = teeth

And, five hundred times a day, "Bella coming?" "Baba coming?" "Come on, Mommy! Mommy, come on!"

Her cleaning fetish is full force. She was actually angry with me this morning because I ate breakfast before I started cleaning the kitchen. She sat next to me in her chair, scrubbing the table with a dish cloth. I think I can get some use out of this...

Quick Cuteness

Before I pass out all pathetically early I wanted to quickly write out some thoughts I had today.
I was on the bus planning my blog entry o' raging negativity when I realized--I don't want to be one of those blogs where the writers constantly gripe, complain, and generally feel sorry for themselves. Even though I complain on here, I really don't feel sorry for myself. I'm not really that kind of gal, and I don't want to come across that way.
So instead of my whiny post I decided to post about Her Royal Highness.
Without further ado, cute things that Leila says/does:
1) Lotion is "Shoney" and she loves it. When she sees me get it out (or anything remotely resembling it) she totally freaks out, begging for it. If it's in a pot, she dips one dainty finger in and then gently applies it to her cheek.
2) More is "Mow" repeated upwards of twelve times, with perfectly rounded lips.
3) When Mommy goes potty, it is the funniest thing EVER. Every time. Without fail.
4) She loves to name her clothes as she gets dressed. Shirts are "jama" which is shirt in Bengali. Pants are "Pent" with the "P" and "T" enunciated perfectly. Socks are "Moka" ("moja" means socks in bengali) and shoes are "soo."
5) Mishti is "Mikti", whispered reverently.
6) Last and cutest of all, every morning we have roll call. She names everyone in her little world, and I tell her where they are or what they're doing.
"Baba?"
"Daddy's at work."
"Doddi? Dodda?" (her grandparents)
"Doddi and Dodda are still sleeping."
"NiniBella?"
"Isabella is still sleeping."
"Doh?"
"Miss Joy is still sleeping, too, with Bella."
"FooFoo?" (Her aunt)
"Foo Foo is at work."
"Khala?" (our renter)
"Khala is at work with FooFoo."

And so on, and so on, ending with, "La-La?"
And then I tickle her tummy and hug her and say, "La La is here with Mommy!"
And Mommy is soooo blessed.

Sorry sorry so sorry.

Here, I will apologize for lack of posting and commenting on other blogs (sorry, Patricia!) My apologies will be lovingly accentuated by photos of Her Royal TwoNess, of the Terrible Twos.
I'm sorry!
I'll do better!



"I'll be sooo saaad if you don't forgive my mommy!"

"Will a flower help?"

Assvice and rhetorical questions.

1) Leggings are only cute if you weigh ninety pounds. Otherwise, no. Just--NO.

2) A modicum of politeness is really required when you're out in public. Talking loudly on your cell and smacking your gum while the hapless countergirl rings you up? Not polite. Kinda gross, in fact.

3) Boho is a cute trend. I've bought into it. But please, be careful. After ladies reach a certain age, boho tends to translate into "Scary Cat Lady."

4) You know, if I have to chase your kids down in my store, and tell them to stop doing whatever they're doing, because it's dangerous? You may have failed as a parent in some massive way. Also, you may have failed as a human if you can't figure out that letting your two-year-old climb on a shelf in a store is not a good idea. Or if you weren't, you know, looking at her. And especially if you didn't even notice she was gone...

5) Just because I work in retail doesn't make me less of a human, people. In fact, I make pretty good money and I am somewhat intelligent. So don't think you can stand over there and mutter crap to my poor browbeaten associate, because I will take you up sharply, and I don't care who you call. I say everything sweetly and with a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry ma'am, is there a problem?" (big smile) "Oh, gee, that's just terrible," (frowny face) "unfortunately, our policy is such that I can't honor that for you, though I'd be happy to list the alternatives." (big smile) (cringe at expletives) "Well, ma'am, I'm so sorry you feel that way. Would you like the number of my district manager? I'm sure she'd be more than happy to confirm what I've told you here." (and not back down an ounce, bitch)

A Matter of Faith

This is an email I sent an old friend, who is now a youth pastor. He knew me at a time in my life when I was fervently Christian, and I am sure he'd be shocked at my current state. This is the main question that bangs around in my little head lately, and I'd love to hear your thoughts, too.


It occured to me today that you might be just the person to answer some of my questions.

The thing is, I am not exactly who I was when you knew me. I mean, none of us could say we're the same as high school, but I confess to having a crisis of faith. A big one.

I may or may not have mentioned to you that I married a Muslim man. I'd never seen another faith intimately before, and what I have seen has surprised me. All those years as a hardcore Christian, it had never occured to me, that, um, people of other religions are just as devoted to their religion as we are/were to ours. And I was a little bit horrified, and a little bit scared, and a little bit disillusioned.

Now my faith is such a touchy matter, and I would really like to return to church in some form because I know that I need to; I know I'm not right with God; I know I need the support of fellow Christians. But here's my problem and I'm wondering about your take on it. My mom says I'm too softhearted but I like to think I'm being logical when I ask you this:

How can God send someone who loves Him, in whatever form they believe in, to hell? Think of it this way. Think of your devotion to God, to Christ. Think of your devotion to discipleship and your love of the church. Now think if some Muslim girl came along and preached the Koran to you, urgently telling you that if you didn't believe in it you would go to hell. You wouldn't believe it, still, because you love God, and you feel his work in your life, and you know in your heart that you believe the right thing.
Now reverse it. You're a devout Muslim. You say your prayers, you do your fasts, you give to charity. Then some Christian guy comes along and starts talking about Jesus and repenting, but you don't believe it, because you love Allah and you feel his work in your life and you know in your heart that you believe the right thing.

So now I ask you--how can God be sending one of these people to hell? They both love Him and long to serve Him, they both think they're doing the right thing.

I'm not expecting you to solve my crisis of faith, I just wonder about your thoughts on this. I've gotten to a point where I would love to go back to church, I would love to sing in the choir, I would love to study my Bible, but I can't, because this is eating me up.

I appreciate your input.

God bless,
Jackie

Cake-gasm

I am sure you have all missed me so very much, and I do apologize for that unscheduled break. I was the lucky recipient of not one, but two very different and very nasty stomach bugs, which apparently are afflicting every single person in the greater metro DC area. Luckily (knock on wood) though Feroze and I both got it, Leila did not, and hopefully will not. I am not letting her anywhere near any other children until this epidemic passes.
So what have I been doing? Let's see...I had the worst. birthday. ever. That was followed by three days of dry heaving and laying in bed feeling quite sorry for myself. Then three more days of weaning myself off of the Cymbalta, which left me dizzy and somewhat stupid, especially coming on the heels of the barfing flu. I have been reading lots of books, and eating lots of easter candy. Easter candy is the best kind of candy there is, people. Cadbury Cream Eggs, Cadbury Mini Eggs, Sweettarts shaped like ducks, jellybeans, pastel colored M&Ms...
I have also been working, feeling sorry for myself because all the spring clothes are soooo cute...being resentful because the least-hard-working member of our team has taken not one but two vacations this month, and trying very hard to be a better wife and mother, by cooking dinner every night, and keeping the house reasonably clean, and spending a lot less time on this here computing box.
Also, trying not to kill my toddler, who is in full terrible-twos mode, whose sleeping habits have taken somewhat of a dive in the past few days, and who, after sleeping in my bed until three this morning, woke up at five. Yes. FIVE this morning.
Luckily for her it is the third gorgeous day in a row, and I am feeling quite forgiving. We will be heading into downtown Silver Spring in a bit. I heard they are putting in a DSW and an American Apparel. Now, American Apparel, whatever, but DSW? Thank the sweet Lord. There have been about eight hundred times I have needed to go shoe shopping, but not felt like traipsing over to Montgomery (Lord knows there's nowhere to shop for shoes in my mall, White Flint) or down to Tyson's. Plus anytime I do manage to go to Tyson's I get totally overwhelmed by all the people and can't deal with the thought of having to try things on.
I live about five minutes from downtown Silver Spring, where they have recently revitalized. There's still a horrible, ghetto excuse for a mall, but I have a feeling they will be either kicking most of the current tenants out or just knocking down the whole thing and building another. In the little circle where all the new stuff is, they put in a Bombay, an Ann Taylor Loft, a Borders, several little food chain places like Potbelly and Chipotle, an Ulta, and a couple of restaurants, Macaroni Grill, Red Lobster, a sushi place, and my favorite, a little theme place called Eggspectation. The menu is huge, and it's sort of like an upscale Denny's. They serve breakfast all day, have a huge bar, a huge assortment of gorgeous desserts, andn then some nice dinner-y things like steak, etc.
In the center, they have a big fountain on mosaic tiles. Kids can play in the fountain until eight o' clock during the summer, and during the winter they turn the water off, and the kids just chase each other around on the tiles. Also, they installed Astro Turf across the street, just a huge strip of it, so kids can run around and play. It's really a charming place, though recently overrun by teenagers.
We plan to venture into City Place (ghetto mall) and look at the Nine West Outlet, and Marshalls. Then we'll eat lunch, check out the bookstore, run around on the Astro Turf, look at some makeup, and possibly grab something to compliment our dinner of steak. Wish us luck--it's so gorgeous outside, I can't wait to go!

Stoic, shmoic.

Oh, ya'all. It is not easy going around these parts lately. A round of the stomach flu knocked me flat on my rear at an inconvenient time for everyone. Leila is extra-toddler like. I tried to do our taxes and screwed something up because it came out that we owed, like, $2000 and are you kidding? 'Cause we do NOT make enough money for that. My mom had what amounts to a nervous breakdown; my brother's wedding planning is not going well. My anxiety has ratcheted itself up several notches and my entire body seems in on the act. I'm dizzy, flu-like, cranky, sore all over, and grumpy as hell. I forgot to pay my cell phone bill and damn Sprint, they didn't even send a text message, they just shut the stupid thing off. This was supposed to be a nice celebratory weekend because I was off yesterday and today, and my birthday is next week, but guess what? Feroze is down with a horrible case of the flu. My pain management appointment was supposed to be this week but I couldn't get my MRI due to the flu, so now I have to figure out where to go from there, and my pain has been exceptionally severe, but I've been trying to hold out for this damn appointment. I am not happy, chickadees, not at all.
I did get two cute shirts yesterday, though. But it doesn't make up for the fact that I'm on round two of this damn stomach pestilence.

Dude. Is this the Cymbalta speaking or what?

Yesterday, my lovelies, I woke up in the most fab-tastic mood. I out of bed at 7:30 and got dressed. I skipped into Leila's room and got her ready for a bath. Before ten I had bathed her, cleaned my kitchen top to bottom, fed both of us breakfast, picked up all the clothes from the floor and washed several loads of laundry, and cleaned all the junk from my table and "microwave stand" which doubles as "holder of recipe books and ten thousand miscellaneous pieces of JUNK." Then I called my husband and bragged. At eleven, Joy swung by and we took the girls to the park. It was eighty five degrees. We were sweating copiously, and it was fun. I made steak and baked potatoes for dinner. Frankly, ya'all, I was rocking.
Today our morning walk brought the nasty realization that it was like, thirty degrees colder than yesterday. I almost missed my bus and had to run for it, something that I never like to do, much less when I am heinously out of shape and fill the bus with the sounds of my heavy breathing. In Eatzi's, my iPod cord caught a basket of chips and pulled them all onto the floor. My lasagna was gross. I am most displeased.
This could have a LOT to do with today being my second Starbucks-free day in a row.

Morning Sickness Misnomer.

I wasn't going to update tonight because I am in a foul mood, but over at Julia's everyone is discussing their "morning" sickness and it had me thinking about my pregnancy with Leila and how, well, frankly awful it was.
Recently someone I know decided not to continue her pregnancy. This is someone I care for a lot, but I had a hard time with her decision, mostly because it seemed that her biggest motivator was that it became hard.
(Disclaimer here: I know that there were other factors. I am not judging her. I love her and support her. Please don't email me.)
When I was a wee little thing, I though that pregnancy would be FABULOUS. I thought I would be cute, all belly, glowy and sexy and rarin' to go in the bedroom. I'd read in about a million women's magazines that lots of women have increased sex drives during pregnancy, and I was sure I'd be one of them. I found the whole concept incredibly sexy and beautiful.
Delusion is so wonderful.
Here's how it played out: Feroze and I get married September 19. Around the first week of November I start thinking, "Huh. I sure don't feel too great." The week before Thanksgiving I go to the doctor for sciatic nerve pain, and hey, while we're here, I don't feel too great, let me take a pee test. The doctor died laughing. The strip changed colors the second my little pee drop hit it.
Eight weeks pregnant. I barfed in the car on the way home. I barfed every single day on the way to work. I would eat a chocolate popsicle, grab my plastic bags from the grocery store, and proceed to feel awful all the way to work.
Every. single. freaking. day. I would barf right as we pulled into the parking lot at the mall. I would throw up in the hallway trash can while waiting for my manager to arrive. I would throw up in the bathroom up to eight times a day. I lost twenty pounds. I passed out at work. Feroze asked me if I wanted to have an abortion because I was so very ill, but I told him he was crazy. I think he was pretty crazed with worry at that point. I would barf until I peed my pants, cry, go home from work, barf and cry some more.
Finally one of the midwives prescribed me Zofran. I still felt sick sometimes and I still barfed sometimes, but things were much improved.
They made me stop taking it at seven months and I barfed for a few weeks before it ended for good. At this point my sciatic nerve on my left side (the one that sent me to the doctor in the first place) was hurting like crazy. I was working tons, and at seven and a half months Leila was ridin' low, so I had to go on maternity leave.
All I'm sayin' is, it was NOT THAT GREAT.
But then she was born and I loved her and my labor (a story for another day) was not that bad. I did it totally naturally and, well, I was proud. And she's fabulous and I gladly would've barfed the whole damn time and all that schmoopy mommy stuff.
It's just like so many other things in life--what you think something is going to be like and what it actually is like are two totally different things. Nobody can tell you what your marriage or your pregnancy or your motherhood or anything will be like, because, well, you have to experience it for yourself. That's why it's good not to get too hung up on what you think your husband or your wedding or your college or ANYTHING will be like, because you might be so disappointed in the difference that you can't really enjoy it.

Feroze is totally different from the man I imagined myself with when I was sixteen--but he loves me. My life at (almost) 24 is nothing at all like what I imagined--but it's a good life, you know?

Wow, what was my point? Be grateful, I think. And also, take Zofran. ;-)

Various updates, rambling, and what I did on my weekend off.

I am such a stellar housewife. All the pillows have pillowcases on them for the first time in months. Our bed and the crib are made up. We moved the futon back into couch position and put a blanket and pillow on it to make it more comfy. And I cooked a wonderful dinner of baby bok choy/steak/veggie stir fry stuff.
What do you MEAN you do that stuff every day? Do I look like superwoman to you? Sheesh.
My visit to the pain clinic was good. The doctor was very nice, and besides sending me home with Lidocaine patches, a new antidepressant, and Percocet, he ordered an MRI for me because there's a possibility that I have a back issue or a nerve tangled in my scar tissue--two things no one had thought of before. The Lidocaine patches work really well, except for the fact that they are constantly coming unstuck, which is a problem. They cost $60 for a box of thirty, which is kind of a lot for me to have to replace one just because it got stuck to itself instead of my skin. I go back on my birthday to review the MRI and see what's working so I'm hoping his gift to me will be, "Oh, look, it's just a simple back problem! We'll fix that with one tweak!" (Of course, that won't happen, since the pain is in my back and my groin, so at the least there has to be some sort of nerve affected. L1 or something like that, he said, wraps around from your lower back to your groin and therefore ostensibly could be the cause of my problem, not scar tissue.)
Yesterday we went to Tyson's Corner (huge mall in Northern VA) with a girl Feroze works with, Angelica. She's a young little thing who works way too hard and really needed a "fun day"--so I gave her a makeover at Sephora and induced her to spend quite a bit on makeup, and it was a lot of fun. All I bought were some cute panties from Gap Body, but I found an awesome glitter eyeliner by Lorac that I will certainly be purchasing in every color as soon as I get a chance. After we were done there, we went over to the Galleria, which is a boutique mall filled with chichi little shops, and a Saks and Neiman Marcus. I'd had my eye on a charm bracelet with little shoe charms for my birthday, but the price was waaaaaaaaay higher than I'd imagined. I was really disappointed, which surprised me. I almost wanted to cry. Hopefully I can find some sort of knock off.
I did end up buying some amazing stuff from L'Occitane, their new "Mom and Baby Balm"--it is fantastic. It's got the consistency of lard, which is kind of funny, a very smooth, waxy feel, unscented, and color free, it is sooo soft and Leila loves it. I've been applying it to her cheeks all day, and she just leans into my hand and grins and says, "Ooooooh." Both of us have incredibly dry skin. Mine has been itchy and flaky and all kinds of gross lately. The other day, in a fit of desperation, I applied Vaseline to my entire body, and then threw on a light t-shirt and socks and prayed for relief. It worked. I showered and exfoliated and shaved first, which I was afraid would exacerbate the problem but instead it helped, because the Vaseline could penetrate my skin with no blockage from dead skin or hair. I've also been applying it to my lips because once again I've lost every chapstick I own, and lip gloss just isn't cutting it.
I also put the Balm all over Leila's dry little feet and then put her socks on...when I changed her into her pjs her feet were as soft as can be. Since she usually fights me like an angry cat when I try to put Vaseline on her, this balm is a winner. It was $20 for a little jar, but I'm already wishing I'd bought the big one despite the price.
I keep forgetting that I bought a few things from Clinique before I imposed the no-makeup rule, so soon I will post about that and I am still trying to decide whether or not to post about something rather serious that's happened recently...the problem with having people you know and love read your blog is that, well, they know the other people you know, and sometimes just wanting to talk about an issue becomes akin to gossip.
Oh! And despite my non-Catholicism (and apparent ignorance thereof) I decided to give something up for Lent. I couldn't think of anything I could bear to be without in my current fragile state--caffiene, refined sugar, and computer time were the usual suspects. Finally I realized that there is a habit I've been wanting to break anyway--cussing. I cuss like a sailor, and it is both unbecoming and something that could potentially cause problems for Leila. So I have given it up, and I am doing okay so far, only a few slips. I am also bothering Feroze about the whole thing too, so hopefully by the time Easter rolls around we will both be much improved.
Hope that you all are doing equally well with your fasts!

Happy National Forehead Wound Day!

In my defense, there are no Catholics in Arkansas.
Or, apparently, anywhere else I've ever lived.
Also in my defense, I AM A MORON.
Yesterday there was a young woman in my store who had a large...mole? Bruise? In the middle of her forehead. I didn't want to stare so I couldn't figure out what it was. Shortly thereafter there was ANOTHER lady with a forehead bruise. Then, as I was eating lunch, I saw yet another...and so I said to my coworker, "What is this, National Forehead Wound Day? I've seen three women with massive bruises on their heads!"
Connie stared at me, frankly flabbergasted. Then she said,
"Jackie. It's Ash Wednesday."
Me: "I know! ...Oh. Wait, they put ASH on their heads?"
Umm. And then she sort of explained about the Mass and stuff. And then she asked, "Isn't your friend Joy OF WHOM YOU SPEAK ALL THE TIME a devout Catholic?"
Uh, yeah. She sort of is. But look, I worked on Ash Wednesday last year, and I saw NO forehead smudges. Nor the year before that. And I am BAPTIST and we're not that big on rituals.
Also? I AM A MORON.

Moonbounce-licious!

Instead of giving me Ambien, my Gyn recommended that I start taking my Zoloft in the morning instead of at night. This has led to a small issue, namely being delirious all day. In addition, Claritin + Zoloft + Percocet = Feeling like you're walking on a Moonbounce all day.
I do have an appointment with a pain management clinic, and I am also looking for a good psychiatrist. Hopefully the first will give me something better than Percocet (on the phone, they said something about an epidural shot. I find that pretty terrifying.) and the second will give me Ambien and some sort of fast acting panic attack warder-offer, and also? I think I need a higher dose of Zoloft.
Whee! Meds R Us! I am a Prozac Nation unto myself over here. :-)
I need a nap, seriously. I have no idea how I will get through work tonight. Luckily it's only about five hours. I like Sundays because the shifts are shorter, but the clients don't seem to want to leave the store at six. And then they're like, "Oh, the whole mall closes at six?"
Yes, just like EVERY OTHER SUNDAY FOR AS LONG AS THE MALL HAS BEEN HERE. And we have pretty strict rules; our DM doesn't want us to close the doors, turn off the music, or tell the clients that the store is closed...which means that all the people who walk past and see the doors open decide to just "pop in"...one Sunday one of the other stores was open for an hour and forty five minutes after the mall closed, because people just kept coming in.
I don't mind that much if they actually buy something, but coming in, screwing around, trying some stuff on, and then buying one sale shirt or not buying anything at all? People, have a care for your poor salesperson!
Naptime.

Pretend you didn't read this, part 2.

My heart hurts today. I do my best, most days, to be "content" and make plans and lists for how we will conquer our current issues, but one issue probably won't go away anytime soon and it is eating at me.
I've always been a big believer in faith...in religion, in the power of God. That hasn't changed, but my perspective has, quite a bit.
That being said, I've bounced back and forth over several ideas throughout the past few years. Now that Leila is getting older I realize (frightened) that she will soon understand a lot of things and we will need to begin her religious education.
...? Where will we begin it? She already mimics my in-laws in their daily prayers, but who will support me if I sing "Jesus loves me?"
At some point I will have to be done crying about this, but far and above any other issue, this is the most difficult aspect of my marriage to Feroze.
I miss God.

Mommy Matters.

The phone rings. I see it is Joy. Without so much as a hello, this is how our conversation goes:
Me: "If it doesn't stop snowing, we are going to have a problem here, because I will kill this child."
Joy: "So I wasn't the only one dismayed to see the snow this morning? My phone rang really early and I thought it was you, but it was a nasty message from my landlord about the proper disposal of shredded paper in the recycling bin, then I saw the snow and I was like, damn iiiiiiiit!!"

And, well, that's how I think it will be today. The snow has turned into miniscule drops of icy coldness, but anyone who's ever wrestled an almost-two-year-old into a carseat knows that icy coldness=instant shrieking. And even though I want Joy to come over, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, much less a fellow mother.

Obligatory Blizzard Pics.

Everybody else posted theirs...my turn!

View from the front porch...


Our house...



Daddy makes a snowball...


And Leila tries to kick it!


One more of the cute hat:

The Princess Herself.

In her hat, during the Blizzard of '06...


With her newest most oft-used hairstyle, pigtails...

(Erin, you can see that I was talking to you via AIM when I took this, ha!)

In her Valentine's Day dress from Target, say what you will about them, they have cute kids clothes.

My brain, she is dead.

I can't remember if I posted about this already but I have a wicked case of insomnia, and it is kicking my butt. I feel like a zombie, and it is not helped by a nasty allergy attack. Plus it is cold, and the heater is broken at my work. And this morning I was chasing Leila and I accidentally kicked the back of her foot and something went crunch in my toe...and it hurts.
(Insert whiny voice at your discretion)
And five piles of laundry later? The house still looks like a bomb hit it. Plus I had hoped to get all the laundry done before going to work, but I washed a load that was huge and the dryer doesn't seem to want to dry it.
Leila stained her brand-effing new shirt. I keep shopping for pants for her but can't get any deals. Gymboree is calling me with its siren song and I have to run past it on my way into work. Ditto for the makeup counters--it was Lancome gift time and I am on day eight of my not-buying-new-makeup resolution.
(Okay, whiny voice over.)
So last night I saw these awesome shoes and I nearly squeed in my pants. I walked around the store with them for awhile, hoping my husband would offer to buy them for me. He didn't. And they are expensive. But God, I am enamoured of them. I must have them. With a yellow shirtdress, they would be perfect. A pencil skirt and a button down. Linen pants and an eyelet lace shirt.
So. For that price, I must make a choice. I was saving up for this handbag but now I may buy the shoes. I don't know. Both are ridiculously priced, but they are haunting my dreeeeeeeams.
Holy crap. It is almost March and we haven't done our taxes yet. This is not good.
Yesterday I got Leila a cute outfit at Old Navy for half-off. A little tee shirt with hearts on it and ruffly sleeves, and a denim skirt with a ruffle. I was five seconds from matching shoes (white with a heart print) but Feroze (let's just use his name. It's easier.) said no way, she does NOT need shoes.
Yes she does. I will buy them online this weekend.

Obnoxiousness, self control, and grumblecakes.

Leila has the most annoying toy EVER. I bought it for her, as with most of her toys and clothes, and I thought it was just the neatest thing--a camera that looks JUST LIKE a real camera, flashes, etc, but only cost $4 as opposed to our expensive digital one that she always wants to play with.
There's just one small problem.
The music it plays. It's a quick dance beat with a child shouting something ("bam! po! Bam! po!" is what it sounds like) and unlike most toys, which shut themselves off after a moment, it plays over and over until you press the button to turn it off.
Currently, it has been playing for about ten minutes. It's in Leila's bedroom and I can still hear it, even over the dishwasher. Typically her musical toys don't bother me, I can tune them out with the greatest of ease, which is funny, because the irritating Muzak at my work drives me insane and I can never ignore it.
I am sorry for the lack of posting lately but I have made a commitment to myself to try to have some self control and be more careful with my money, and the first thing to get cut was makeup. Do you all know how much makeup I own? Waaay too much. So I am not allowed to buy anything until I run out of one of my essentials, mascara, powder, or foundation. I have enough blush, lipstick, lip gloss, and eyeshadow to last ten women for well over a year.
My reviews from now on will probably be more about food, books, clothes, and the products we buy for our home improvement project. (More on that later.)
Likewise, I have eight different shampoos and conditioners, four or five facial masks, and a hundred billion lotions--so I'm not allowed to buy that, either. I made a big note to myself in my little notebook that I carry with me not to buy those things no matter how shiny and tempting they are. Plus I realized recently that the best cure for my dry winter feet and hands is Vaseline and a pair of socks (or gloves)--which is about $2 at Target for a big ole tub.
I bought a book entitled How to Live Your Life at Half the Price (While Still Living the Life You Love) and while I definitely don't intend to follow it to the letter, there are some really great suggestions in there. All of which I have read a million times before, basically, but this time I saw them in a whole new light. We need to save money so we have a contingency fund. So we can send Leila to Montessori preschool next year. So we can remodel our apartment this summer and so that I can get a car. We need more money so I can have another baby in about a year, and afford to only work two days a week. It was while reading her book and talking to my friend Joy that I realized how much less we could be living on while not sacrificing too much--and how blessed we are to have that advantage. I told Joy that when the in-laws kick off we'll move upstairs and rent her our apartment for half the cost of the one she lives in now...I feel like we're blessed and we should share it. Sadly, by the time they actually do kick off, Joy will probably be safely in Texas, where the living costs are cut in half, and I will be jealous, because she will be close to her parents and I will still be here. Grr.

What Dreams May Come

Last night was one of the worst nights of sleep I've had in a few weeks. Since I started taking Zoloft my sleep has been deep and long, which was nice, because I was becoming cranky with the insomnia.
However, in the meantime, between laying awake feeling sorry for myself, I had some interesting dreams...including one that made me very happy and very sad...
I have to preface this by referring again to the very close relationships I had in and after high school. Sadly, most of them are no more, but one lost guy wrankles with me constantly.
Jamie (not his real name) became a member of my youth group my junior or senior year, I can't remember which. He was a basketball star, but sweet and shy. We became friends through a series of small gestures: He was sitting alone after church, I went and made small talk. I was walking by him and a group of his friends at school, he waved and said,"Hey." Our mothers were friends and I learned about his life, he invited me to FCA, etc, etc. Eventually we went to the same small college, I supported him when his girlfriend dumped him somewhat viciously. He would play his guitar, and we would sing, or talk about music. When I moved to California, and then back, he was spending a lot of time at my apartment and by that point, we were incredibly close. We'd been through so much together and understood each other. (I thought)
Something happened. It was small, but his allegations that I was basically a clueless meddler were some of the last words he spoke to me. He started using drugs, distanced himself from me. Now we're both married with kids, living states apart, and I'm still pissed. Jamie was someone I trusted implicitly. Someone I thought I would call when I got engaged, someone who would smile at my wedding, who would send a card when my daughter was born. Instead I get updates from my mom and my little brother (best friends with his little brother) and occasionally from my old roommate. Anyway. One of the many dreams I had involved two of the guys in my little circle when I lived in the ghetto apartment. They were hanging out with me, we were our age but still single, still around that ghetto apartment. I asked one of the guys if he had heard from Jamie recently; he said no, and about that time Jamie showed up. He was sweet but distant, not really talking much to me. Some time later he went outside and I followed (okay, maybe the meddling allegations had some truth to them) and he turned around and grinned at me, and said, "I want to talk to you," and we went and sat on a bench together, him holding my hand. And then he sang a song about, basically, not realizing how important your friends are until they're gone. And then I cried a little bit and we both apologized and it rocked. Even in my dream I knew I had so much to tell him.
Then I woke up and for a while I thought it was a memory, and I was so relieved. When I realized I'd dreamed the whole thing, I wanted to cry. I'm at a point now where I'm dying to rekindle some of my old friendships, but this is one that probably won't ever come around...
Sorry for blathering on and on. France will know who I'm talking about because she's heard me whine about this several times but for everyone else--sorry for being such an angsty twentysomething today.

Pretty Shiny Things

1) Absolutely the most gorgeous shade of turquoise ever, I am wearing my new Prescriptives eye shadow in Marine with my already-reviewed Urban Decay Liquid Eyeliner in Chains. I feel like a fashionista, but I love rocking cool shades of eye shadow during the day. The shade is not exactly as heavily pigmented as I would like, but it only takes two applications to get a really bright look. It's a greeny-turquoise with a very fine gold shimmer and it's incredibly silky.
2) Also bought a thick lip gloss from Prescriptives' new Spring collection of rosy shades. It's Plasmic Plum 03 and it's a great shade that I think anyone could wear. I've been shopping around for a nice plum lipstick or gloss and I think this one is it. It is incredibly thick and doesn't last as well as I hoped, and the brush is kind of gloopy--this is one you really need a mirror for. I combined it with my Lancome Star Gloss in Pink Glow and was happy with the outcome. Just the right shade for my winter-pale skin.
3)(There is a Clinique Gift with Purchase right now with a repairwear lip balm that you apply at night that I will be getting today and can't wait to try out.)
4) For Estee Lauder's GWP I bought a Pure Color Eyeshadow Duo in Moondance and was sorely disappointed. It is a nice taupe with a circle of forest green in the middle, and while the taupe is a nice basic, the green is so light that it makes my eyes look bruised and took ten minutes just to get some color out of it. Definitely not something I would buy again.
5) I did get something good out of the deal, Tender Blush in True Sand is a great coral-y neutral, one of the best and most natural blushes I've found.
6) Picked up Maybelline's Roller Color Loose Eyeshadow in Spin Around Brown. It was on clearance at Target and I had been wanting to try it out. I have to say, again, I was disappointed. You have to press really hard to get any color to come out (and it is VERY sparkly) and that's pretty uncomfortable on delicate eyes. However, I do think it would be nice in place of full eye makeup on a casual day.
7) Got Patricia Wexler's No-Injection Lip Plumper at Bath and Body Works and like it much better than Lip Venom, but still doesn't give the effect I see on other people. Maybe my lips are just uncooperative.
8) Snatched up Back to Basics Vanilla Plum Fortifying Shampoo on clearance for 80% off and will be returning for the conditioner. Smells fabulous and made my hair super soft, perfect for days when I don't use my straightening shampoo.
9) Also on clearance, OPI's Mini Spree, four mini polishes, a purple-red, an orange-red, a silver glitter and a gold glitter. Wasted no time in painting my nails orange-red and Leila's with the gold glitter. Tons of fun.
10) Love Johnson and Johnson's BabySoft Body Wash, definitely recommend it for dry winter skin. Smells yummy too, like a baby's head.

Tidbits

1) My child is so cranky today that I let her play with whatever she wanted and fed her sweetarts for breakfast.
2) I have picked up a charming quirk from my mother, the phrase "We are some (noun)-(verb)ing people around here." As in, as I stood at the closet at my workplace, staring at approximately ten bottled waters, "We are some water-drinking people around here." Or, when I grabbed a huge stack of mail last night, "We are some mail-getting people around here."
3)The makers of children's medicines should be forced to try to feed it to a screaming, writhing, kicking, spitting toddler. Then they would understand why they need to make it TASTE BETTER.
4)If you, a member of management, have been very, very late several times in the past few weeks, and someone finally calls you on it? You should not, then, leave a message on that person's answering machine threatening to get them in trouble for not doing something when it is something they are not even allowed to do.

Give me a call, sweetie.

I just remembered this and have been meaning to blog it, so I ran back over to jot it down:
A few weeks ago I dreamed that a friend of a friend knew Britney Spears and brought her to a picnic. And poor Brit, she was just sitting there, with her crimpy hair and in a pink sweatshirt, and I was telling her, "Listen, sweetie, I just want to help, you know? I really think I could give you some good tips. I'm not trying to hang out with a star; I just want to give you a makeover. And I really think you should listen to your mom about Kevin."

Seriously? This is kind of what I think every time I see a picture of her, but it cracked me up that my "celebrity fantasy" consists of taking Britney Spears to a good salon and getting her some Clearasil, not to mention a nice outfit and a pedicure.

I'm not dead!

I'm just boring, ya'all. I promise to write a real post with actual words and anecdotes and stuff tomorrow. I will be home with Leila alllllll day, and I am sure I will need something to fill the hours of "Mommy? Mamma? Moooooooommy? Mommyyyyy? Mommmmy?"

Ugh...

My child just handed me half of a soggy oreo.
And really, that tells you all you need to know about how my day went.

So this is the New Year.

Unlike Death Cab, I ~do~ feel different.
Here's the thing. I have issues. Whether you know me IRL, or online, if you knew me ten years ago or if we just spoke ten minutes ago, you know. I am strange. Possibly disturbed, even. And within the last few weeks a lot of things have come to a head and I have found myself wondering exactly where, in the hell, am I headed if I continue just meandering through life this way?
Nowhere good, I tell ya.
So I spoke to some of my friends and I had a couple of talks with my husband and we both agreed that we really need to change our lifestyle, work on being better parents and better partners and better people, and while we've had this discussion before, this time--this time, it feels different. Like it's gonna stick.
So I am sitting here drinking my detox tea, (tastes like ass!) and drumming up the energy to go mop the kitchen floor, because it needs to be done, and I won't be able to do it tomorrow with Leila here.
(This tea, ya'all. It is so bad. Seriously. Ew.)
And I am thinking about the post I almost made last night that was all pitiful and woe-is-me, I've gotten fat and lazy, etc, etc, bodyissuesblahblahblah, and I'm glad I didn't post it, because I decided that I am totally done being some kind of victim of myself. I mean seriously! I am married to a good man! I have a great job! I live in a great city! I have a beautiful daughter! SUCK IT UP, SELF.
We resolved to do a lot of things and I just want to list them here so that I have something to refer to, and then I'm going to finish the laundry, mop the floor, get ready for work, and sign up at the gym. Also, the surgery? It's off. I'm 23, I'm not cutting off my options that way. I got a new doctor, and I'm pretty confident she's going to help me with something besides Percocet and no sympathy.
So, I resolve to:
1) Be a better partner to my husband. This includes doing the things HE wants to do, and not doing the things he doesn't want to do. This includes keeping the house clean and eating dinner together. This includes not complaining nonstop about his family.
2) Be a better mother to my daughter. This includes giving her my undivided attention. This includes more stories, better meals, and more patience. This includes a night-night routine that doesn't vary, so she can be well-rested, even though it might suck for me.
3) Be a better me. This includes healthy eating. This includes going to the doctor and the dentist sometime other than when it's an emergency. This includes drinking lots of water and working out. This includes getting my driver's license even though it scares me.
This includes loving myself, and my family, in an entirely new but incredibly wonderful way.

So. Many. Thoughts.

For the love of GOD will someone shut my brain off?
I had two posts floating around in my head before I started this...now I have about a million and also a poem for good measure.
One of my posts was funny and about my husband, the fashion plate.
The other, not so funny, more about me and my new year's resolutions that I never make but am making this year because, you know, I kind of hate the person I am lately, and I want to change.
THEN I hopped over to Myspace because I'm nothing if not a joiner, and saw my friend from high school, posting about missing her family, and then a post by my very, very talented friend, Lucas, with a poem about friendship, and, not friendship, and growing up, and not growing up. I think Lucas and I have had enough conversations about this particular subject that I actually freaking know what he's talking about here, and trust me, with his poetry, I don't always. His poem had this incredibly haunting line,
We relived the cracks and wrinkles
On our faces, relived the bent
Bones linging our broken
Backs - And Goddamnit

We looked immaculate.

And now my brain is totally stuck on friendship. Which is funny, because today I had a short conversation with one of my coworkers about the nature of friendship. We are said because the aforementioned lovely France is abandoning us and pursuing her dream, and while we're proud and all that, I will be the first to admit that I am totally selfish and was kind of hoping this wouldn't actually, you know, happen.
It's hard for me to make friends. (If you knew me in high school, you don't believe this. It's TRUE!) For one thing, we're not IN high school. Or college. There is no peer group. How the hell would I meet somebody? Well, one of two ways: through my husband, who has lived here his entire life, or through my job. So. We then have Joy, my friend who is also a mother and is freakishly like me in terms of complete silliness, and then a budding friendship with France, who is not a lot like me in some ways and scarily like me in others. (We both dream about the apocalypse. You know why? Because we are straaaaange.) I get along with the other girls I work with, I like them, and I look forward to seeing them, but it's not like I would call them up if my cat died, you know?
The majority of my friends are "internet" friends, though mostly I refer to them as just "friends" (as in, my friend Lucas) because somehow when you say "internet friend" it sort of seems to cheapen whatever you're trying to relate. These are people who live quite far away from me, but have supported me through some tough times and were willing to email, IM, or phone me with love, or advice, or jokes, even though they've never met me. It's sort of crazy and sort of awesome.
Then there's this whole other set of people. My high school friends. Dear Lord. These are people I hardly EVER get to speak to, much less see, but gosh DARN it if they aren't totally tied to my heart and some of my fondest memories. People will say things and I will snort and remember some damn thing that happened six years ago, and then try to explain why it's funny, and then stop, and then wonder what so-and-so is doing, and think of calling them, and wonder if their email is the same, and this will happen like, at least five times a day.
I used to write a lot of short stories about happy memories with my friends, but now when I try it seems hopelessly twee. Possibly because I know that some of those people were happily referring to me as batshit crazy behind my back, possibly because I had notions of "friends forever" and I can't even remember their last names now.
But I know this:
1)Chris poked me in the ear with a wadded up cone of paper the first time we ever hung out, and when Hurricane Katrina hit, one of the first things I thought of was him, at school somewhere in Louisiana. Have not spoken to him in...four years? Automatically said a prayer.
2)Olivia teased me until I freakin' CRIED. Finally, one day, totally exasperated, she told me to suck it up and take a little friendly ribbing. I think of her jokes daily, and still snerk a little whenever anyone mentions the word "foam." She is one of very few people I am in touch with.
3)I can think of about two hundred happy evenings spend with the same damn group of people, and only remember about twelve fights. The numbers were probably completely opposite, but the good stuff has stuck with me.
In the end, I'm not really sure what more I could ask for.
Except maybe a phone call, people, sheesh, would it kill ya?

Wee changes.

I had to disable word verification because the lovely France couldn't comment, and, well, she was getting a bit frustrated. And I was too. Stroke my ego! Leave me comments!
So please be patient if you see comment spam. I'll delete it as soon as I see it!

Doe Eyed.

My husband has tiny, tiny little hands and feet. They are brown (he is brown) and I often refer to them as his paws.
His eyelashes are like Snuffy's (of Sesame Street) and his hair started going gray somewhere around seventh grade.
He wears a well-trimmed goatee, likes designer clothes and expensive shoes, and generally looks more polished than any man who married me ought to be.
Sometimes I love him so much but he seems so far away from me, and then he laughs at one of my stupid, stupid jokes...and all is well.

Erm.

I am supposed to leave to catch the bus in approximately a half an hour, and do you know what I am doing? I am sitting here with unbrushed teeth, in my bathrobe, writing this blog entry.
I believe I will be taking the 11:45 bus instead.
Do you know what happens to your body when you take a lot of Percocet or Vicodin or similar narcotic painkillers? Do you? Well, I'm not going to share, because it's gross, but trust. Me. Drink looooots of water.
I made the decision to try not to take any more Percocet until my surgery for a couple of reasons. One is that it starts to not work as well after awhile and I am REALLY going to need that stuff to work when I come home from the hospital. The other is that it's highly addictive and every time I get a prescription I use it all up, and...that just doesn't seem good to me, since I used to have random painkillers floating around the house for months after my visits to the emergency room, and now they last approximately three days. And the the OTHER reason is that it makes me all puffy and bloated and stuff and who needs that when they are already too fat for all the gorgeous clothes arriving daily at work?
Not me, that's who.

The Promised Reviews

Okay. So. I bought some stuff. Yay!

1) Kiss My Face Moisture Shave: I have been wanting this forever, since Badger raved about it and said it was wonderful and la-di-da. So I finally purchased it. And, well, I don't think it's had a fair chance, to tell you the truth. It's the middle of winter and my legs are covered in hair and dry skin and the bumps I get when I get dry skin. It was not a pleasant experience. BUT it was more pleasant than when I try to shave with regular shaving cream. I definitely will have to review this product again in the summertime. I had been warned against the strength of the scents, but I bought the Peaches and Cream, and loved it. I would give it a 3 out of 5 on a number scale, but I definitely will update you when it gets a little warmer and I am shaving with more frequency. And also with a better razor.

2) Kiss My Face Srub/Masque: Love. This. Stuff. It was around six bucks and it is my favorite facial product that I have ever purchased. It's a honey/oatmeal/almond meal scrub, very thick. I rub it gently in everywhere, let it sit for a minute, and then rinse it all off. I followed up with a generous slathering of my cheapie overnight cream (St Ives) and my face is SO SOFT. It also seems to be breaking out less and is definitely more glowy. Definitely recommend it for oily skin, but you MUST follow up with a moisturizer, especially if you have dry skin like I do.

3) Lancome Star Gloss in Pink Glow: You guys. I coveted this gloss. The color was so beautiful and I knew how thick and yummy Star Gloss is, as I used Sweet Marilyn quite a bit when I was pregnant. Then I got the gloss home and put it on and...there is no pink. It looks like a shimmery, clear gloss on, and since my lips have no natural pinkness to them, I look like a glossy-lipped cadaver. BUT! I tried again, layering it over my Clinique "Pink Beach" lipstick and that was the look I had originally been going for! It's really more of a summer lip, though. I am disappointed, because I like the consistency of the Star Gloss. This is the second time I have purchased it and it turned out too light or sheer. I think next time I will go for a more intense shade.

4)Urban Decay Liquid Liner in Chains: I love this. The color is a gorgeous olive green that turns to gold, and it brightens my eyes like crazy. It's easy to apply, and it stays on the entire day. I will definitely be purchasing more colors in this liner. They all are metallic shades and so gorgeous.

5) I treated myself to an OPI manicure kit with Natural Nail Base Coat and Top Coat, which I've been using with my Essie Nail Polish in Curtain Call. I was originally very disappointed with my Essie nail polish, because it didn't even last a day before chipping, but when I use it with the OPI base and top coats, it lasts a few days. It's a really relaxing ritual, removing the polish, pushing back my cuticles, painting the three coats. And it's a heck of a lot cheaper than going to the salon!

Yesterday I bought an Estee Lauder eyeshadow compact, and it came with a gift, but since I haven't used anything yet I'll tell you all about it later. :-)

Also, I have discovered the perfect mascara combination: One coat of Lancome Definicils, then, immediately, a coat of Maybelline Illegal Lengths. This makes my lashes sooooo long and defined, but the Illegal Lengths is thick enough to keep them from looking spindly. I use the waterproof, so it doesn't smudge, but since the first coat isn't waterproof, it comes off easily when I wash my face.

A Wee Martyr Complex

Sometimes I call my husband FiFi. This is enjoyable because it is a legitimate shortening of his name but it pisses him right off.
So last night, as I was hovering over him at around one in the morning, begging him to come and sleep in the bed with me, it might not have been the BEST move, but I couldn't help myself.
(Here is the part where I write my dissertation on why it's perfectly healthy for men and women to sleep in separate beds. Except I'm not gonna. Our bed is too small and we can't afford a new one right now, and I have been sick, so some nights he sleeps on the futon, and some nights he sleeps in the bed with me.)
Anyway, I have sleep issues. Major, major ones. And lately with all the stress of the surgery, I have a horrible time falling asleep and a horrible time staying asleep, peppered with horrible nightmares.
Then when I'm not having nightmares, I'm remembering the ones I had that scared the stuffing outta me, which is what happened last night. I went to lock the door, and remembered this horrible nightmare I had (after watching Batman Begins) about how the middle school near our house was an insane asylum and they decided to just release all the inmates into my neighborhood, so I ran all the way home with my neighbor girl, and we were safe, but then that night I went to lock the doors and there was a crazy lady standing right outside my door, in between the screen and the door, and...well, you can see how that memory upset me.
(I was going to see how long I could make that run-on, but I gave up.)
So that is how I came to be wheedling, "FiFi, will you sleep in the beeeeeeeed with meeee, pleeeease?" at one in the morning. And then he muttered and grumbled and whined and said that I needed to get up with Leila if she cried, and I said yes...except that I couldnt' lift her out of her crib to change her diaper because my back hurt so much. And also maybe I slept through her crying that other time.
Sorry, FiFi. I loooooooove you!

Upcoming Posty Goodness.

You guys, I have been trying to post all day, I swear it. Blogger was against me!

I have many subjects to post about, I assure you. They just haven't come together into cohesive five or six paragraphs, so they are bouncing around in my brain.

Also, the pain meds, they are not working today, and I am cranky. Very cranky.

Anyway, the following posts are coming to a theater near you:

1) The adventures of Jackie and Joy, Mommies Extraordinare. (Or: Please don't call CPS even though I gave my child a drink of my caramel macchiatto because she WOULD NOT STOP WHINING)
2) Reviews of ten or so products I have recently bought because I am so fat and also bloated from my meds that I refuse to shop for clothes AND I am joining a gym as soon as I have recovered from my surgery, mark my words.
3) My spring "must-have" list of clothes and shoes that I desire with the heat of a thousand suns.
4) A post about the fact that my brother is getting married and when I asked him if my daughter or I would be in the wedding party, he said, "Oh, we hadn't even thought about it." and then I was upset. And still am.
(actually, that's the whole story, so no post)
5) The double standard of, "Oh, you're JUST a mom" and therefore lacking in any intelligence because you don't have a "real job" BUT if you have a "real job" you are scarring your child for life by working. God. Morons.
6) Breastfeeding. And actually, 5 & 6 will probably be one whole post about how hard moms are on each other and how the whole world feels like it's okay to give you advice once you get knocked up, and really, people, SHUT UP.

I have recently given my blog address to my mommy friend, Joy. (Hi, Joy! Now you can enjoy my whining any time!) It's kind of strange that people I know in real life read this, but I figure as long as my family doesn't find it, I'm golden.
Right?

10:35 AM

And not a darn thing happening, ya'all. (My Southernness is just abounding lately) Leila rolled out of her crib on the sunshine-y side at freaking 7:30 this morning. She passed out on the futon at approximately 9:35 am and woke up a few minutes ago as I was trying to adjust our heating vents and got all kindsa grit in my poor little eyes. As if my body hasn't suffered enough.
She went upstairs but she is being very, very quiet. It's possible she may have fallen asleep in her Dadda's lap.
Have I spoken about my crazy family yet? I can't remember. I don't think so, so here you go!
We live in a two-story McMansion with a furnished basement. (We live in the basement part. It would be nice if we decorated it and kept it clean, but we totally don't, since we have the combined maturity of a college freshman.) It's a roomy house--there are five bedrooms on the second floor and two bedrooms down here. However, there's the three of us--Me, husband, Leila, then there's my father and mother in law (Dadda and Daddi in Bengali) and my sister in law, Fufi (in Bengali) and this other girl who lives here and doesn't seem to be going away any time soon and really bothers me for a lot of reasons. Maybe because my mother in law likes her better than me. As does my sister in law. That's a little disconcerting. (Since I am obviously the most likable person in the metro DC area besides Amalah.)
Anyway. We mostly lead separate lives. I cook our own food and such, and my sister in law and her friend are rarely here. But still, they are all devout Muslims so there are a lot of things we don't do, like listening to music loudly or watching TV (Hubby watches a lot of movies on his computer though.)
There are benefits. There's usually someone around to help me on the days when I'm alone with Leila from 7 in the morning to 7 at night, and that's good. Any problems with the house, I can just ask my father in law (Abba to me) to deal with it. Culturally, our arrangement is acceptable and even desirable, but occasionally (okay, a lot) it's stifling. But what'm I gonna do? His father is nearing eighty and his mom doesn't drive. It's a nice house in a good neighborhood. Plus it provides a LOT of blog fodder and since they're all so devout, they'd never just be tooling around on the 'net and find this.
I hope.

Would you like some cheese with that whine?

Oh. My. God.
Ya'all, I thought I was going to die yesterday. Seriously. Die. Huddled over the toilet in my misery, I hoped my husband would carry out my wishes as I'd asked him to.
There is a 24-hour stomach bug going around. I tried valiantly to make it to work, but once there I turned right back around and went home. There was no way in HELL I would survive the day. I came home and slept almost the entire day, and then went to bed at eight.
Today I feel a bit better, but am hesitant to do anything lest I relapse.
God. It was like being pregnant again, but without the promise of a baby at the end of all the nausea. So. Awful.

Because we haven't had one in awhile...

This is what happens when you go shopping, clean the house, and the baby runs after you like a puppy for hours and refuses to go down for a nap.


And this is Leila at the bottom of the first floor stairs.

Confuzzled and Twitterpated.

So. A hysterectomy at 23. This is sure to be an experience...
I keep having little moments of panic, but when it comes down to the wire I am pretty positive that this is the right move for me. My nurse told me today that they have a fair amount of women who have this surgery and still have pain, and I think she was trying in her way to bring me back to reality--this may not be the solution I think it is.
On the other hand, I have a lot of faith. From what little I understand, my pain is mostly due to scar tissue on my left ovary. If my left ovary isn't there anymore, that scar tissue is gone--so where would the pain come from, exactly?
(Hey, feel free to comment if you know.)
It's sad that I can't have any more babies. I occasionally get quite a pang when I see small babies, or when Leila interacts with other children--but then again, I probably wouldn't have been able to have another baby anyway, with all the damage to my ovary.
But all of this has actually got me thinking about something pretty hilarious--this Kuh-razee girl I lived with when I was twenty. Not knowing much about the female reproductive system at the time, I was still a bit suspicious when she informed us all that she never used birth control because one of her ovaries was "made of plastic" and she would probably never be able to have children, sob, sob.
Then, a few months later, she revealed to me that somehow she had been impregnated by her boyfriend. We were roommates by this time and she began putting on weight BUT, BUT, dating this guy who worked with her parents. After about three months (she would've been about 5 1/2 months pregnant, were she telling the truth) she called me at work at said she'd had a miscarriage and lost the baby.
The next day she went to gymnastics class and then out to a club with some friends.
I moved out a week later. What kind of psycho pretends to be pregnant in some kind of elaborate charade for nigh on five months?
A crazy one, I guess.
Later she got married to the guy and had a real baby and got all Britney Spears-chubby and white trash-ified. I wonder if she's still sleeping with that other guy on the side.

Cleansing breath.

Oh. Wow. And that wasn't even the "Mommy Blogger" post I was promising ya'all. Uh, another time, duckies. Another time.
Till then, I leave you with a mission. Go leave a supportive note on a blog of your choice. It's delurking week! De-lurk with love!

Bust a cap in yo'....

Dude. Ya'all. The blogging world is cutthroat. I just realized that I have two distinct species of bloggers in my bookmarks, and I got a little upset. My blog reading experience has been soured. I don't understand why people gotta be hater-atin'...
I am not going to link to or mention the names of either the blogs who hated or the blogs who were hated upon. All I'm saying is, here's the deal: it's a little ridiculous to insult someone's CHILD because you don't "get what the big deal is." I thought this person's blog was hilarious until I came across an entry devoted to talking trash about a famous fellow blogger, including saying that her child was "no Gerber baby."
Wow.
Just, wow.
Up till then, I was with this blogger. She liked the same Coach bag as me! She was funny and free with the cussing! I love me some Coach and some funny and some cussing! (Just don't tell my mom.)
THEN a couple of bloggers I really like, and respect, and kind of look up to as older and more eloquent and, well, funny, than me--chimed in, until it became kind of a party of saying, "Hey, this Blogger is all full of herself and really, she sucks."
What the hell is THAT all about? I have a hard time now reading their words, especially one in particular who I thought was a kind-hearted sort of person...I mean, why would you encourage someone to insult someone else's child? Whatever, if you think someone's a crappy writer. I think this particular blogger has gotten a lot of attention stemming from one particular event, but she is funny, her kid is cute, and she has been painfully honest about a lot of things that a lot of young mothers deal with...I'm really not trying to be a fangirl here. My problem is that it wasn't just like, "She's not that great." It was more like, "She sucks AND her writing sucks AND she's an attention whore AND also her kid is ugly," and wow, where does that kind of vitriol come from in reference to someone you have never even met?
Why are women so hard on each other? The massive amounts of "assvice" received by more popular bloggers, and hell, any site that speaks to celebrity gossip (like a dumping ground for every petty insecurity you ever had) testify to the fact that women LOVE to hurt each other. I'm not innocent--but I'm very young. I'd like to think that some of my nastiness will mellow with age, that my first thought won't always be spiteful. I make a genuine effort to understand people in my life and be a concerned and supportive person because it's important that my daughter sees me that way. God forbid I should speak to her in the critical way my parents spoke to me--and I KNOW that those critical words are in my heart. I was raised that way! But when I read a lot of the nastiness that's out there--and even when I take stock of my own thoughts--I feel a little sick. That's not the person I'm striving to be--that's not the person I want to show on this blog.
I realized tonight that the two camps my Daily Reads fall into are sort of like, one section of insecure young mothers, blogging about their own foibles and that of their children, and then this whole other camp that's a bit older and more into cussing heartily about the rest of the world.
And maybe one of those I should stop enjoying so much.

A few notes:

To The Guy Who Made My Lovely Friend Cry. A. Lot. :
Women are fragile. You may not know this, having a brain approximately the size of an M&M, but it takes a lot for someone to open up and tell you about something very bad that happened to them, and, obviously, will affect them for the rest of their life. So if you, then, proceed to take that something and make it all about YOU, then you are an ass. So WHAT if you felt rejected? Poooooor baby. I think ten minutes--ten days--of you feeling a little shitty sort of pales in comparison to something that your girlfriend has to carry around with her for the rest of her life. Suck it UP, dude. And don't call, 'cause honestly, I don't think she needs someone like you in her life anyhow.
Here's hoping you turn gay in LA,
Jackie Joy.

To the Nurse Who Could Not Be Bothered to Finish the Paperwork Necessary to Have Me Admitted to My Room and Therefore Left Me Without Pain Medication for Several Hours:
Dude. Screw you. I sat in my crappy triage chair four hours, then when someone else was finally badgered into taking me up to my room, the nurses didn't know I was coming, the room wasn't clean, and I sat in the hall in a wheelchair, sobbing, wondering what the hell I'd done to incur YOUR wrath. Also? Somewhere in that time period, I lost my cell phone, so you owe me $200 and about 3 shots of Dilaudid.
Painfully,
Jackie Joy

To My Ovaries, Who Have Betrayed Me Mightily,
(well, actually, just the left one, as the right passed into the dear departed last April)
I hate you. I will never have another baby, which I could deal with, but I've also lost nearly a year of my life dealing with the chronic, severe pain you have inflicted on me. I am having a hysterectomy, (at the age of 23, damn you) and I will not miss you, and I shall be bitter forever and ever, amen.
Have fun with my Uterus in Organ Hell, (where all bad organs go)
Jackie Joy