I caved

Mr. T works a ridiculously high stress job, with an obscene amount of travel and at times, a debilitating amount of work.  When he's not on the road, he's up at 6 and in basement working.

That's right, I keep him in the basement.

Where he belongs.

Anyhostage...he works a lot and he works hard.  This sabbatical is so beyond "earned" that it's almost laughable.  When people have a smart ass comment about how nice it must be to have two months off, we always just look at each other and smile. 

Mr. T does an excellent job of managing his work - life balance, which many professionals aren't able to accomplish.  He's so good at it in fact, that even some of our friends don't have a real grasp on what he does for a living.  So the fact that Big Ass Software Company offers the sabbatical to their top players is amusing to us since it's more of a "Let's keep our people from going postal" rather than something altruistic on the company's behalf. 

So, lovlies...that is a long winded way of saying: he deserves this weekend away.  He deserves to do a monster pub crawl at Epcot, the sun shining and the beer and sushi cold.  He deserves to get a bottle of wine and sit in the hot tub until we are pruned.  He deserves to celebrate his sabbatical, outside of the trip we're taking.  He deserves to let it all go, even just for a few days.

Life's too damn short to be worried about money all the time.

So on Friday, he'll pick me up from Software Company and we'll take this weekend away.  To celebrate all of his hard work, to celebrate our life, but most of all, to celebrate us. 

Because we're a team. 

And that's what team members do. 

Shattered but not irreparable

Did you know that one in eight women will develop breast cancer in their lifetime?  One in eight. 

I didnt' know that.

Her gynie found a lump.

The ultrasound found another.

The MRI found two more.

The biopsy was positive.

Normally when things are positive, that means good news.  Cancer is not good news.

Cancer can suck a big dick.



edit: this isn't about me, thank you for all your emails.

Old school like

The lists are going to kill me

We have a lot to do before our trip.

Like what you ask?  Like freaking everything, I answer. 

For months I've been telling myself that "all the basics are done" and that now all we need to do is find the very best wine tour and identify the very safest charter flight. 

And then I started making a list about the little things I need to do, things you don't really think about until you're leaving the country for a month and have to put it all in one suitcase and because now you're a freaking adult, actually have shit you need to deal with at home.

For example:  Token is going to stay at our petsitter Lovey's house for the month. 

This is what he needs on a daily basis:

Food
Water
Leashes
Vitamins

Four things.  Easy peasey, right? 

Not when you realize that your list of four is actually a list of forty-seven. 

I need to purchase extra food for him, figure out how to hold a month's worth of food for a 70 lb dog at Lovey's small home,  actually wash his water and food dishes and bring the elevated contraption over, order bullies (but enough for Lovey's dogs too because that would be rude to only bring enough for Token), order double vitamins at the vet, wash his bedding, do I bring the crate?  Nah, he's fine, purchase the daycamp gift card because they can't take credit cards over the phone anymore, make sure Lovey has Dr. W's contact info.  Talk to Dr. W's office manager and give her my credit card number so that Lovely can treat Token if he gets sick or hurt. 

That's just one list.  And it's for the damn dog.

I know, I know.  Quality problems.  My neighbor said: Stop bitching, you're going on a month long vacation so shut up already. 

This is me shutting up.  Acutally, this is me realizing that I need to give my neighbor my itinerary and ask her to mail my Christmas cards, so I'll have to add that to my list of lists to make.  I can't help myself.

Sometimes being obsessive about planning ahead is a good thing:

http://www.starfishart.com/ is where these are from!

Goodbye 130's

Yeah, I wish.

Actually, that would be gross skinny, so no, I take back my wish.  I'll be happy (and fit) at 150. 

Which I'm closer to now than I have been in like six years.  Woot!

Since my size twelve jeans were quite literally hanging off of me and made me look like a baglady no matter what I did, I went to the Gap last night and bought a pair of tens.  I had hoped that I could simply skip over those and move right into the eights, but my huge gut body had other plans.

Whatever, I'm in a ten, right?


Oh and for the record, Pilates is HARD.  I woke up this morning and needed Mr. T to give me a push so I could roll out of bed.  Feels good, but damn I'm out of shape.  Round is a shape though, so I'm getting there.

Speaking of ouchie, I need to have surgery on my other toe now.  Fantastic.  I'm going to wait until we get back from vacation though.  Can't have a hurtie toe when we are going to be walking for days. 

We have 26 days until we leave. Mr. T's last day of work is Friday and he doesn't go back until 2010.

How did I get so lucky? 

Bitch, bitch, bitch

That's all some people do.  Whine and complain about how shitty their lives are.

In my opinion (and everyone cares about that, right?), making shitty life choices don't give you the freedom to blabber on all the live-long day about how broke you are or how having two babies in a year and a half was a bad idea.

No shit, really? 

I don't even have children and I know that's a qualifier for a Dumbest Thing You Can Do award.

This post isn't about having a litter bunch of kids, some people do it and do it well.  In fact, a college friend I recently reconnected with on Facebook, has four children.  FOUR! All of them close in age and absolutely adorable.

This chick works two jobs, has four littles at home and still finds time to run an exercise clinic.  Her status updates aren't whiney.  They aren't all: my life sucks and my husband hates me and I have a shopping addiction and my kid is seven and still in diapers.

Shut the Christ up, already. 

Zip it.  That's what I say to Token when he's being unnecessarily annoying.  ZIP IT.

So to today's blogger that I'm unfollowing: Get over yourself.  You aren't the first woman to stay at home with your children.  Friendly reminder: you chose this life.  If you're unhappy, change it.  Also, Tippy and I  have forwarded snippets of your insensitivie, bullshit, not-real-drama posts back and forth for a year or two, talking about how Crazy you are. Please note the capital C.

In the words of the ubiquitous Dooce, UNFOLLOW!

Couch to 5k chicks should read this post.

I found these workout podcasts and I like them.  A lot.

Set to upbeat music and with verbal cues for timing, there is no reason not to follow the program.  Check them out.

Also, they gave me a cookie as I left the gym today.   A pumpkin cookie.  

Sorry, I take that back.  It was a vanilla cookie shaped like a pumpkin with glittery orange sugar on it.

I don't like sugar cookies with glitter.  I don't like glitter.  Reminds me of Spearmint Rhinos. 

I do like pumpkin flavored stuff though.   So if they were handing out warm, homemade donuts you get at the quaint little store when you go apple picking, I totally would have eaten it.  Actually, I would have eaten 5 but then my workout would have been for naught.

Sugar cookies can bite me, they're over rated.