What am I doing posting two days in a row? Surely I’ve confused all you by posting twice in the same month, but stick with me, folks, I’ve got something to say. Well, actually, my husband has something to say. You see, today, I’m participating in Tattooed Minivan Mom’s bring your husband to your blog day. It's a day set aside every so often where we let our spouses run rampant all over our sites as they post every kernel of wit and wisdom they have in the hopes that it classes up our joint a bit.
I had Jeremy all primed and ready to lay his best stuff on me (writing-wise, of course) when he suddenly remembered he had a huge deadline at work to tend to. Apparently he has a huge bid set going out this afternoon for an architecty project he’s working on. He had to pull an all-nighter and didn’t come home until 3:00 am.
As an aside, to all my architecty friends out there, this includes you, Carolyn Online and Irish Gumbo, is it odd that when Jeremy returned from his all-nighter that he had glitter all over his person and he smelled of cigarette smoke? Is that normal?
Jeremy insists that architects are now using a new glitter-based ink on their drawings to make them “snazzier” for clients. He has no explanation for the stale smoke smell or the receipt I found in his pants to somewhere called Southern Exposure. You guys don’t think I should be nervous do you?
So instead of Jeremy penning his own post, I did what any dutiful wife would do whilst her husband is out bringing home the bacon, I wrote one for him. I took the liberty of guessing what topics he would want to share with all of you.
Here goes…
1. His Gun Lust: Jeremy desperately wants a Gun Werks Custom 7mm. If you have enough money to buy one of these suckers at a cool $5995 (plus shipping & handling) it will be sighted in at 1000 yards out of the box. I’m sure most of the men out there are drooling at this news, but ladies, are you with me when I say, who needs a gun sighted in at such a distance? And what’s with the shipping and handling charges? I mean, come on, you’re already shelling out six grand for a gun, why do you need to pay extra for shipping and handling? I told Jeremy I would be all for it if it weren’t for the extra charges. I then suggested he should look for something a little more practical or in our price range, you know, like a Nerf Super Soaker for $29.95. No shipping and handling.
Ooooh. So close, honey.
2. His Sports Obsession: The other day Jeremy and I are watching Sports Center. (That’s right fellas, Steenky loves her some Sports Center.) We were cuddled up watching a story about Terrell Owens being dumped by the Cowboys for being too difficult and too expensive to handle. (Sorry for your precious Cowboys, Stiletto Mom) It turns out T.O. was quickly nabbed by the Buffalo Bills for $6.5 million on a short-term contract.
Jeremy to me: Man, I wish I were 6’4”-240 lbs, ran a 4.0 split and were a giant pain in the ass.
Me to Jeremy: Well, one out of three isn’t so bad.
Me to myself: Boo-ya!
3. His Smokin’ Hot Wife: Okay, so if Jeremy were posting here at Steenky Bee today I’m sure he would tell you that every day he wakes up he feels like he’s just won the lottery because he sees me lying next to him. Yep, folks, it just doesn’t get better than my nappy, untamed bed head and mascara streaked face staring at him at 5:00 in the morning. Sometimes I’ve rolled over and nearly pushed him out of bed because I’m using his warmth (not to mention his pillow and his share of the blankets) to keep me comfy. Most days I’ve got my glistening face pressed up against his, my funky morning breath gently grazing (assaulting) him. You can imagine how difficult it is for him to rip himself away from me and my hotness to work that all-nighter, huh?
*This just in: Jeremy just told me that Southern Exposure is the name of the local printing company our firm uses for large-scale projects such as his. He then said that we should stop talking about it and never bring it up again. Ever. Especially to any of our co-workers. Phew! I knew I had no reason to worry. ☺
**I feel compelled to disclose that Jeremy has never actually been inside one of those Southern Exposure establishments.
***I wish the same could be said for me. But that story is for another day, and another post all together.
March 31, 2009
March 30, 2009
I'm A Sucker For A Guest Post
Hi-dee-ho! I'm not here today. I'm here.
No, you know what? That was the lamest intro ever. I think I need a do-over.
Here goes...
I'm here today, at Petra The Wise Young Mommy's place. She's beautiful. She's irreverent. She's slightly naughty. But above all, she's very delusional because she let me take over her blog, for the day. She has no idea what a horrible house guest I can be. I make messes and leave carpet stains that can't be cleaned up. Come on over to see me completely butcher her much beloved He Blogs She Blogs post for the week...or should I say "for the weak?".
Okay, that intro was still pretty lame. Sorry.
No, you know what? That was the lamest intro ever. I think I need a do-over.
Here goes...
I'm here today, at Petra The Wise Young Mommy's place. She's beautiful. She's irreverent. She's slightly naughty. But above all, she's very delusional because she let me take over her blog, for the day. She has no idea what a horrible house guest I can be. I make messes and leave carpet stains that can't be cleaned up. Come on over to see me completely butcher her much beloved He Blogs She Blogs post for the week...or should I say "for the weak?".
Okay, that intro was still pretty lame. Sorry.
March 16, 2009
Fattie Update: A Time of Reflection
First off, I want to thank everyone for their kind emails last week and throughout the weekend regarding my last post. I was to assure you that I'm doing well and that situation really did spark a pivotal change things in my life for the better. I even have a few amusing stories that came from that experience that I'll have to share with you all some time. Thanks again, everyone. Your words were so kind and meant so much to me.
Now, on to other things.
So, I might not have a HASAY update every week, but you should know that I’m definitely doing the work. I’m huffin’, I’m puffin’ as I’m running…toward the box of brownies in the pantry.
Not really. I’ve actually been pretty good about things as of late. But I thought it important to revisit my fitness goals to make sure I was still on track for my fitness miracle by summer. I went back and re-read this post here where I initially laid out my fitness plan for the HASAY Challenge. I found a few things quite odd. First, in that post, I talked about skanks an awful lot. I also copped to stalking the HASAY founder, and my dear friend Casey with a dead rat. Wow, I used to be really creepy. I’m much better now. I’d never use a rat (dead or alive) as means to get closer to someone. As my mom always says, you can attract more flies with honey not dead rodents. Wait. That doesn't sound right now does it? If anything, it would sixes right? I might give that one a try.
Anyway, please bear with me while I reminisce over my HASAY fitness goals:
Motivation:
Then: Motivated by food, pretty things, shiny things or when people call me names.
Now: Same with the exception of a few things. I now much prefer sparkly things as opposed to shiny things.
Long-term Goal:
Then: To get fit enough to get whistled at when I walk by our local construction site.
Now: The construction on the fire station near our house has already wrapped up. I guess my motivation now would be to have the firemen that hang about the fire station whistle at me.
Long-term Weight Loss Goals:
Then: I refused to state how many pounds or inches I wanted to lose because I was concerned about alienating bloggy friends that follow the “soft metric” system. I then went on to say how I thought that Hard Metric would be an awesome band name.
Now: I still think Hard Metric would be an awesome band name.
Tools Available To Me:
Then: A dusty treadmill, an even dustier elliptical trainer, and a weight machine in the garage. For some reason, I also thought I had dead cats that I could swing about the house. Maybe I was thinking that would give me shoulder definition? Who knows?
Now: My treadmill has been used….some. I think we still have the elliptical trainer. And I’m happy to report that progress has been made on the weight machine in the garage. A month ago Jeremy disassembled it to make room to store an armoire in the garage.
How Often Can I Exercise:
Then: I claimed I would exercise five times a week, but admitted that I would most likely only work out three times a week.
Now: I’m happy to say that I exercise six times a week! But you should know, that I actually only get around to it four times a week. I’ve been jogging our outside trail (picking up stray cats as nap companions) and doing Pilates in our basement. Wait, Pilates is when you fall asleep on the couch in an uncomfortable position and wake up two hours later really, really sore right?
What Do I Plan On Doing:
Then: I vowed to stop eating BLT sandwiches every day. I also thought it would be a good idea to bring a lunch to work in the hopes that a co-worker would steal it from the fridge, thus forcing me to not eat any calories at all.
Now: No more BLTs and I’m happy to report that my lunch has indeed been stolen at work twice. I wound up eating a bunch of junk food those two days, but no one can say that I didn’t reach my goal of lunch theft.
I’ve made it a habit of eating more whole foods, not snacking and have almost cut back entirely of sugary snacks. I also now write my boss's initials on my lunches at work when storing them in the company fridge. Nobody's going to steal his left overs.
What Has Worked For Me In The Past?
Then: I thought if I constantly cruised by high school football practices like I did fifteen years ago that maybe I’d lose weight and get down to the size I was in high school. I also thought about contracting pneumonia I could drop some weight as well.
Now: Well, as good as an idea as it sounded at the time, I’ve decided to not stalk high school boys. Besides, I’ve now got a fire station just one block away, remember? Our family came down with the stomach flu a while ago. I didn't lsoe any weight but I did end up with someone else’s vomit in my hair.
Conclusion:
Well, it looks like I’m still on track for a mediocre change in my body and overall general health. Let this be a lesson for all the kids out there: If you only aim for the middle, and you fall short of your goal, failing won’t hurt nearly as bad. Hey, I’m going to make that into a T-shirt. I’ll wear it when I’m working out. That way, my out of shape body will need no explanation. Awesome.
Now, on to other things.
So, I might not have a HASAY update every week, but you should know that I’m definitely doing the work. I’m huffin’, I’m puffin’ as I’m running…toward the box of brownies in the pantry.
Not really. I’ve actually been pretty good about things as of late. But I thought it important to revisit my fitness goals to make sure I was still on track for my fitness miracle by summer. I went back and re-read this post here where I initially laid out my fitness plan for the HASAY Challenge. I found a few things quite odd. First, in that post, I talked about skanks an awful lot. I also copped to stalking the HASAY founder, and my dear friend Casey with a dead rat. Wow, I used to be really creepy. I’m much better now. I’d never use a rat (dead or alive) as means to get closer to someone. As my mom always says, you can attract more flies with honey not dead rodents. Wait. That doesn't sound right now does it? If anything, it would sixes right? I might give that one a try.
Anyway, please bear with me while I reminisce over my HASAY fitness goals:
Motivation:
Then: Motivated by food, pretty things, shiny things or when people call me names.
Now: Same with the exception of a few things. I now much prefer sparkly things as opposed to shiny things.
Long-term Goal:
Then: To get fit enough to get whistled at when I walk by our local construction site.
Now: The construction on the fire station near our house has already wrapped up. I guess my motivation now would be to have the firemen that hang about the fire station whistle at me.
Long-term Weight Loss Goals:
Then: I refused to state how many pounds or inches I wanted to lose because I was concerned about alienating bloggy friends that follow the “soft metric” system. I then went on to say how I thought that Hard Metric would be an awesome band name.
Now: I still think Hard Metric would be an awesome band name.
Tools Available To Me:
Then: A dusty treadmill, an even dustier elliptical trainer, and a weight machine in the garage. For some reason, I also thought I had dead cats that I could swing about the house. Maybe I was thinking that would give me shoulder definition? Who knows?
Now: My treadmill has been used….some. I think we still have the elliptical trainer. And I’m happy to report that progress has been made on the weight machine in the garage. A month ago Jeremy disassembled it to make room to store an armoire in the garage.
How Often Can I Exercise:
Then: I claimed I would exercise five times a week, but admitted that I would most likely only work out three times a week.
Now: I’m happy to say that I exercise six times a week! But you should know, that I actually only get around to it four times a week. I’ve been jogging our outside trail (picking up stray cats as nap companions) and doing Pilates in our basement. Wait, Pilates is when you fall asleep on the couch in an uncomfortable position and wake up two hours later really, really sore right?
What Do I Plan On Doing:
Then: I vowed to stop eating BLT sandwiches every day. I also thought it would be a good idea to bring a lunch to work in the hopes that a co-worker would steal it from the fridge, thus forcing me to not eat any calories at all.
Now: No more BLTs and I’m happy to report that my lunch has indeed been stolen at work twice. I wound up eating a bunch of junk food those two days, but no one can say that I didn’t reach my goal of lunch theft.
I’ve made it a habit of eating more whole foods, not snacking and have almost cut back entirely of sugary snacks. I also now write my boss's initials on my lunches at work when storing them in the company fridge. Nobody's going to steal his left overs.
What Has Worked For Me In The Past?
Then: I thought if I constantly cruised by high school football practices like I did fifteen years ago that maybe I’d lose weight and get down to the size I was in high school. I also thought about contracting pneumonia I could drop some weight as well.
Now: Well, as good as an idea as it sounded at the time, I’ve decided to not stalk high school boys. Besides, I’ve now got a fire station just one block away, remember? Our family came down with the stomach flu a while ago. I didn't lsoe any weight but I did end up with someone else’s vomit in my hair.
Conclusion:
Well, it looks like I’m still on track for a mediocre change in my body and overall general health. Let this be a lesson for all the kids out there: If you only aim for the middle, and you fall short of your goal, failing won’t hurt nearly as bad. Hey, I’m going to make that into a T-shirt. I’ll wear it when I’m working out. That way, my out of shape body will need no explanation. Awesome.
March 13, 2009
Survivor
This post is in connection with the lovely Jen Cohen's Spin Cycle over at Sprite's Keeper. Warning: This post is sort of heavy and not the typical sort you normally find here. :)
A few days ago I contacted my dear bloggy friend and asked her to be my life coach for a little while. Without hesitation, she gladly accepted and sent me the most focused, uplifting and wonderful email ever. She challenged me to rethink my approach to this here blog and I’m taking every word she wrote to heart. I’m even thinking about laminating her email and sleeping with it under my pillow every single night.
She’s that good, people.
One of the points that she made, ever so eloquently, was that I should think of Steenky Bee as sort of a love letter to my children so they can have a window into their mommy’s life with them as they were growing up. I guess on some level I’d already been doing that, but to actually see that thought in writing was eye opening to me.
So folks, I’m here again today (who knew I still had it in me to post twice in one week, eh?) to officially kick off my love letter to my children. Only, this post is specifically for my lovely daughter, Reese. It’s also probably one of the most personal stories that will ever appear on Steenky Bee. I am dreading the point where I have to actually push “publish” on this one.
((Deep breath))
Reese, I want you to read about the day my life started.
I was born in the seventies, but my life, the one I know now, didn’t actually get its start until April 12, 1997. This is the day I took charge of myself, turned my back on something bad and never, ever looked back.
Don’t get me wrong, I had a wonderful childhood, a blast in high school and probably too much fun in college. But on April 12, over ten years ago, I ended a horrible and abusive relationship with my first husband. It was that day that I had finally had enough.
I don’t often talk about him. I don’t even mention him by name. It’s like it humanizes him. It gives him something. Something he doesn’t deserve. I don’t hate him. I don’t NOT hate him. I don’t feel anything for him with the exception of gratitude that I survived him. He changed me in ways that I needed. He made me realize that life is sometimes messy, cruel and bruised where no one else can see because surely you can cover that up with makeup and long sleeved shirts. You can do that, right? That mark on your neck? Get rid of it before anyone sees you.
Reese, if I saw him today, I would walk directly up to him, and extend him my hand. “Thank you,” is all he would hear. What he wouldn’t hear would be how much better of a person I am for having known him, for surviving him. He made it possible for me to be stronger. He made it possible for me to know what I DON’T want in life.
He gave me scars, some that may never heal and some that already have. But most importantly, he armed me with the knowledge that when someone shows you who they are for the first time, you should believe them.
Reese, if you take anything away from this post today, please let it me that you are beautiful, smart and strong. It is my hope that you never have to face anything like this in the life you have yet to lead on your own. Never let yourself think for one minute that love should hurt.
Reesie-girl, I hope you know that as you grow older, you can always talk to me about anything. I will always listen with open ears, and open mind, but more importantly, an open heart. Don’t be like me. Don’t be ashamed, embarrassed, scared. Scared that people will find out that the hometown hero that everyone holds in such high esteem is actually a troubled, dark soul deep down.
Hold on to your lifelines, Reesie, whatever or whoever they are. Hopefully, one of them will always be me.
Folks, I’m keeping comments closed today. This post was for Reesie. I hope she reads it one day and is proud of her mother. I hope she understands I wasn’t always strong, I certainly wasn’t always smart about every choice, but in the end, I survived.
A few days ago I contacted my dear bloggy friend and asked her to be my life coach for a little while. Without hesitation, she gladly accepted and sent me the most focused, uplifting and wonderful email ever. She challenged me to rethink my approach to this here blog and I’m taking every word she wrote to heart. I’m even thinking about laminating her email and sleeping with it under my pillow every single night.
She’s that good, people.
One of the points that she made, ever so eloquently, was that I should think of Steenky Bee as sort of a love letter to my children so they can have a window into their mommy’s life with them as they were growing up. I guess on some level I’d already been doing that, but to actually see that thought in writing was eye opening to me.
So folks, I’m here again today (who knew I still had it in me to post twice in one week, eh?) to officially kick off my love letter to my children. Only, this post is specifically for my lovely daughter, Reese. It’s also probably one of the most personal stories that will ever appear on Steenky Bee. I am dreading the point where I have to actually push “publish” on this one.
((Deep breath))
Reese, I want you to read about the day my life started.
I was born in the seventies, but my life, the one I know now, didn’t actually get its start until April 12, 1997. This is the day I took charge of myself, turned my back on something bad and never, ever looked back.
Don’t get me wrong, I had a wonderful childhood, a blast in high school and probably too much fun in college. But on April 12, over ten years ago, I ended a horrible and abusive relationship with my first husband. It was that day that I had finally had enough.
I don’t often talk about him. I don’t even mention him by name. It’s like it humanizes him. It gives him something. Something he doesn’t deserve. I don’t hate him. I don’t NOT hate him. I don’t feel anything for him with the exception of gratitude that I survived him. He changed me in ways that I needed. He made me realize that life is sometimes messy, cruel and bruised where no one else can see because surely you can cover that up with makeup and long sleeved shirts. You can do that, right? That mark on your neck? Get rid of it before anyone sees you.
Reese, if I saw him today, I would walk directly up to him, and extend him my hand. “Thank you,” is all he would hear. What he wouldn’t hear would be how much better of a person I am for having known him, for surviving him. He made it possible for me to be stronger. He made it possible for me to know what I DON’T want in life.
He gave me scars, some that may never heal and some that already have. But most importantly, he armed me with the knowledge that when someone shows you who they are for the first time, you should believe them.
Reese, if you take anything away from this post today, please let it me that you are beautiful, smart and strong. It is my hope that you never have to face anything like this in the life you have yet to lead on your own. Never let yourself think for one minute that love should hurt.
Reesie-girl, I hope you know that as you grow older, you can always talk to me about anything. I will always listen with open ears, and open mind, but more importantly, an open heart. Don’t be like me. Don’t be ashamed, embarrassed, scared. Scared that people will find out that the hometown hero that everyone holds in such high esteem is actually a troubled, dark soul deep down.
Hold on to your lifelines, Reesie, whatever or whoever they are. Hopefully, one of them will always be me.
Folks, I’m keeping comments closed today. This post was for Reesie. I hope she reads it one day and is proud of her mother. I hope she understands I wasn’t always strong, I certainly wasn’t always smart about every choice, but in the end, I survived.
March 11, 2009
I've Been Lazy. My Husband's Been Pantless.
Aw, hell. I’ve gone missing again haven’t I? What’s my deal? I don’t know. I wish I could say that I’ve been traveling and keeping myself busy, but the truth of the matter is the furthest I’ve traveled is my 35-mile commute to and from work. Up hill, both ways.
Busy? Pfft. As if.
I mean, work has been crazy, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been so happy to see that our marketing department is thriving and busy during the downturn in the economy. Recessions are not kind to architects, people. They are even less kind for the support staff responsible for finding the work for architects. Everyone is nervous. Everyone is excited. Everyone is wondering why I haven’t washed my hair in three days. (Including my husband.)
But other than work, have I been busy? Nope. I have sat my a** down on the sofa almost every night and tried to teach my four year old, Henry, the art of a soothing foot rub. So far he’s not getting it at all. Not even close. My advice to you people is not expect perfection from a four-year old when you’re trying to explain to him how to “apply firm, but gentle pressure to mommy’s arches”. Even Reese, his 18-month old sister is grasping the fundamentals of a foot rub better than him. She bends down, smells our feet and then exclaims, “Pew!” as she toddles off. This will go on for a good hour. Reese also has no issue of pretending to smell the feet of complete strangers and proclaiming them stinky. I found one out the hard way at Noodles & Company, ya’ll.
For now, my tired feet and I have settled for Henry just running his little monster trucks up and down on the bottoms of my feet for about 30 seconds until he loses focus and decides he’d rather organize the shoes in his closet. I kid you not. The kid has more shoes than I do and he insists on lining them up next to each other in random formations. It’s not unusual to walk into his room and see his shoes situated in to form the letter “H” in the middle of the floor in his room. Last week, he asked me if I would go buy him some Iron Man shoes and some more Spiderman shoes so he could finish spelling out his name with all of them. So far, when he combines all his shoes together, he can get H-E-N-R before he runs out to complete the "Y". Yes, my child has THAT many shoes. At least he’s using them to learn something. He’s sort of a modern day Charlotte’s Web, wouldn’t you say?
I now feel the need to run right out and pick up a few cheap pairs of sandals for him. I fear that if I don’t, the next thing I’ll find on his floor a giant “F” and “U” out of his little size 7 Sketchers.
Jeremy blew out his pants last week. This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but I just had to hurry and write it down before I forgot to tell you all. Those sad looking khakis ripped a good seven inches right down the middle of the seat of his pants while he was engaged in floor play with me and the kids. (Eww, if you read that too fast, it sounds like “foreplay” doesn’t it? Maybe that’s what he had in mind? Rip-away pants anyone?) Lucky for him, he was in the comfort of his own home when the wardrobe failure happened. Not so lucky for the rest of us, he wasn’t wearing any underwear at the time.
Well, until next time, (which could very well be tomorrow, or next month according to my erratic posting schedule) peace out, people. May you live long and prosper, and may your pants never, ever self destruct in front of small, inquisitive children or a spouse with a blog.
Busy? Pfft. As if.
I mean, work has been crazy, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been so happy to see that our marketing department is thriving and busy during the downturn in the economy. Recessions are not kind to architects, people. They are even less kind for the support staff responsible for finding the work for architects. Everyone is nervous. Everyone is excited. Everyone is wondering why I haven’t washed my hair in three days. (Including my husband.)
But other than work, have I been busy? Nope. I have sat my a** down on the sofa almost every night and tried to teach my four year old, Henry, the art of a soothing foot rub. So far he’s not getting it at all. Not even close. My advice to you people is not expect perfection from a four-year old when you’re trying to explain to him how to “apply firm, but gentle pressure to mommy’s arches”. Even Reese, his 18-month old sister is grasping the fundamentals of a foot rub better than him. She bends down, smells our feet and then exclaims, “Pew!” as she toddles off. This will go on for a good hour. Reese also has no issue of pretending to smell the feet of complete strangers and proclaiming them stinky. I found one out the hard way at Noodles & Company, ya’ll.
For now, my tired feet and I have settled for Henry just running his little monster trucks up and down on the bottoms of my feet for about 30 seconds until he loses focus and decides he’d rather organize the shoes in his closet. I kid you not. The kid has more shoes than I do and he insists on lining them up next to each other in random formations. It’s not unusual to walk into his room and see his shoes situated in to form the letter “H” in the middle of the floor in his room. Last week, he asked me if I would go buy him some Iron Man shoes and some more Spiderman shoes so he could finish spelling out his name with all of them. So far, when he combines all his shoes together, he can get H-E-N-R before he runs out to complete the "Y". Yes, my child has THAT many shoes. At least he’s using them to learn something. He’s sort of a modern day Charlotte’s Web, wouldn’t you say?
I now feel the need to run right out and pick up a few cheap pairs of sandals for him. I fear that if I don’t, the next thing I’ll find on his floor a giant “F” and “U” out of his little size 7 Sketchers.
Jeremy blew out his pants last week. This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but I just had to hurry and write it down before I forgot to tell you all. Those sad looking khakis ripped a good seven inches right down the middle of the seat of his pants while he was engaged in floor play with me and the kids. (Eww, if you read that too fast, it sounds like “foreplay” doesn’t it? Maybe that’s what he had in mind? Rip-away pants anyone?) Lucky for him, he was in the comfort of his own home when the wardrobe failure happened. Not so lucky for the rest of us, he wasn’t wearing any underwear at the time.
Well, until next time, (which could very well be tomorrow, or next month according to my erratic posting schedule) peace out, people. May you live long and prosper, and may your pants never, ever self destruct in front of small, inquisitive children or a spouse with a blog.
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