Truth Is...

I have one major "Truth Is" this week:

I smoked.
For a week.
Like 8 or 9 years ago.

I was waitressing at Winger's.  And boy did I love being a waitress.  Something about being paid to refill Cokes and bring out platters of wings appeals to me.  All I had to do was flash my billion dollar smile and the money poured in.  Those were the simplet...easier days.  It was one of my all-time absolute favorite jobs.
I loved everything about it EXCEPT when people took smoke breaks.  They would go up to the manager in their stinky smoke clothes and their yellow smoke teeth and beg for a "smoke break."  In the middle of a dinner rush.  Da nerve.  They'd go out back, sit on the curb, and smoke for 5 minutes and then chat for another 5 and I (the healthy NON-smoker) would have to cover their tables, run their food, and refill their drinks.  Ugh.  Annoying.  More annoying since they got the tip for my "hard" work.  (Hard is in quotes... because who are we kidding... there's nothing that strenuous about bringing people food.  I'm just out for number one.)
So.  Not.  Fair.
So one night I asked for a smoke break.
My manager told me no.
I told him I was really jonesing for a cig.
(Yeah... I didn't really know the jargon.  Aaaaand I still don't.)
He told me I didn't smoke.
I started in on how it isn't fair that some people got breaks and others didn't and somewhere in the Employee Handbook there had to be something for the little gal and "Breaks for Everyone!" yadda yadda yadda.
"Only smokers get breaks, Patty."
"Well then... that's me."
I marched right out the back door.
Of course, I had to borrow a cigarette, have someone light it for me and then tell me how to smoke it.
Apparently, I still did it wrong.
The cigarette was gross.
Hot.  Ashy.  Stinky. 
I felt like my teeth were going to turn to dust and fall out of my gums and my lungs were going to dry up instantly.
I finished about half and couldn't go any further.
I reeked when I went back inside.
I kept up the charade for a whole week.
Constantly bumming cigarettes, having people light them, and trying to smoke them.
I became proud of my crusade.
Breaks for Everyone!
One night my manager came out and sat next to me on the curb.
I was choking down a cigarette.
"You can stop smoking now,"  he said.
"Me?" *cough* "Why would I stop?" long drag *coughcoughcough* "I love these things."
"Everyone can have breaks.  Smokers and nonsmokers."
I smiled, stomped out a nearly full cigarette, and went back to work.

For a long time I was so proud of myself.  I smoked to make a stand and it made a difference!  I should be on the cover of TIME magazine.  I was totally justified.
But really....
I didn't make a stand at all.  I caved.  I smoked to get breaks.  Making a stand would have been NOT smoking and finding a way to get breaks.  Sure breaks came later- but that was probably because the guests could hear me hacking out back,  Or maybe the smokers complained I was crunching their style (or wasting their cigarettes).  Either way I didn't make a stand.  I cowered.  I keeled.  I could have just helped people out.
I would have done it differently.  I should have down it differently.
Truth is... I'm a little ashamed I did all that silliness.
Truth is... Everyone should get breaks if you're a waitress, a mechanic, an accountant, a banker, a mom, a dad... everyone needs them.
Truth is... I hope my mom doesn't get mad at me when she reads this!




P.S.  Would you vote for my blog post over here?  Maybe I'll win.

A Summer Re-Run

I entered this in a little mini contest.  It was one of my favorites.

5.27.2011

Labels Hurt


Took a little over nighter to the Big Salt Lake City. It was my darling's birthday. (I saw a motel called The OverNiter and that really got me going.) We stayed at my favorite hotel. Staying at a hotel makes me feel ultra-important in general. Like I have a story. It's deep and complicated. And traveling is all a part of the aura.

It's kinda like when I was in high school and my choir group would go to to the air port and sing during Christmas time. (Are you getting the picture of the kind of teen I was.) After we sang for 45 minutes or so we had the rest of the day to spend... at the airport. Nothing like a day pretending to be on stand by. My other choir members would eat at the airport restaurants or grab a Cinnabon or buy Cosmo and give each other the twenty quizzes that are in those things. But my favorite thing to do was to get on the moving walkways and pretend I was about to miss my flight. I'd pass others and gently touch their arm with an urgent "Excuse me" or pass them and pretend to stumble, catch myself, and turn around and wave a "Merry Christmas!" I'd stare at my (empty) wrist and then pick up my pace. Ha! I felt so important. Staying at a hotel makes me feel that same way. No one knows my back story. I'm just a twenty-something, independent traveler. With mysterious eyes.
I love going into the bathroom and seeing all the toiletries lined up and the origami towels. There were at least 15 stacked up and then two nice big thick ones on each rack. They had the washrags shaped as fans and even the toilet paper was folded creatively. Oh the rapture of staying in a hotel! I picked up the dainty body of body wash and it read "Cleanse." I breathed deeper.... yes.... cleanse. I picked up the lotion "Moisturize." Another exhale...Mmmmmm....Moisturize! I picked up the mouthwash "Refresh." All these brilliantly labeled little bottles were transporting me to another realm of tranquility. I picked up the bar of soap. It read:

Clean Your Face.

Zzzzzwwwwzzzzpppp!

Back to reality. Clean Your Face? That doesn't sound nice. It doesn't quite roll off the tongue like cleanse and refresh and moisturize. When I read it... my mind added to it. As if the mini bar of soap was talking to me. "Clean Your Face You Filthy Bum! Try to look presentable- You're in Public!" I looked in the mirror. I wasn't a international traveler with oodles of rupees and mysterious eyes. (Certainly dancing eyes but in no way mysterious.) I had Kole on my hip. He smelled pretty... stale. And he had drooled a considerable amount on my shoulder. My hair was frizzy from the rain and half up half down. My shirt was all stretched out. My makeup had been rubbed almost totally off.
And I did indeed needed to clean my face.

I just don't know why I had to be told so bluntly.


[By order of Star Command.  Come In Star Command:  Want to win ad space on The Bloggess? Link up your best post at lovelinks on free fringes like I did!]

Dead Pan Koley

I have zero good pictures of Kole sitting and being sweet.  They are all of him with food all over his face or rolling his truck around.  Or reading.  And Koley likes to sit and be sweet.  He does. Wait- no.  He likes to sit and EAT sweets.  I easily get those confused.  Maybe that's why the hips are getting wider and the booty is getting dimpley-er.  Mine.  Not Kole's.
So, this morning I decided to whip out the Nikon and get busy. I was ready to snap some great pictures to mount on our new walls and send to those ever-eager Grandparents.   I put him in a clean handsome outfit AND combed out his mangy bed hair (that still has some nail polish stuck in it.)  We went in his room- I opened the blinds... nice morning light.  My excitement was uncontainable.
Cameraaaa (click) on!
"Okay, Koley, Look at me!"
He crawls in the other direction.  I head him off.
"KOOOOoooooleeeeeey!  HI!  Looky at mommy!  *tickticktick*" That's me clicking my tongue.
He picks up a book and starts "reading" it to me.
My voice kept getting higher and higher.
"Kole!  Can you smile at me?  Hey buddy!  Look it's fun!"
This time he went to his puzzles and started throwing the pieces around.
I was persistent.
"Koley- Oley-Oooo.  Say chhhhEEEEEEEEeeeeese!"
He didn't even look up.
What is with this kid?
I kept at it for about 45 minutes.  I was exhausted.  I think Kole had a headache from listening to my pleadings.
 It was nap time.  He was cranky.  Heck, I was cranky.
I think this was a successful fail.

"I'm not looking up, Mom.  Face it."

Oh, yeah.  He's walking now.  Maybe we'll talk about that tomorrow.  Where my old world went, I don't know.

He's thinking of spaghetti and meatballs!



A little dopey looking here.



Great smile.  Wish I could see it.



His train is in there.



If only I didn't move.  And it was a little clearer.



Coming at me to take (and destroy) the camera.



Sick of the camera (and my high squeaky voice).  Nap time.

I don't know how anyone has any nice pictures of their kids.  I found it quite impossible.

Blog Brainstorming

You see although I find my blog sinfully entertaining and cheeky (while occasionally being so truthful and moving we all run for the Kleenex) I have wondered lately why the writers for Stephen Colbert's THE COLBERT REPORT haven't called me yet?
Am I missing something?  Am I only amusing myself here?
I went to Ken.  My harshest and favorite most accesible critic.
He came up with his answer a little too quickly.
1.  Niche
2.  Design
3.  What are people getting out of it?
and
4.  Your title stinks, honey bunny.

I admit I had trouble getting past the thought of Why isn't niche spelled nitch?  Should we spell witch: "wiche"? Honey and Bunny are running the same problem.  I think honey would have to be switched to "hunny" instead of bunny to boney.  You see where that leads us. 
After about a half hour of running around the phonics track I reordered the list.

1.  Niche/Purpose
2.  Title
3.  Design

So the Niche:
I talk a lot about family.  The one I made and the one I am from.  I could talk about parenting... but no one would really want advice from a first-time know-it-nothing-er.
I could write about.... confrontations I get in.  Those seem to come easily enough.  But I'd hate to have to go look for them.  You know?  Could be dangerous getting into a fight every day.  I'm wanting your feedback here.  What is or should be my niche?  What do you like reading about most?

Then there is the issue of the title.  I've never really had a title.  I mean there is something up there but it's never struck a chord with me.
I thought of:

• Patter Chatter
• The Patty Melt
• Chatty Patty

I'm lucky my name is Patty and there is a lot of other patties too.  York Peppermint.  Beef.  Chicken.  The Open Face Patty Melt.  The great Irish Saint. I keep thinking somewhere in all that there is a really great blog title.  Still looking.  Still thinking.  I thought doing "The Chatty Patty" would be fun and having a picture of me looking like the Chatty Cathy doll complete with the pull string and everything.... but that brings me to my last hurdle.

Design.  I can see it in my head.  But there is no button on the keyboard to get there.  I downloaded a trial version of PhotoShop that I am loving.  And hating.  I need to YouTube a tutorial on it.

So my devoted, steadfast, amiable readers... what can I do for you?  To keep you coming back?  Any title ideas?  Design do's and don'ts? 
Help push my lost ship to shore.  P-P-P-Please!

And don't say you just love everything about me.  I'm not in the mood for that right now.

Time Machine

January 4, 1994

Dear Diary,
Today we had a snow storm.  Us girls went SLEDDING!  That was fun.  We have a big hill in our backyard.  I start at the top and down we go.  It is incredibly fun.  Andi's dollhouse people came alive.  Here is a question no one knows the answer to.  Why do hot dogs come in packs of ten and buns come in eight?  Don't KNOW!!! 
How did the dinosaurs die? 
Where did GOD come from?
When you come down from Heaven where do you land? 
That's all.  Not all but all for that category.  Okay that is all.
Bye,
Patty Bradley

This picture was taken in '93-'94 school year. (4th grade) A Patty Classic.  I like how I explained how we sledded.  Like some people start at the bottom and sled uphill?  Doubtful.  I remember when Andi's dollhouse people came to life.  They wrote us notes and moved into different poses.  When we weren't looking of course.  I'm pretty sure I got my hot dog question off of Animaniacs.  And, finally, it seems like I was really having some trouble wrapping up this quaint entry.

Post a school picture this week.  I get such a kick out of them.

That's Me. All Published Now.

I got a package yesterday.
I feel superior to other people when I get a package on my doorstep and they don't.
I also feel infinitely inferior when I see a package on someone else's doorstep... and part of me is always tempted to check the label to make sure the mail man didn't accidentally put my package on their doorstep.

I got a box full of the book I was recently published in.

*Cue applause*

Thank you.  Thank you. 
I really wasn't prepared to give a speech. [Holds book at a slight angle and stares at the cover before pressing it to my heart.]  But since you're all here... [wipes tear and smudges mascara]... I should have worn waterproof!  [Another fake smile and release of a  nervous (and practiced) giggle.]  Haah.  [clears throat]  It is such a pleasure to be included as one of the authors of An Eclectic Collage Volume II.  The competition was stiff and biting but the best prevailed.  Ha.  Obviously. [Half eye roll.]  I would like to start by thanking Jane Freund, my publisher who is an incredible woman.  She is innovative, kind, and unbelievably good.  She is what people call "the salt of the Earth."  I wouldn't be here in this extravagant expensive gown holding this peice of literature without her.  So, thank you Jane.  [Blows kiss.]  I would like to thank Bill Gates for Microsoft.  It makes writing so much easier.  Pencils and erasers are such a drag.  [Practiced laugh.]  My writings that were published were inspired by my son, Koley Roley Poley Canoli Fazoli Holly-Holy Likes Bertolli Poulsen.  He made me into the true version of myself. 
I'm honored and grateful for this privilege.... [tearing up]....[shakes book above head]... May writing live on!

In all seriousness, I am floored that I got published.  I'm really proud of myself.  You should check out the Freundship Press website.  And I'm selling these puppies!  They are $19.95.  You can contact me (pattypoulsen@gmail.com), get it from the publisher's site, or right off Amazon in the book or Kindle version.  If you get it from me.... I'll throw in my signature... free of cost.  Just a little graveling.

Truth Is...

I'm trying one of these Linky-Dinks.  Don't hate.  Participate.  (And don't hate for the gangster cliches.  I know I'm so white.)

Truth Is...I feel rich when I drink bottled water.  Especially SmartWater or that Glaceau.

Truth Is...I make my bed everyday.  Mostly because my husband wants me to.

Truth Is...when I get mad at Kole (it happens... like when he smashes a bottle of fingernail polish on the rug and then smears it in his hair and in his mouth and on his clothes all in the 2 seconds it takes for me to reach him) I hug him really hard and start singing.  And then it goes away.

Truth Is... I think that would only work with Kole.  I'm pretty good at staying mad.

Truth Is...I sleep with an eye mask on and encourage everyone to do the same.  You'll never go back.

Truth Is... Every day I think I will get fun mail instead of bills and ads.  Constant Optimist.

Truth Is... my favorite blogs (for the time being) are people I've never even met.  Her and Her and Him.

Truth Is... I want to dress up for Halloween this year.  Like Bellatrix LeStrange.  I hope I get invited to a party.

Truth Is...I wish I could talk to the younger version of myself...you know... ask her questions... get her opinions.

Truth Is...  I use "..." way too much.  It's a cruel, cruel habit.

Looking Go-ooo-od!

Last night I told Ken I was feeling a little "droopy." That word was totally new to him. I know, right? Droopy.

Meaning: ..... lowered shoulders, lots of sighing, a little tired, kinda bored, maybe sick, frumpy.
You know, droopy.
He told me to get dolled up and go out.
I shook my head.
Where would I go?
I don't have any friends here yet. I don't have anywhere to go. Woe is me.
It was the Droopster talking.
15 minutes later I was doing my makeup and slipping on the shiny new flats Vicky sent me for my birthday.

I went to Rue 21. Have you ever been there? It's for teeny boppers. And moms that dress like teeny boppers. (Which I can't STAND!) I browsed for about a half hour and would say "Oh I love that!" and then turn and see something else and "OOOOooo!!! That is gorgeous!" Soon my head was spinning and I was also turning in slow tiny circles in the middle of the store as I looked all around me. With my mouth open. (I've got to get out alone more often.)
I realized in my bombarded state that I don't really have a "style." There are articles that I like and that I think are lovely but they wouldn't work with my body type.
Which is: "The CCV"

Chesty. Curvy. Vivacious.
So I left Rue 21.

I started thinking about what I look best in.
Blouses.
V-Necks.
Jackets.
Vests.
Cardigans that go right past the top of my butt.
Dark jeans.
That are long.
Heels for to elongate my legs.
Spanx.

I look best dressed like a GAP ad. Put together. Belt showing. That modern classic classy look. Do you know what I am talking about?
I walked over to Kohl's.
It was close and it was a nice night.
This time I was looking with a purpose: FIND SOMETHING THAT FITS MY STYLE!
I bet most people have shopped that way their whole lives.
Not I! I only started last night.
I found something too.
A staple for my wardrobe.

And THIS is a teeny tiny picture of them! Hahaha. I can't get it any bigger without it being blurry. It's Croft & Barrow Cable Knit Open Front Cardigan. And I'm pretty sure it was made for me. See how the sweater curves back? My body loves that look. And it doesn't come down past my rear-end? So it won't look like I stuffed some pillows under the blanket I am wearing. Oh they were gorgeous. I wanted to buy all of them. But figured I would start with the black. Next month. When I get paid.

Wmmaaaaah Wmmmaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Nursing Nostalgia

It's been one week since I sent Koley to Milk Rehab.  He's fully recovered.  No more pulling on my shirt and face planting into my chest.  He's blossomed into quite the Independent.  He will only eat what he can feed himself and will spit out anything you try to feed him from a spoon.  Then, he'll growl at you while showing his 7 teeth.  He loves sitting in his high chair and eating peanut butter toast.  Although, he realized he could just suck the peanut butter off and not eat the bread part.  That little stink butt peanut butter head.  He's a smart cookie.
Koley's thriving and I really miss having him as a Snuggle Bug.
I don't miss my clothes smelling like rancid milk.  I don't miss having to dash to the car using anything to cover my chest because I forgot to put a nursing pad in.  I don't miss being engorged.  I don't miss being the only one on the planet that can calm him down.  Wait. 
That last ones not true.
I do miss that. 
I don't like it that Koley can go to sleep without me.  Anyone can just swoop in and put him to bed.  And he'll sleep!  For 14 months I was the only one that could do that and in one week he's totally forgotten all about that.  I miss morning sessions when I was too tired to go down and make oatmeal for us.  We'd just lay in bed and snuggle.  And sleep some more.  Then read.  I'd read my Bill Bryson and he'd read his Theodore Geisel.  I miss how he'd curl himself into the teeniest ball to try to get as close to me as possible.  He would sweat when he was nursing.  It could be 15 below out and Kole would sweat.  But after... it was like he was drunk.  He couldn't stand up straight.  Or crawl in a straight line.  He'd talk all slurred.  And everything was funny.  And not just "sorta smile to be polite" funny.  Kole would crack up and hold his belly he'd be laughing so hard. 
My milk was intoxicating to him.
I didn't know it then....
... but having him that close for that long, was quite intoxicating for me too.

Koley's First Haircut

This weekend, at the playground, several children referred to Kole as a girl.  Kids are kids and I get it.  But then this teenager by the swings was swearing and his friend slapped his arm and pointed to Kole and said, "Shut up, man!  There's a little baby girl in that swing."
What the heck?!
He dresses in blue.
He normally wears clothes with dinosaur, tractor, dog, or truck graphics.
He is really broad boned.

On the other hand....
His eyelashes are incredibly long and luscious.
He has a heart shaped face.
His smile is very tender.

But aren't all babies that way?  You know... soft.
Ken and I figured it was the hair.  We've always liked his long hippie hair.  Or 70s rock band hair.  Kole was channeling his inner Samson.  It was long and when he'd get hot and start to sweat it would get a little curly.  I thought it was adorable.   Apparently everyone else thought it was girl hair.

So, last night after his bath Kole got his hair cut. 
We just wanted to cut the extra scraggles in the back.
.....
It's a little crooked.

You can tell we are amateurs.
He is now channeling his inner Friar Tuck.
I called Ken to tell him what it looks like dry since we cut it wet last night before bed.
"Sorta' like an A-line Bob.  Like my hair cut... but shorter."
He said, "Well I've never cut hair before.  I'm not a barber.  I'm a CFP.  Put that on your blog and smoke it."

What were we thinking?
What do you think... more girly now?

Doesn't Let Up

The pain set in before I took the pregnancy test.  I could hardly stand I was having cramps so bad.  I was leaning against the kitchen sink trying to do dishes and I just clenched onto the counter top.  It hurt.  Pain.  Lots of pain.
The pain didn't ease up during pregnancy.  I didn't have any cramps.  But there was the heart burn, the difficulty breathing, the unfathomable stretching of skin.  (Not just on my belly either... boobs, butt, thighs.)  There was also the inflation of my feet.  They got so big they looked like Hobbit feet and they wouldn't bend.  Walking hurt my feet.  And my back.  And my legs. 
The last month was the worst.  Stairs.  UGH!  I dreaded stairs.  Or having to sit down.  Or stand up.  Or lay down.  Nothing felt good.  Everything was painful.
Or so I thought until I was in labor.  I tried to be wonder woman and deliver Kole without meds.  I only lasted 7 hours.  Pushing a baby out is painful.  Like...nevermind.  Let's not get into it.  It hurts before, during, and after.  For months and months after. 
I decided to nurse Kole.  That's painful for a few days.  Try to imagine a little lost puppy gnawing on your nipple for horus if you've never nursed before.  They don't know what they are doing, you don't know what you are doing and it just hurts. 
When your baby is 6 weeks old you are finally feeling more confident and a little less achy and you have to go for a stupid gynie checkup where they move everything around again and make it all hurt.  By this point my body was pretty well shot.  I didn't even have the energy to wince at pain anymore.
As of this past Monday, I officially quit nursing Kole.  It was beyond time.  He's 14 months old this week.  As in 2 months over a year.  Recently, anytime I would be changing he'd crawl full power over to me begging for "mo, mo, mo, mo." That's his way of saying more.  He'd sit up and point at my chest and bounce all smiley.  Then he started tugging on my shirt... in public.  Yeah.  Definitely time.  So I stopped.
And holy hell it hurts.
I feel like I am carrying two anvils in my shirt.  And they are throbbing.  And hard.  And very very sensitive. I just can't believe my body is still in pain. I can't believe how much the female body goes through to bear a child.  It never ends.  Never lets up.  I think I will be in pain for the rest of my life.  It seems to be the pattern.  If you have kids- you will be in pain.  Eternally.

P.S.  Last night Ken flipped over in bed and pretty much body slammed my left boobie with his elbow.  It woke me up and I screamed it hurt so bad.  Ken says in his sleep (kinda gruff), "Now that's enough of that!"  I sat up (felt fifty pounds hanging from my neck) and looked at him to make sure he was asleep and he had this big grin on is face.  He then said, "Koley, Koley, Koley, Koley.  KOLEY!  Koley."  And started snoring again.

Good Idea Bad Idea

The week after we moved in I headed down to IKEA.  It's about 20 minutes away and my sister is always raving about the deals she swipes in the "As Is" department.  I parked in the delightful "Family Parking" area that has ultra big spaces and wider aisles, stopped for a cinnamon roll at the snack stand and went straight to "As Is."  It's a little cluttered.  I assume because there are a bajillion stay-at-home moms/interior decorators (or just Swedes) that rummage through it every day all day.  Some of it was obviously going to stay in the "As Is" department for quite a while.  I don't know why someone would want a pepper mill shaped like a porcupine.  They get you went they mark it down to fifty cents.  Then you HAVE to buy it, right?
I scored a poster of penguins for Koley's room and a bright blue frame to hang them in.  They hang on his wall by the closet.  They are looking at the dogs all day.  I figured for $5 I made out.   Then I saw a how stack of lamps.  Floor lamps.  For $1.99!!  I picked up a box.  Heavy.  How could you not buy a lamp that was only $1.99.  I thought about where it could go in our new place.  Living room was full.... bedroom? well-furnished... Koley's room? Already has one.  I shook my head and all the reason came out of it as I placed my floor lamp in my cart.  I was beaming.  And I knew I would find a place for it. 
2 weeks have passed and the only place I have put it is in the closet (still in the box) in K-Bear's room.  Youch.  But I still held my head high.  $1.99!  It would get used one day.
Yesterday, I was going down to Julie's house and figured, what the hay.  I'll give it to her.  If she doesn't like it she can do a give away on her blog.  She's big on those.  So I hauled it south.  She was thrilled.  After lunch we opened it up to decide whether she would keep it or whether she would give it away.  We started unpacking.  The base.  The stick thing.  The top?  The top was flat.  Really heavy but flat.  Where's the light part?  We both looked in the box again.  Empty.  And looked at the directions.  Which were just illustrations of people putting a lamp together.  I was so confused.  Jules suggested looking it up on the IKEA website.  The box said "BLOMSTER."
Julie typed that in and started laughing.
"Blomster means candlestick.  It's a candlestick!"
I laughed too and we immediately figured out how to assemble it.
It stood on her counter.  Taller than both of us.
I felt really dumb.  It was like 3 feet tall!  And really heavy!  I thought I had problems when I didn't know where to put a floor lamp!  Where would you put one, three foot tall, white candlestick?!

It apparently comes in a set of three.  I bought the tallest one for $1.99.  I felt really ripped off.
Sure a lamp is a good deal at $1.99.  But a candlestick?
Nej.

Bras

Part of my surprise birthday gift was shopping at Victoria Secret with Sheri.  <-- She's my mother in law.  After a year of having my little cub gnaw on my I needed a boost.  Big time.  Now.  To rewnid a little into Patty's Bra Past.
Before I got married I was a 36C.  You know, that perfect size.  It's the size that has the most fun colors and patterns and styles.  I loved being a 36C.  A few years after I got married I let the girls at VS measure me up again.  I just loved hearing "You're a 36C."  Well, I was shocked when she said, "Does 36D sound right?"  Ummmm.  No.  No it doesn't!  But sure enough, after trying on the "samples", it was a perfect fit.  They showed me the drawer of the style that I liked and all it had in it was beige and white bras.  I held one up.  Total Grandma Bra.  Where were the flowers?  The lace?  The red snakeskin print?  I guess once your chest gets so big they figure you don't deserve it. I sulked around for a couple days.  And resolved that the "D" in "36D" stood for Deeeee-scusting.
I thought I had it bad then.
Psht.  Now up to present time.
Last month, I went and got measured after a year of nursing the Koley.  I had come to peace with being a 36D and needing boulder holders and was even okay that they only came in grandma colors.  The sales girl measured me.
"Ok.  I have you at a 38 Double D.  Is that what you are wearing?"
I'm sure I blushed.
"No, that is NOT what I am wearing.  I am a 36D.  I used to be a 36C."
She just looked at me.  Really unimpressed, apparently, that I used to have the perfect cup size and decided to share that with her.
"Well," she continued, "We can have you try on a 36D to see if it feels comfortable but you are measuring larger than that.  At the Double D."
Maybe it was only in my mind but I swear she put an emphasis on the "double".  Like one D couldn't do the job or something.  The D had to call backup.  I can't even say "Double D" without making a double chin and cringing.
It should have come as no surprise (but really came as a HUGE surprise) that the 36 D did not contain me. At all.  Shocker.  I tried stuffing everything in but it was pointless.
With my head down I asked for a larger size.
At least the sales girl wasn't all glib about it.  She politely smiled and asked me to try on some new styles.
The Double D's fit like a glove.  Worked like a charm.   And were much more comfortable.  Have you tried Incredible by Victoria Secret.  I mean, wow.  When I put it on my back immediately felt better.  Ha!  That should have been a clue that my boobies were huge-y.  I dressed and came out of the dressing room with the Incredible  in hand (which is amazing) and told Sheri I was boosted up to a 38DD.  She hardly believed it. 
The sales girl took me over to the drawer where I was fully expecting to see a drawer full of dingy colored bras and a little note card that said something like:

We aren't going to waste an excessive amount of beautiful material to make a bra large enough to cover your expansive hooters. 

-VS

I was happy there was no such card.  And happier still there were pink, purple, and teal bras.  With a leopard overlay.  Gorgeous!  Sheri stocked me up and can I say, I think wearing a bra that fits me (even though it is on the large end of the scale) actually makes me look less big.  Not AS full.  It contains the reckless bounciness.  I'm loving it.

And- yes, I am a 38DD.  I am pretty sure that's the top of the food chain.

After DD where do you shop?

This is me in about...25 years.

Dog Day Morning

Kole says one word really well. 
"Dog."
As a result of his proficiency, everything is a dog.  I'm "dog."  Ken's "dog."  Kole sees a plane, points up and says "dog."  There are some longhorns out back... "dog."  He wants more food and says "dog" while pointing to the cabinet.  I know a good mother would correct him and teach him the right word for all the objects surrounding him.  But I am a ultra-cool-super-fun-amazingly-talented-awesome mom.
I went to the Dollar Store and bought a dog calendar.
I cut the pictures out and taped them to his wall across the room from his crib at his eye level.
Kole was in hog dog heaven! 
He stood at the wall and walked himself along it, pointing, and talking really high saying "Dog!  Dog!  Dog!  Dog!"  He'd look back at me with his eyebrows up so high.  He'd grab my hand and have me point to the pictures.  "Dog!"
I figure this really can be a learning experience.  He'll recognize dogs as dogs from the picture and maybe quit calling his pants, fork, water, chair, diaper, and truck "dog."
While we were admiring the canine specimens taped to his wall I told Kole that dogs say, "Arf! Arf!" and I pointed to the picture. "Arf! Arf!"  Kole had it down in no time.
I was so proud of myself.  And him of course.  What a smart little stinkmo he is.

However.
I laid him down in his crib about 25 minutes ago for a nap.
There has been non stop chattering ever since.
He is in a habit of talking himself to sleep but it was really dragging on.
When I went by Kole's door to listen I heard, "Dog! Arf! Arf! Dog!  Dog! Arf! Arf! Arf!"
Maybe the placement of the dog pictures wasn't the best.





I LOVE DOGS!



Triple Header

When me and Ken were living apart we would cram everything we could into a weekend.  Outings to the park, zoo, movies, grandparents house, grocery shopping, walks.  We'd go to the pool and go get a movie and really live it up.  We'd stay up to watch 2 or 3 movies because we wanted it to be special.  Like a party.  And we ate a TON of junk food.  A party isn't a party without good snacks.
I figured once we were reunited- the fizzle would drizzle out and we'd spend our Saturdays plunking around the house reading the paper and doing Sudoku puzzles.
I'm pleased to report the fizzle still has sizzle!
We had a double... no, TRIPLE header this weekend.
Saturday was Pool Day.

I love love love to swim.  I love feeling weightless.  Especially these days when I am further from weightless than ever.  This pool has got a lazy river, a water slide, and the best Koley attractions around.  Kole does not understand the concept of depth.  So he'll be crawling around in the kiddie section and start heading for the deep end, just bobbing his head along.  Soon the water is to his chin- but he will not be deferred.  I think he would try to crawl across the whole pool.  (Like that one part in Pirates of the Caribbean.)  He gets really confused when water starts going in his mouth and he can't breathe.  Now, we obviously pull him out before anything dangerous happens.  Gosh.  We are his parents.

The pool has a wicked water slide for kids me.  It's two stories high.  I set two records Saturday.  One for "Most Personal Rides" down the slide and one for "All Time Highest Speed."  I'd cross my legs and arms, lay down and try to make myself as water like as possible.  I was zooming.  And would come shooting out the bottom going like Mach 5.  Yeah.  The 8 year olds were really jealous.

(Pssst.  I totally made up those records.  They don't really award them.  Though they should.)

Our next treat was lunch with my sister, Jules-a-bug-Stinkweeder, her husband Chris, and their daughter Greta-Babe.  We met at Caputo's on Labor day.  I love it there.  Ken was a super doll baby and got me a WHOLE Caputo (not just the half), and big ole' Coke and 2 cookies for later.  Does he know me or does he know me?  I really should have opted out of the Coke.  Pop makes me sick.  But I like it so so so so sosososososo much.  I think any day can be made better by going out to eat.  (Why do I act confused about my weight?  I eat ALL the time!)

Our last big hitter of the weekend was the Hogle Zoo.  Now.  At lunch, Jules and I decided that the Pittsburgh Zoo is the all time greatest zoo.  That's where we are from.  Pittsburgh.  Not the zoo.  I was certainly prepared to be let down by the Hogle Zoo.  I was prepared to stick my nose high in the air.  But, as it was, there was no need for that.  The Hogle Zoo delivered!  It was big and clean with lots of good animals.  Not just like, donkeys and goats.  (Which, let me tell you, is what was at the zoo in Germany.)  There were lots of interactive stations to learn more about the animals.   Which will be great for Kole when he's like 7.    I learned that I weigh as much as an elephant poops in a month.  See?!  Kole will go crazy for that in like... 6 years.  The zoo had a killer gift shop which IS on my list for What Makes a Zoo Good.  AND!  We stopped and got ice cream at one of the many Concession stands!  We NEVER do that!  It was a blast.  Kole ate most of my cone... that little stinker.

So, yeah.  We're still renegading our weekends. 
And I love it.

Sans Naps

I put Kole down for nap number two Sunday afternoon.  He did his normal squawking that turned to chattering that turned to singing that turned to humming that turned quiet.  He was quiet for about three minutes.Then the humming started up and turned into singing that turned into chattering that turned into squawking that turned into full blown sca-reaming.  Ken, bless his timid heart, would look at me with these big worried eyes and ask, "Do you think something is wrong?"
"No.  I don't.  He was fine in there.  It was quiet and then he started it all up again.  I'm not going in there."
Half hour later the crying was really getting to me.  Maybe something was wrong?  Plus it was getting close to 5 anyway and there's no point in taking a nap at that hour.  Might as well wait until bed time.
So I marched my butt up the stairs and into Kole's room.
Now, normally, when he is crying and I go in there he is in his sleep position (flat on back, hands over his head, eyes shut) singing/screaming in all his sleep-time glory.  He hears me come in, opens his eyes, starts laughing, and scrambles to get up and rub it in my face how wrong I was to come in.  This is what I expected when I went in.
What I saw?
Koley standing in his crib totally naked.
"Where's your diaper, chauncho?"
Kole started smiling and then laughing and pointing at the ground directly at his diaper.
"Ohhhh... you're funny, huh?  Taking your diaper off, are we? Sleeping in the nude, are we?  You little turkey butt."
I bent over to pick up his diaper and he started crying and jumping.  I looked at him.  He was pointing in his crib.
I followed his little pointer finger and saw why he couldn't sleep in there.

There was a plum sized turd in his crib.

And I think Koley was afraid of it.
I just started laughing, picked Kole up, and called for Ken.
I couldn't blame the boy for crying.  I wouldn't want to sleep in an old poop bed either.
Kole started kicking and laughing and bouncing in my arms.  Apparently feeling safe from "it"  and seeing the humor in the situation.  Or maybe he just really likes being naked.

Monday was really hot.  I decided (foolishly) to let Koley sleep in his diaper for one of his naps.  He slept fine and when I went in to get him- Kole was a little naked Indian boy jumping around his crib laughing and making coyote calls.

Time to scratch the diaper naps, the Master Mind has figured out how to take them off and sleeping all nakey is his prefence.

Up and Running

Moving is a pain in the toock-us.  All the sorting and organizing and wrapping and labeling... actually the labeling isn't that bad.  That was probably my favorite part.  I really like writing in black permanent marker.  My mom and I had fun writing silly messages on most of the boxes.  We would describe the level of heaviness.  "Rather Heavy." "Surprisingly Heavy."  "Leave This One For Someone Stronger." "May Strain Your Uterus."  I sure hope those that helped us moved enjoyed my humor.  I put some real time into labeling those boxes.
We moved to Utah.  The biggest perk (other than being with Kenmo everyday) is having an In-N-Out Burger about 3 minutes away.  I had never had one before and I always heard people (mostly returned missionaries) talking about how good an In-N-Out burger is and all the special codes and how could I have never had one!  I used to feel really "out of the club" like a whanny loser who didn't know exactly what was being discussed but knew I was supposed to be impressed.  Well, my deary took me(and all our moving help) the day we moved in and I liked it so much I went back the next day for the repeat.  And in the 11 days we've been here... I've gone back 2 more times.  That's 4 times in almost 2 weeks.  Yikes.  That sounds like a lot.  I bet In-N-Out is happy I'm here!  Boosting those sales one Double Double combo at a time. 
We are renting.  Ken picked the place all on his own and my first time seeing it was the day we moved in.  Not the best experience.  But it is gorgeous.  Big windows.  Big rooms.  There's some long horns out the back.  I'm not kidding.  I'm really fascinated with them.  There are only 2 which is weird to me.... but I know very little about the normal number of longhorns kept in an area.
Renting has it's perks and it's non-perks (?)  What's the word for that? 

Perks:

• Someone does my lawn.  Well there's like a cohort of 7 that do it.  Last week me and Kole sat at the tippy top of the playground equipment and watched them.  They put on quite a show for Koley.  Going in circles, pretending to run into each other, waving their arms all over the place.  It was like a circus full of middle aged Mexicans.  Very entertaining.
• AC.  Ken and I have been going back and forth and ending up at each other's throats about the optimum temperature the house should be.  I say 70.  He says 75.  Which isn't even on really.  But I am sure he's thinking about the bill and I am thinking about the comfort.  I tried meeting in the middle at 73... but that just feels so hot!
• We have an island in the kitchen.  I know you could have that in a house- but our house didn't and it makes me feel so "upper class."  Other things in the town house that make me feel upper class?  1.  Our bathroom has Jack and Jill Doors off the master.  2.  I get my own sink.  3.  Out our bedroom window there are just trees.  All you can see are leaves and branches... it feels England-y.  Like a cottage...no! An estate.  Yeah... an estate.  4.   The back door has a window with a blind built into it.  I love that. 
• Really super fast Internet.  Something in our old house blocked the Internet connection a lot.  So no matter what "G"  I ordered... It always seemed like "G" stood for I will Gradually get there.  Here it is fast and fun and frisky and flying and... I'm being redundant.

Non-Perks:

• Kole has had to adjust.  I know this isn't permanent... but I sure miss him sleeping all the way through the night.
• None of the roads have creative names.  Or even boring names.  They are all numbers.  East and West.  North and South.  I guess I am going to have to break down and learn which direction is which.  I am fine if I am standing outside and can use the mountains and the sun as a reference... but I was in Target for like a half hour trying to find hand soap so I asked a worker  and he told me to head south and go to E3 and the hand soap would be on the east end of the aisle.  I wanted to cry.  It was like listening to a foreign language.
• I'm just not used to having a parking lot outside my door.  We're lucky- no one parks right outside of our house.  It's just a weird feeling.

I am completely unpacked.  Which feels great.  I am reading a really good book (Fall of Giants) which is off topic but I wanted to plug that in.  The book I am getting published in comes out next month.  Yippee yippee.  And here are some pics to send you off with.

Kole's new face.  It could mean he's thinking, he's angry, or he's eating something cold.

Doesn't care what temperature the house is on... just keep the Popsicles coming.