Alright. You know when an Oprah episode holds my attention for more than 2 commercials, the topic is good. And being that 2 other bloggers on here elaborate on the same subject, I'm not going to withhold my opinion.

   What is my opinion? The truth is I'm not even sure. I would've written in on this a while back, but I've been searching for words that accurately describe the emotion that come with the thought of marriage and what it really means to me personally.

   It seems many people enter this commitment with roses and candles on the brain--their ideal relationship would involve all things chocolate thrown in with endless pledges of love and devotion...as someone who's been married twice (yeah, sometimes I hate admitting that, and perhaps that totally invalidates anything I have to say on the matter) I can honestly say, and I hate saying it, that Oprah...is...right. We've been totally screwed by romance in this country.

   Maybe marrying young was the only problem the first time around. (Oh, you think?!) I went in with the highest of expectations...and came out with many lessons learned only 2 years later. Why bother with marriage when my own proved to be a disaster, and most other married couples I knew seemed equally miserable?

   Obviously that was just the pain of divorce talking, because less than a year after the paperwork was signed, I met Caleb. It's crazy how easily we put behind bad memories when certain people come along. I fell in love with him so fast and so hard and I can honestly say it was a feeling unlike any other I had ever felt. Marriage wasn't on my mind; I only knew that he was a person I wanted to be around...a person that I would've been happy to be able to count as just a friend. But I loved him, I loved him...and I wanted him in my life as long as he wanted to stick around.

   Getting married the second time has its advantages. I don't claim to be any wiser, by any stretch of the imagination, but I do have more realistic expections. The relationship I have with Caleb is the least selfish relationship I've ever had with anyone, save my children...although I know I still have my "me" moments...and unfortunately they're not as few and far between as I'd like to think they are.

   Caleb is a good human being. He is kind, and warm. He's strong in both mind and body, and I trust him and respect him. But I know that to count on one single person for every ounce of my happiness is just asking for trouble. I know that he will never be able to meet my every need or cater to my every whim. I could survive without him.

   My husband doesn't "complete" me; he complements me. He gets me--and that is a tremendous feat in itself. He gets me and lets me be me...if that makes any sense. I have a feeling it does to the people who know me personally. We are very opposite in some ways--but we have many of the same ultimate goals, the same ideals. We have a strong friendship...the romance makes an appearance when time and energy (and Mia) allow.

   I think a lot of people, maybe even subconciously, are out there thinking "What can this person offer me? What can this person do for me?" when entering into a marriage...and that's where they get it wrong; that's where I got it wrong the first time.

   I won't lie; I'm not totally giving and unselfish. I know I could use some work in that department. But my biggest wish for my husband is to be happy; I hope he is comfortable and at peace with himself no matter where life takes him.

   Caleb; tomorrow is an anniversary of sorts for us--the day we met. What a night. You were so charming; and you danced like nobody's business. To this day I've never known anyone who could be such a dirty bastard and yet act like the perfect gentleman as good as you. You make me laugh. I know that we will continue to grow and change; I look foward to it. I'm sure in 50 years, as I'm pushing you in your wheelchair, huffing and puffing through the sand of a beautiful beach somewhere, taking a hit from your oxygen tank every couple steps because, after all, I'll be close to 80 by then, I'll lean over and whisper "I love you" and mean it just as much as I did the first time I said it. And through your electronic voice combobulator, you'll try to say it back, only you'll sound like a computerized Arnold Schwartzenagger...but I'll know what you mean.

   Normally I'm a little too lazy to climb up on a soapbox, but I'm rowled up. I'm jumping on the bandwagon of controversy thanks to MSN's "Lewd or Food" big debate on breastfeeding in public.

   Here's the thing: babies need to eat--and they won't wait long when they're hungry.

   People, get over it. Let mommies feed their kids. Most of them try to cover up as best as they can--sometimes it's just not that easy. Okay, most of the time it's just not that easy. I have a Toni story just perfect for a touchy subject like this:

 

   Mia was less than a month old. We were staying with a friend in Jackson, Mississippi while Hurricane Ivan did a number on our home in Pensacola, Florida. We were tired--worn out and short-tempered. An outing to the local mall sounded like a nice way to pass the time, so off we went. I could see that Mia and I needed to tour the shops at our own pace, so our group split up: my mother-in-law and Cheyenne going one way, me and the baby the other...

   Not much time went by before Mia needed to eat. Nursing in the car was out; my mother-in-law had the keys. There were a few lovely benches smack dab in between the stores, but I opted to look around for a more private, quiet location. It was much harder than I anticipated and after precious minutes spent searching, Mia started to fuss--I sat down on a bench and tried and tried to cover up and relax and breastfeed that child...but I was one-handed, frustrated, and extremely uncomfortable, especially with the dirty looks I was getting. My face was on fire, and I started to tear up a little (ah, the emotional rollercoaster that is new motherhood)...Mia's fussiness took the form of blood-curdling screams and I was at my wit's end.

   A kind woman pushing a stroller (I can only assume she had been in my position once or twice) stopped by and told me about a nursing room on the second floor of McRae's department store. Saints be praised; I packed up my bag and my baby and my boobs and got up to that store just as fast as my legs could take me. This room--this wonderful room behind closed doors--hand a section where younger children could play, a softly-lit sitting area with big comfy chairs for poor worn-out nursing mothers like me, and even a CLEAN diaper changing station. I started crying as soon as I sat down, not out of stress, but out of thankfulness to McRae's. To this day I haven't found anything like it.

 

 

   But that's at a busy shopping mall. What do you do on an airplane? Or a restaurant? You're stuck--the last thing you want to do is call attention to yourself by plopping right in the center of all public activity, whip 'em out and have everyone stare at you like you were the anti-Christ or something. Geez. Haven't these critics ever been parents? I don't get it. I mean, you don't have to look--but the woman does have to do it...I can't speak for all of them, but it was always my intention to be as discreet as I possibly could be. Give a breastfeeding girl a break, folks! And as for stone-cold witches like Barbara Walters--get a private plane and shut the hell up.

Real Fast--Not going to see my friend in Arkansas today. I woke up to some decent rain at 4:30 a.m., but jumped in the shower and started packing, hoping to get going after it all passed. It never did. Not only did it stick around, it turned into pouring snow (!), if snow could pour. The weather forecast called for this nastiness to continue all thoughout the day, all along our route...so we called off the trip.

 

I'm so bummed out. Caleb and I debated and debated on whether or not to chance it, but it took a long time for me to finally concede. I'm just so disappointed that I won't be able to see this girl--I don't know how long it will be until the next opportunity for a visit comes up.

 

But that's winter in Oklahoma for you. I have to say, I did love watching that snow fall this morning...big fat snowflakes, just filling the sky and coating the ground...it was totally unpredicted. It was beautiful, and for some reason, a lot less depressing than rain.

 

I hope everyone is having a great weekend, and that you are all safe and sound and warm in your homes...I know that's where I'll be. But I guess I'm okay with it.

I'm not sure of the exact date, but sometime around the end of January last year, I started this blog. Yes, friends, my space is officially 1 year old.  And so here I am, writing the customary "My baby is one year old today and I'm examining myself" entries. Bear with me.

 

Thanks for all you guys that read and encourage, even if you don't always get it, whether I've met you in real life or not.

 

If you've been reading, you might be aware that I began writing merely to keep from going crazy during long winter storms and lonely nights while Caleb was out of town. The dogs, puppies then, drove me bonkers and Mia kept me hopping. Oklahoma was still sort of new and I was...well, a little unhappy. In that respect, things have changed. I'm pretty comfortable with the way life is, for the most part. The dogs are older, calmer. Mia is still pretty active, but I wouldn't have it any other way. And I've gotten a little more used to Caleb's hectic work schedule.

 

In some ways I don't feel as though I've changed much and that bothers me. I still let my emotions get the best of me; I still pop off at the mouth and say just about whatever's on my mind, to anyone who will listen. I hate that about me. Where's my self control? Did I ever have any to begin with? It's almost as if this is a sort of New Year's all over again for me--what about myself have I improved upon?

 

Unfortunately, I can't think of much in that department. I could be sick. I just threw up in my mouth a little.

 

I'd like to be more outgoing; I'd like to be more giving. I'd like to be more motivated; I know I could be a better mom. I refuse to let myself to through another period of depression. This year is going to be different; it's going to be better.

 

For my husband: I don't think I've been fair to you. There's a lot of burden placed on your shoulders and I haven't bothered to lend a sympathetic ear most of the time, much less offer to help you carry it. I don't think you've been able to grow as a person the way I know you can; and I fear it's all my fault. I've relied on you for so much, and I'm the one that's kept us in situations we keep meaning to stay out of. I still can't even manage to pack you a cooler full of Dr. Pepper despite my anniversary promise. I just want to say I'm sorry, and please don't give up on me.

 

For my children: I'm not the most caring, giving person that I've always wanted to be as a role model; I have a hard time leading by example, and that's terrible. It's hard admitting that just because I'm a "grown-up" doesn't mean I always know best; or at least it doesn't mean I always do what's best. I'm hard on you; but I forget that the standards we hold up for you are the same standards I myself should live by.

 

 

On the upside of things, I've found another outlet. I've (maybe?) been a little better at not always venting at Caleb as soon as he walks in the door, and I've kept in touch with my friends and family members.

 

I'm not a bad person--there are, believe it or not after reading this, things that I do like about myself. But it we're talking about personal growth, then I've got along way to go. But then again, don't we all?

 

My husband is so cool. I don't know if I've ever mentioned what a handyman he is, so I'll say it now.

Yesterday I decided he was going to install "recessed lighting" on the top of our kitchen cabinets. He did it--with drill and a string of christmas lights. Awesome.

3 weeks ago, he made a really neat fold-up playtable in Mia's room. It has hinges so that it can just flip up and hang on the wall when she's not using it. After seeing how well he did that, I asked for a bookshelf/movie cabinet for the living room and PRESTO! Done in a day. It looks really good.

Now we have plans for a nice wall unit. It's so nice to have a husband that likes to wood work in his spare time.

 

The ice is starting to melt a little. We didn't get the foot of snow that was predicted for the weekend, thank goodness. Caleb was a little disappointed he couldn't go sledding, but I was starting to feel a little depressed about having to stay in the house for another week. And Cheyenne will be going back to school tomorrow.

 

I registered to win the HGTV dreamhouse. I'm going to get it.

Day 6: The Worry Sets In

 

Caleb took off today in our little Alero on a trek to a town an hour east of us, and I am literally going to go bonkers until he is back safe and sound. We really need to invest in a truck.

 

Our driveway, our yard, our neighborhood streets...all permanently covered in a thick layer of solid ice. Everyday it melts, every night it refreezes, making it slicker and more dangerous than ever. I almost look foward to the 5-10 INCHES OF SNOW we're scheduled to get this weekend; perhaps that will make merely walking around in the backyard a little less challenging. The temperatures don't look to be warming up enough to melt all this anytime soon; it's a toss up as to whether I'm going to Arkansas next week or not.

 

At this point we could all probably qualify for straight-jackets. Being cooped up is definitely taking its toll--Caleb and I have been more than a little pissy with each other, Cheyenne is driving herself and everyone else crazy with boredom, and even little Mia is cranky--must be the horrible crunch I put in her head yesterday. The dogs are antsy; I'm so ready to get out of this house and I secretly envy Caleb for having to work and travel and close this deal...don't get me wrong; I'd rather him stay here and be safe, but he might be able to breathe more sighs of relief on the road than at home at this point.

 

Mia and I had a conversation the other day. She was playing with her plastic animals when all the sudden I heard her say with a certain jolliness "Damnit!"

 

"What did you say, Mia?" I ask in just total disbelief.

"I said 'Damnit!' Mommy!" She's mighty proud of herself for learning this new word.

"NO, Mia, that is not a word you should say."

"But I WANT to say damnit."

"No...how about 'Oh, man!' instead?"

 

She thinks...

"No. I like damnit."

"No ma'm. That's not a nice word."

"Pleeeeeaaase can I say it?"

"No."

"Oh, MAN!"

She's really become my little censor the past few days...forbidding me to say, of course, the D word, but also things like geez louise, oh my gosh, and sometimes even, oh my goodness.

 

For now, I'm going along with it in the hopes that maybe we can lay off the cuss words completely...that's going to be interesting as this cold winter weather continues on with no end in sight....wish me luck.

Dogs fart. They fart bad.

I never realized it before I became the proud owner of 3 large and hairy indoor dogs, but I guess it's a natural occurence in the life of every red-blooded mammal. However, the stench that my dogs produce is everything but natural...it's...evil. I almost passed out last night as a result of the blasts my oldest kept shooting my direction every 5 seconds. And opening a window is unthinkable during this weather.

 

It's now day 5 of not being able to leave our home safely. There is a thick layer of slippery ice surrounding as far as the eye can see, and the temperatures are unbearably cold. I'm sleepy; like a bear that knows it's time to hibernate. I tried to walk around a little outside this morning with a blanket-wrapped Mia in my arms.

 

We fell. Hard. Her poor little head left a dent in the ice.

 

Just so the fam knows, we're fine. We never did loose power, but we did run out of bread and Dr. Pepper so the world might as well just come to an end.

 

I'll update more later when I'm not feeling so darn groggy--gotta be the cold.

  Okay, so a little snow and ice was somewhat of an understatement.

  I just got back from a beer-run to the mom-and-pop grocery store we have here, and people were loading up hurricane-style on bottled water and canned goods.

  Could it be that bad?

  I freaked enough to pick up 2 cans of soup and an extra jug of milk.

 

  Then I thought I'd go that extra mile and clean out the garage so that we could fit all the cars in there--an amazing feat for us, since we are part of the 95% of people who use their garages for everything but parking.

 

  So I did that. Somebody get this girl a klondike bar.

 

  I'm a little worried about our heat situation...and I guess I should be equally worried about the water, too, since we here in the backwoods rely on well water pumped out of the ground in our very own backyard. But the heat...our fireplace is gas. We couldn't even really burn something if we had to...and what in the world would we burn? Hmmm...I've never really liked our coffee table...

 

   I dare not bring up the matter of not being able to play Designer's World--the thought is just incomprehensible at this point in time and I will deal with that problem later if it arises. I guess we could always do something wild and bust out Clue or Monopoly if things got desperately boring.

 

   There's your weekend weather update--everyone have a good one.

 

   It's not late; it's early. Here I am at...4:21 in the morning, typing away on the computer because I just can't sleep. I've been tossing and turning for the last 5 hours listening to the wind and thinking about everything in the world there is to think about. Damn my bipolar alter-ego!

 

   The wind in Oklahoma is something to behold, a force to be reckoned with. As a Floridian, the sheer speed and strength and sound of the wind here would normally be associated with the ominous hours right before a major hurricane...or maybe in the early stages of the hurricane itself. Here, this kind of wind is as comforting as a gentle rain.

   I can't bring myself to enjoy a good thunderstorm, or even a blustery day. Call me a 'fraidy cat. I know what I am.

   It's only the beginning of January; we're months away from the official start of tornado season, the time last year when my sleepless nights began. I've been told it was a tame season--not typical by far.

   Great.

   I can breathe a small sigh of relief in knowing that our friendly neighbors have extended an invitation to use their shelter whenever the mood strikes us to need one; I told them I'd be there whenever a lone cloud appeared in the sky. That's how scared I am.

 

   Mia is also up. I'm a horrible mother; I let her sleep with me months ago and she's wanted to keep the tradition alive. I can count on one hand the nights she's spent in the cute little bed Caleb made for her back in September. When Mom's out of bed, Mia senses it, even though I spend 6 minutes moving in silent slow motion so as not to wake her. I think she has mutant powers.

   No more than 5 seconds passed after I left the room before the kid called to me and asked for her morning cup of chocolate milk. To the couch, please. No, I'd really like my pink blankie today.

   I know it's not widely accepted to drink beer before 5:00 p.m.--is it wrong to drink coffee before 5:00 a.m.? If I make a pot now, will I drink more than usual?

   Why didn't I think of answers to these questions while I was lying in bed?

 

   Tomorrow we're scheduled for a little snow and ice. Which is actually fine with me this time around, since I'll probably be SO TIRED FROM BEING UP ALL DAY TODAY. And only now, just a short while before I have to wake Cheyenne up for school, am I starting to feel the tiniest bit sleepy.

 

   Everyone have a great day.

  

  Finally. After months and months of coaxing and bribing...and more bribing...Mia...finally...used her potty chair!

I knew she had it in her, literally. We've been toying with it since she turned two, me never pushing, of course. She would sit on it fully clothed, and then wearing only a diaper, but she always turned it down whenever she actually had to go to the bathroom.

 

  Until yesterday. From 9:00 a.m. until 4:30 p.m., Mia ran around in her Curious George panties and her Babylegs...without peeing at all. The child does not break, seriously. And then, just when I thought it just wasn't going to happen, I hear a tiny voice from the living room (where I put the chair) say, "NO! I don't wanna do it..."; I ran in to see if she wanted me to hold her hand, but behold! The chair was already full.

 

  Needless to say I went nuts and made a huge deal over her--I thought for a second she might get mad or embarrassed, but then her face brightened and she said, "Yeah! I did it! All by myself! Now I need a present. And ice cream. And stickers!"

 

  Didn't I say that I bribed her?

 

  I came through with the ice cream and the stickers, but the present will have to wait. And now that she's done it and seen it's not so bad, maybe that'll be enough to keep her going...I'm beyond thrilled, so bear with me here. I'm about to switch the subject.

 

  Like I said, we've been "working at it" for months now, meaning I bought the chair, let her get familiar with it, I've been reading books to her about it, enticing her with pretty little panties that make her feel like a big girl...but the whole thing yesterday went down because my good friend, Anne, who has had her son for only a month now, was already successful in getting him to use the toilet--the woman put me to shame. So we had to do this.

 

   I mentioned Anne the other day and I'm putting a link to her blog under "Just for me" in case anyone would like to check it out--it's very touching. She and her husband are two very special people indeed.

 

   On another note, our baby-making days seem to be not so much. I thought for a little bit this week that maybe, just maybe...but no. Cramping and spotting began yesterday, just as I was about to break down and get a pregnancy test...good thing, too, because I'm so sick of negative pregnancy sticks that if I had taken one and got that result for yet the thousandth time, I think I would've jabbed myself in the neck with it.

 

   I spotted "The Chipmunk Adventure", a favorite movie of mine as a child, on a Wal-Mart shelf the other day, and instantly snapped it up. We watched it once and that's been enough for me, although for Mia about 500 times ought to do the trick. I'm hating myself for buying it. Watching it over and over at 9 years old is one thing; watching it over and over now as a 26 year old makes me want to stick my head in the oven.

 

   I'll leave you all with that lovely thought. My brain is fried from to much Chipmunk.

 

   The lowdown on Sam:

    Back in the hospital. Stayed for 2 days initially, sent home with meds that make her tired and weak. Spent all day yesterday in the ER in Gulf Breeze, then was transferred back to be re-admitted to the same crappy hospital that sent her home...They still have no clue what is wrong with her. On her first run-in, they assumed she was too young to be having the problem she seemed to be having, so they did not do the customary tests and such to diagnose her correctly...I believe that's the way it goes; I'm getting a lot of my information second and third hand. I hate this; I talked to her briefly when she got home the first night. She didn't sound like herself at all; breathless, maybe, and really, really worn out. No offense to her...but I hated hearing her like that and gladly passed the phone off to Caleb before I started to tear up again. I just wish they could figure out what the heck is going on, deal with it, and make that girl better. I hate that I'm not down there.

 

   Some good news:

   My best friend Nikki is planning a trip back home to Arkansas, so I am planning a trip to Arkansas to go see her, provided I find someone to watch the dogs for a couple days. Caleb's a little hesitant, I think, to let me make the drive by myself...probably because the last time I went on a trip alone I had a little car fiasco. And that's all I'll say about that.

 

   I talked to another good friend of mine for the first time in years...well, less than that, but it's been a while. They just adopted a little boy from China and are doing wonderful it seems. I'm so happy for them and it was great to get back in touch with her. This girl kept me in line during my wild period...as best she could...another "big sister" that I've kind of always looked up to.

 

   I got a sweet bag the other day on serious clearance at Dillard's...originally $180.00, and I plopped down significanly less after the mark-off and my mother's employee discount. I spotted this big mustard-colored thing about a year ago and thought, "I'll own that one day, because I just know no one else is gonna like it and I'll get it for the change in my ashtray." And sure enough. Which reminds me...

 

   I'm reading this book--don't laugh--called "The Secret", by Rhonda Byrne. It basically says what Caleb's been telling me all along; positive thinking goes a long way, and using the power of positive thought to get what you want out of life...it goes a little farther than that, but that's the general idea. Here's a particular little excerpt that spoke to me:

 

 

   The book goes on to say that the law of attraction is what naturally brings us the things we are thinking of. For example, if you are afraid of being unsuccessful, and you worry about it constantly, then one day you will be unsuccessful. On the other hand, if you picture yourself succeeding and think only of reaching your goals, then you will eventually do just that. So many people stop trying to achieve what they want, simply because they don't see a possible way to get it, the book says. And I wondered how many times I've done that.

 

   So, step one toward my goal of owning my own business one day: think positive thoughts. There. 1 New Year's resolution and 1 long-term goal knocked out just like that.

   It is not my intention to start this off in a morbid way, but today marks the 4th year since my grandfather passed away. I would hope by this entry people who knew him will remember and those who didn't would understand how special he was to everyone he knew.

 

   I visited him in the hospital a few days before he was scheduled to go into surgery. I walked in the door and saw him lying there, sleeping and practically naked in those horrible hospital paper things they like to call gowns. Seeing him there he looked so vulnerable, so tired. I teared up immediately, but then his eyes opened and he laughed at me.

   I sat down by his bed and he just started to talk, about everything. Somethings I already knew, some things caught me by surprise.

   My grampy founded Tony's Pizza, a restaurant chain down south that was huge in the 60's...long before Pizza Hut and Domino's...Cici's and Papa John's. I've heard a million stories from my mom about life in the pizza biz--I listened patiently.

He told me that when he got through surgery and out of the hospital, he'd help me start up a place of my own. I smiled.

   "Or real estate, if you want. That's where you can really make some money, Toni. I can help you find little houses and trailers all around this town--to buy and then rent out, if that's something you want to do. You just tell me and I'll get you going."

   "You know, that doesn't sound like a bad idea, Grampy," I say.

 

   We talk some more, on and on. I tell him about the BB King concert Caleb and I had gone to a few days earlier. I had bought 4 tickets so our friends could come, but they bailed the day before and we couldn't find anyone to take their place.

   "I ought to punch you in the nose. You should've called me and your grammy to go! We would've loved it!"

   "I didn't know you liked that kind of thing! I wish I would've called..."

 

   He went on to tell me that he loved jazz music, and that how when he met my grandma, they were at the equivalent of what would now be, I guess, like the club, jazz bands...how when he first saw her she was leaning against a pole...and he asked her to dance.

   "She didn't like me at first, but I like her. I was shorter than her, I think that's why she didn't like me. Or maybe it's cause I was Italian. But I knew I'd get her to like me."

   "So you met at a club kind of like me and Caleb?"

   "Yeah, I guess that's what it was like. Man, I wish you'd have taken me to that concert. You didn't think I'd like that kind of thing--there's a lot of things about me that you probably don't know! Your Grampy likes to have fun, too!"

   I laugh.

   "Tell me about the time you adopted my brother."

 

   Instead of shifting gears from happy to sad, my grandpa smiled and said, "Your Aunt was so young. We were going to give him up for adoption. That was the plan. But when we went and looked at him in the newborn nursery...said to your grandma, 'I guess we could just keep him', because we've always wanted a baby. And when you came along, there was just no question we'd be keeping you, too."

 

   I was named after my grandpa, Tony Bucci, and I'm so proud of it. He was a giving man. He and my grandma had four children, 3 of them adopted. They were poor when they started out...but who isn't? They made money, they lost money. Their children gave them plenty of trouble, but they were all loved, equally, no matter what. There's so much that I wish I still had time to ask about. But perhaps any of the knowledge I stand to gain about my grampy would tarnish the image I have of him, that short, round jolly man, telling all us kids "ghost" stories every night with a flashlight, taking us sledding...candy stores, gigantic pumpkins and a branch of an actual cotton plant, making bread into funny shapes before every big family meal, Christmas lights at St. Anne's. A big farmhouse in the country, a picture of Italy...There are so many things that make me think of him. And they are all good.

Sam.

 

What the hell.

 

How are you gonna have Jason calling my house, interrupting my sleep, at midnight...to tell me that you are in the hospital? I mean, really.

 

You know what it is, is your heart's too damn big to work right. You're all jacked up. I mean, you've always been a non-conformist, but this is ridiculous.

 

Either that, or this is some sick ploy to get me down there. Do you miss me that much? I have no doubt in your ability to fake a heart attack...rig the hospital machines and blood test results. You're smart and mechanical like that. But you've taken it too far. This desire to see me has resulted in unhealthiness on numerous levels.

 

Where is my Invincible Sam? Surely she's not really lying in a bed somewhere feeling even slightly crummy. Surely not.

 

Don't think for a second that this gets you out of your July pilgrimage to my place. Ah-huh. No siree Bob. I gotta have someone to come smack me around for 2 weeks out of the year, and I'd prefer it be you. I've also posted "The Picture"--the one everyone loves, even my dad (ew!), to remind you that we still have that P.O.S. car and we'll most likely be needing a little work done when you get here.

 

Get this stuff under control. Get it done. Lay off the booze. Stay off the over-powered 4-wheeler. And maybe that hot tub isn't such a good idea, either. If you have back problems, then Jason's gonna hafta pull his weight and massage the holy hell out of you.

 

Whoa. None of that monkey business either. Working out, whatever. I know exactly what brought you down. You two wild things.

 

It's kind of fun having a big sister, so take care of yourself. We were all kind of hoping you'd stick around for a while.

 

Love, Toni

 

 

January, 2007.

Just when I got used to writing 2003 on all my checks.

 

Hope everyone had a great Christmas, and New Years...I guess we're well on our way to Epiphany now, so Happy That, too. Cheyenne is back, safe and sound, and seemingly happy and with a brand new wardrobe. Mia has been in present overload for the past 2 weeks and has yet to play with more than half of the toys she got for Christmas. The mousehouse went over well; it's not entirely done (the mushrooms aren't glued down and the doors haven't been hinged on), but she's loving it. Mostly she takes the family of mice and relocates them to her Fisher Price Barn, while Joe Montana (a leftover ornament) takes control of their mansion.

 

Life is good.

 

We celebrated New Year's Eve by watching bad TV and downing Bud Light with my father-in-law. Man, what was up with the New Year's Eve programs? Every channel: obnoxious no-names laughing it up with other obnoxious no-names and introducing horrendous live "musical" acts--you know, off-key singers bumping and grinding into thin air over and over and over. After flipping between that and an intriguing program on the Science channel about  exploited ape-men in Pakistan, we decided to just turn the TV off.

 

I'm quite sure that's where my headache came from the next day.

 

My quest to be healthier this year is going well; I haven't had a single Coke since the beginning of the New Year, and, amazingly, I've managed to keep coffee down to 2 cups each morning. Pretty good, huh? I won't mention the blueberry pie and ice cream we've been chowing down on the last couple days. It's celebretory, therefore it DOES NOT COUNT.

 

Everybody got that?

 

Mia's resolution to NEVER EVER GO TO SLEEP has been put into action with a fierceness. The child just does not quit. Naps? Who needs 'em? Bedtime what? Surely you jest, Mom. My own bed? I thought that was a trampoline.

 

So other than being a little tired (what else is new?) 2007 in the house of Toni is off to a great start.