I'm like a show on TNT

Apparently Kyra Sedgwyck and I have more in common than I knew in the past. Well..actually this may be the only thing we have in common...we only perform in the summer.

Like The Closer (the best show on TV, ending this summer) I too, can only come out with new product in the summer months.

And while I would LOVE to be able to blog everyday...I just can't seem to get it done. But tonight, on the eve of my last day of work until September, I find myself knee deep in my second glass of wine, setting up new websites for my newest adventure, and wanting to tell you all the ridiculous stories that have happened this year.

But you'll have to wait until tomorrow...I have to go to bed so I can rise one last time at 5am to exercise, make lunch, pack bags, sign forms, and yell so loud the neighbors wake up.

Oh...the stories are SOOO funny.

pay it forward with dessert

I really feel the need to tell you all about the dessert we had last night.



It was a 3 point souffle. And if you don't know what a "point" is...well then you don't watch enough tv in the middle of the day. Somewhere between Regis and Kelly and Days of Our Lives is a Jennifer Hudson tutorial on the benefits of counting your points. Have you seen it? Have you seen her? Holy cow...if counting points is what I need to do...then I'll do it!



So a point is a standard of measure for Weight Watchers...and 3 points is not a lot. In fact, it is the same as a 100 calorie bag of pretzels and less than a glass of wine. And now you tell me...which would you rather have for dessert...a bag of pretzels or a chocolate souffle. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know the answer is both WITH a glass of wine, but we're trying to change that aren't we?



Now, I've never made a souffle before so in honor of Valentine's Day I channeled my inner Top Chef (again, if you don't get my reference, you must watch more tv in order for us to be friends!) and whipped up the egg white by hand (before you know it I'll be making my own mayonnaise), added a little melted chocolate mixed with sugar and chocolate milk, threw it in the oven and voila...we had a souffle. Or two to be exact. I don't know what all the fuss is about...that was as easy as it gets.

And while last night I wasn't exactly counting my points (as evidenced by the whip cream serving I put on top of the souffle and the wine glasses in the background)...this dessert is a keeper.

Me and Nanny McPhee

Big boy is about to lose his top tooth. It has been loose for 73 1/4 days (plus or minus an hour). And it won't come out.

So we've been calling him Nanny McPhee.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm looking forward to when he has a big gaping whole in his mouth rather than this snaggle tooth that is giving him a lisp.

Growing up can be so glamorous!!

A long trip to here

I didn't expect to be so sentimental about the American Veteran's truck that came today to haul away our "no longer needed" items. It's so polite isn't it? They don't want to call it junk...but we all know it is.

Last night, after I got my reminder call that I had agreed to put some stuff out for the truck, I ran around the house trying to collect all the junk...I mean...no longer needed items...that I agreed to donate. To be fair, they called on December 26, when my house looked something like a hoarders episode. So, of course, I thought I could fill 3 truck loads with our junk. But once the wrapping paper was thrown away and the extraneous family members returned to their proper households, I struggled to find a worthwhile amount of goods to give away. I filled one bag of kids clothes, found 2 lampshades I detest and then stalled out.

There had to be more things to give away in this house. So you know what I did...I went to the garage. And I gave away the ping pong table, the Foosball table, the circular saw, the 3 snowboards. NO! Just kidding. If I did that, I might as well have put myself on the curb with them, I would no longer be welcome here.

But what I did find were 2 last remaining strollers in the corner. It was like finding 2 long lost friends. I have been everywhere with those two ladies. One, slender and blue, always went on the the plane, to London, Portugal, Italy, Disney, California...you name it, that lady carried and comforted our kids everywhere. The other...so sturdy and trustworthy. Not appreciated for her looks, but for her speed, grace, and ability to get me out of the house when I was stir crazy. When my second was born, I tried to upgrade to a fancy jogging stroller, but always returned to old big bertha.

I looked at those girls long and hard...thought about how my 3.5 year old hasn't been in a stroller in nearly 12 months, and decided to say goodbye.

So this morning I trekked them out to the bottom of the driveway and left them. Abandoned them. I didn't think anything of it. Until I found myself looking out the window multiple times to see if they were still there. Should I go back and get them? What if we need a stroller? Am I making a mistake?

And then the truck came. And the guys just chucked them into the back of the truck and drove away. The end. And I cried.

Lordy, what the heck is wrong with me? I hope I'm not this emotional because I'm pregnant...because then I've made a mistake...well 2 actually.

What 5am will get you

Hello blog, it is me Mommystar.

This year I have been REALLY good about going to the gym. I completely recognize in myself that I am a nicer, saner, but not necessarily thinner person if I work out consistently. Unfortunately for me, I need to exercise in the morning, BEFORE the kids get up to go to school, so that leaves me at the gym at 5 am. Pitch black, crickets chirping, please don't let my car break down 5 AM.

And if you are anything like me, I choose my gyms based on their ammenities. And when I say ammenities, I mean towel thread count, TV stations, and child care options. So working out at O'dark-thirty leaves me with nothing. No warm towels, no child care, and no TV. Well sure, there's TV, but do you have any idea what is on at 5am...no, why should you? Nothing but infomercials.

And do you know where that gets me? A $150 workout dvd system that is going to "transform my body" before my very own eyes!. Yup...I'm venturing to do P90x and it is seriously kicking my ass. I've given up the gym for the basement and am tackling the 90 day workout program that should make me look like...

(That's Demi Moore, a P90x user, tweeting a picture of herself)

You know I can't pass up on a good before/after. I want to be an after! And if I ever end up looking like Demi...you can be damn sure I'll be tweeting that picture worldwide. Maybe even a superbowl commercial!

I blame it on Wipeout

I won't ever have video games in my house. (Blake, c. 1995)

Ha!

That's what I used to shamelessly profess as I watched other children withdraw from social activities to play their DS's, Play Stations, or Atari's. Now look at me. Now I'm screamng from the rooftop...only one hour of Wii today (Blake, c. ten mintes ago).

Ha to the double Ha!

I've completely lost the video game war and apparently I am losing the TV war too. You know how I know? I'll tell you...

Last weekend at a birthday party for a friend of my 6 year old, I offered said son a drink. "Would you like a water, a capri sun, or a juice box?" I asked. And completely straight faced, not even a hint of a joke he said, "No I think I'll take a beer. That Miller Lite would be fine."

And 2 days later when he got over the fact that there were no keg stands to be had at the birthday party, I innocently enough asked what he wanted for dinner and his response was, "Red Lobster." Uhhh...what? (now no offense to people who eat at Red Lobster, but we haven't and I don't even think we have ever driven by one)

So my only assumption is that TV is to blame. And since I seriously doubt that he's watching commercials for Miller Lite and Red Lobster on the Food Network, Bravo, or TLC (I jest, I jest...no need to get self-righteous on me at this point), then the only thing we have to blame is that darn show Wipeout that he and his father love so much.

Seriously, what goes better with hysterically laughing at people on insane, impossible obstacle courses than a cold Miller Lite and an Admiral's Feast?

Dress Code

I think that it is official. I am screwed.

My little (well, not so little now) boy has thrown me some curve balls but for the most part I can see them coming a mile away. Don't want to leave a friend's house...I anticipate a meltdown. Tired and not getting what you want...I anticipate a meltdown. Don't like the clothes I lay our for you...well, he has never seemed to care. I never really appreciated that until now.

My little girl...well she's a totally different story. I must remind you that she isn't even THREE years old yet. She has hit temper tantrums full force this year and quite honestly, I can deal with them. What transpired today...not so prepared for.

I picked out an outfit for her to wear to school. A pair of capris and a striped shirt. It was cute, it was comfortable, and she has worn it multiple times with no complaints. That was not the case this morning. Her protests were so loud to my wardrobe choices that I think the neighbors 4 houses away could hear the screams of torture at 7 in the morning. It was like I has chosen a prairie dress and a bonnet. We fought, we yelled, my husband intervened and after about 25 minutes and 10 trips to time out she conceded and put on the pants. (she comes by her stubbornness quite honestly!)

As I was walking out the door to take the kids to school, I gave my husband a small high five claiming victory and patted myself on the back for breaking the little girl down.

So wouldn't you know how surprised I was when she came home from school in a DIFFERENT pair of pants. As she walked in the room and I got a look at her, the very first question I asked was not "how was your day honey?" but rather, "where did you get those pants?" And don't you love toddler honesty, she looked me straight in the eye and said, "I didn't like the pants I was wearing so I put these in my bag and my teacher put them on."

So take that Momma. You are so screwed.