Sugar Sunnysparkle

That’s my stripper name.  I googled it.  Although for those of you that know me IRL – if you google my name, there is a very famous porn star with the same name…and I assure you, it isn’t me.  (Those tapes have long been destroyed – HA!)

Are you wondering why I am looking for my stripper name?  It’s quite simple really.  In a few weeks I will be attending a party at a pole dancing studio.  Yes, you did indeed read that right.  And if I am successful, I am considering a career change.   Although if I don’t lose this weight beforehand you’ll see me doing nooners during the “Business Man’s Buffet – All you can eat for $1.99″ rather than working in some swanky club – is there such a thing – and earning millions to take care of my kids so they’ll never have to worry about money.

Whew.  Ok, it’s just a one time class.  And it looks to be a huge amount of fun.   Hubby’s jaw about hit the floor when I told him that I was going.  And then he asked the question only a man could think of…

“Will there be a recital for this dance class?”

Install a pole in the basement and we’ll see…

Twins?

No, I am not pregnant.  Not with twins, not even with one.  Thank goodness.  So not ready for that right now.

But on a daily basis I am amazed by how much Avery and Carson look alike.  I love the fact that they look like brother and sister.   (Sorry Avery, I meant to say sister and brother – I know you are older and came first…)  I am an only child, and adopted to boot, so I have no idea if I look like anyone or where my traits came from.  So to see them side by side warms my heart.

Here are pictures of them…about the same age.  You can tell which is which by the clothes…unless you are an old lady at the grocery story who loves my little girl dressed head to toe in football themed brown/blue apparel. 

Carson isn’t quite as cooperative with the camera as Avery was at this age.  He loves his bouncer so he is permanently at this awkward angle.

And I took this one too…love it!

 

Happy Day!

Random Hump Day Madness

I’m trying to decide what to do with my hair.  I had the cute Katie Holmes style, but I am growing it out.  I want it long – ponytail long – again.  The problem is my bangs.  I haven’t had a haircut since the beginning of July.  And at this point, they aren’t long enough to be “side swept” but they are too long to wear down.  Do I trim them?  Or suffer until they are long enough, knowing that I currently look like Cousin It?

The gym is a great place to people watch.  Especially at my gym where it’s the Senior Citizens Social Club.  Yesterday morning I observed a woman walking around in short shorts and a mesh sports bra.  At least I am assuming it was mesh.  I saw it from the backside and most of it was covered by her backfat rolls.  Please, please put a shirt on, lady.  You aren’t going to be picking up any balding hotties in that get up.

I have finally decided to go clothes shopping.  I have put it off for awhile.  But I can no longer keep the maternity pants up.  Which is a good thing, HOWEVER…I hate the size I have to buy.  I could squeeze into a smaller size but a muffin top and camel toe are not the looks I am going for.  So, I will resort to buying what fits.  Not what I WANT to fit.  *Sigh*

Carson is going for his 3 month check up today.  Hubby and I placed bets (no money will change hands…) on how much he weighs.  I am putting it in writing:

ME:  12 pounds 14 oz      HUBBY:  13 pounds 2 oz

I’ll let you know who is closer.  And he has to get a shot today (Carson, not Hubby) so I figured I would drag Avery along and get her a flu shot.  She was supposed to go yesterday.  Then I had a brillant IDEA to schedule them at the same time.  What the fuck was I thinking?  Taking BOTH kids to get shots at the same time.  Sometimes I really am a dumbass mother who is short on time and is saving herself the extra trip to the doctor’s office.

This morning a SMART bus pulled right out in front of me.  I mean SMACK DAB in front of me.  Apparently the bus company is SMART enough to give anyone a job. 

I love to sing.  Loudly.  In the car.  In the house.  I suck.  Can’t carry a tune to save my life.  But I sound like the winner of American Idol in my head.  That’s all that matters, right?

Happy Hump Day all!

Friends may lie but mirrors don’t

For months now, well – 3 since I had Carson – people have been telling me how good I look.  

Yeah, right.

I joined Weight Watchers at 6 weeks postpartum.  And didn’t take it seriously.  I lost some weight but only made a miniscule dent in the 40 pounds I want to lose. 

I went to the gym a few times, but once every 2-3 weeks really doesn’t do much for the back fat and the thighs that rub together.  I can’t take Carson to the play land.  Ballys pisses me off b/c kids have to be 12 months old and walking.  Well, does that mean moms have to stay fat until their kids can walk????  All of the other gyms around here take infants.  But at $10 a month vs. a new membership at $100+ per month, I’ve figured it out.  Go before the kids are out of bed. 

I bought a new pair of jeans and a cool shirt for my birthday party.  Non maternity for the first time in…well…since December.  Then I looked at pictures from my party.  One picture in particular of my backside.  Pictures don’t lie.  Well, unless you have photoshop.  Which I don’t.  Unfortunately.

Finally on Sunday, I  took a good hard long look in the mirror.  And decided to get my fat ass in gear and lose this baby weight.  I am motivated.  I am dedicated.  I finally WANT it off. 

 My shuffle is loaded with awesome tunes, my beer drinking is limited to weekends only (Hello Miller Lite), and I’ve been rolling out of bed at the ass crack of dawn to get to the gym and sweat to Anderson Cooper (man he’s hot).   Granted it’s only been two days but I feel good.  Scrap that – I feel GREAT!

It will take some time – I am hoping to feel more like my old self by Thanksgiving and be back to my pre Carson weight by Christmas.  (That’s if I can stay away from the Gingerbread Lattes at Starbucks.  I swear they come out earlier and earlier each year…)

So it’s time to stick some fresh batteries in the scale, find some new sports bras, and get it done.   As Avery would say when I tell her to be behave (and as she just reminded me again) – Santa is watching.

Guess I have to stick to it…don’t want to upset the jolly fat man.  Ironic, isn’t it?

An Averyism has been published

It was exciting news in our house…

A few months back (I thought I blogged about it, but  I guess I didn’t…oh well) Avery cracked one of her famous one-liners.  And now it’s out there for the whole world (sorta) to see! 

Encouraged by some of my friends, I submitted the story to Parents Magazine.  Never in a million years did I think anything of it.  And to be honest, I totally forgot about it (baby brain and all).  If you get Parents Magazine or in the month of November you happen to be hanging out in the magazine section of Barnes and Noble or Borders, check out the Baby Bloopers on the last page of the November issue (it’s just coming out now).  There she is in black and white.  In all of her glory. 

Should I tell you all the story?  Or keep you in suspense?

What the hell….here’s the short version:

Hubby wore jeans to work one day and called me in the AM – panicked – because he had a last minute client meeting.  He asked me to bring him a suit and accessories.  So I gathered everything up, and told Avery we had to take something to Daddy at work.  She looked at me, looked at the hanger, and said “Did Daddy forget to wear pants today?”

And there you have it.  The thought process of a 4 year old.

Love it.  Love her.  Can’t wait to get my copy of the magazine.

There you have it…

Why I haven’t been blogging…I’ve been busy with….

Out of the mouth of an old lady

Earlier this week, I went to visit my almost 94 year old Grandma.  You may (or may not) remember that she is now in a nursing home.  She lived alone, fell a lot and refused to use her Life Alert (Help me, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up).   Push came to shove and after breaking her neck (she fell and broke it – no one did it for her.  Don’t the wrong idea.) she had no choice in the matter.

She always was a crabby old lady – except towards her grandchildren – but now she is down right BITTER.  You make shake your heads at this but I only visit about once a month and I keep the visits to about 45 minutes – max.

With Avery out of town with Hubby, I thought it would be a nice opportunity for Grandma to see Carson (not for the first time, folks).  So I got dressed up – hair and makeup included – and loaded up the boy and hit the road.  (I make it sound like it was cross country – but really it’s only 30 minutes away – although in Avery’s eyes that’s long enough to pack a snack and a drink, maybe even lunch)

I told my Grandma I’d be there about 11 – knowing full well that she has to go to the dining room at 11:45.  I am evil, yes I know.  Well wouldn’t you know, Carson pooped right before we left and needed a little TLC…so I pulled into the parking lot at 11:05.  I walk into Grandma’s hallway and she is standing outside her door…waiting.  Lurking.  Seething.

“Well, there you are.  I wondered if you were ever going to get here.”

And so the visit begins.

We settle in on the sofa and I get Carson out for her to hold him.  She is thrilled at gooing and cooing over the boy.  He is damn cute and his smile is killer.  Pretend to nibble his toes and he’ll adore you forever.  And here it is – 10 minutes into the visit and not one.single.solitary complaint.  WOW!!!!!  This is wonderful.

Then she turns to me, as I sit there in my cute wrap dress, and pokes my stomach and says…wait for it…

“What’s going on with you?  You look like you’re about to have another one.”

With all the restraint I could summon from the gods, I managed to not utter one.fucking.word.  I simply smiled and said “No, Grandma, I’m not having another one.”  And I changed the damn subject.

Visit continues without incident.

For about 42 seconds.

“I just don’t know what they expect me to do around here.”  (In my head, I am thinking about all of the activities on the board RIGHT.OUTSIDE.HER.ROOM)

“I just can’t talk to these other inmates. Half are deaf and the other half can’t speak.”

“And the food is lousy here.”  Really, Grandma?  Because everytime I see you it appears that you are gaining a little extra.  Maybe I should ask you if you are going to have a baby???

But the piece de resistance…the really truly I can’t believe you just said that moment – came right before I left.  Oh.my.god – I can’t believe that my GRANDMA said this.

She is telling me about how she cruises the hallways with her walker and one of the guys calls her Speedy Gonzeales.  And she said…

“Well, I have to do something with my legs since I can’t wrap them around my husband anymore.”

Ewwww…now there’s an image.

Maybe it will be two months before I go back.

Put the jello shot down and step away from the pinata

That should have been the catchy phrase on the evite for my birthday party.  Yes, the party that happened 2 weeks ago.  Yes, the party I am just now blogging about. 

The idea of a party came about 4 weeks after Carson was born.  I was at the bar the library with Hubby and his co-worker.  And let’s just say I was in a really happy mood.  Party on Wayne.  Party on Garth.   Suddenly I am struck with the idea of having a big blow out party.   My birthday was just an excuse.   The evite was sent, the guest list created, and really it was a lot of Hubby’s co-workers.  Sounded like a great time.  Our friend PJ was bringing the kegs, Hubby was grilling the food.  (He is the grill master…)

(Notice Avery’s picnic table is the makeshift bar?  A very well stocked bar I might add)

We had games – horseshoes, bocce, and cornhole.  Which the name of that game just dumbfounds me…but I digress.

Then came the pinata…

WTF?  Right?  But then it was “hell yeah”.  Why not. 

There were items to discuss. 

1)  What shape pinata does one have for an adult party?  Penis?  Blow Up Doll?  Unicorn with a condom on the horn?  Left to Hubby – it was the shape of a softball.

2) What, dare I ask, does one put in an adult pinata?  Condoms?  Little minibar bottles?  Hell no.

Why, Jello Shots, of course!

Rules of the game:  blindfolded and spun around once.  Then have it with the authentic pinata stick. 

That’s me.  Since I was the birthday girl I got the first whack.    I have a complex with making a fool of myself and people laughing at me so I only took one swing.  I hit the tree.

Michelle was a ROCK STAR at the pinata stick.  Even with Hubby pulling it up high as soon as she swung. 

As was Martha.  Elbow up!

The guys were funny too.  They had to spin twice.  And there were some samuri moves, some fancy footwork.  They were not to be outdone by the ladies in the house.

But it was Lesley.  Sweet, quiet Lesley who whacked the SHIT out of it.  And broke it.  See the piece flying…

Then came the rush.  The frenzy of 20 adults picking up the fallen jello shots.  They had lids on them when they were put in.  But some fell off when they made their rapid descent.   A little dirt never hurt anyone.

It wasn’t long after this that we got a noise complaint.  From the neighbors behind us.  Probably because we didn’t invite them.  I mean, COME ON, close  your damn windows.  It was 10:30 at night.  (I think – it’s still kind of a blur.) Not 2 am when we were playing horseshoes.  Not 4 am when the firepit was out of control.  Not 5 am when the last of the party goers left.

And here they are – the last of them.  I took the picture…that’s why it’s fuzzy.  It looked in focus at the time.  It was just me and the guys.  Still drinking.  Still smoking.  Still chillin’.

A great time WAS in fact had by all.  But it took me about 3 days to recover.  But I am proud that I drank for about 10 hours straight.  And didn’t puke.  However I think I’ll wait til the big 4-0 before trying to having another bash like this.

I’ve been “In-Lawed”

Yes, you read that right.  I have officially been “in-lawed” …by Sam and Avery.

Yesterday afternoon, as we were driving home from the grocery store. I heard them exchange vows, while sitting side-by-side in their booster seats. 

And it’s a good thing I like his parents.  I mean, these are jello-shotting, beer-drinking relatives we have now. 

I love it. 

And Avery loves Sam.  And vice versa.

I wonder what will happen when they go to different schools for kindergarten.

Night Terrors? Or a really big Chicken Nugget?

I have to set up this story twice. 

First the chicken nuggets.  Avery likes chicken nuggets.  She usually only eats them with her friends – at McDonald’s with Sam.  Where she dips them in the Apple Dippers Caramel sauce. (Gag)  And when we go to Sydney and Ryan’s for lunch – where she dips them in Ranch Dressing and Ketchup.  Just like Syndey does.  When she does indulge in the occasional nugget at home, it’s plain.  No sauce.  No ranch.  No ketchup.  I ask her, just in case she plans to change her mind, but she never waivers.  Keep that in the back of your mind, ok?  Just tuck that morsel away until you get to the next part of the story.

Secondly – for the past several weeks nights, have been awoken at all hours  by the yelling in my ear gentle whispers of my sweet girl standing next to my bed.  In my zombie-like, my-infant-son-still-isn’t-sleeping-more-than-3-hours -at- a-time state, I whip back the covers and let her crawl in.

I shouldn’t, I know that.  Not because of the reasons you might be thinking…disrupting the martial bed or any of that mumbo jumbo.  It’s because she is a BED HOG!  I am constantly finding a foot in the small of my back.  Or feet on my head.  Or her head on my stomach.  And she steals shares my pillow.  Well, you get the picture, right?

Last night was no different.  As soon as she heard me come  upstairs and climb into bed, she was right there.   We got through most of the night without incident.  She must have been very tired.

Suddenly I am awoken by screaming.  And she’s yelling, at the top of her lungs, “I don’t WANT any RANCH dressing!  NO! NO! NO!”  Um, WTF?

Me:  Avery, are you awake?

Silence

Me: Avery, you are dreaming, honey!

Avery:  NO! Mommy, I am having a NIGHTMARE! (Throws arms around me sobbing)

 Was she being chased by a ginormous chicken nugget covered in ranch dressing?  Is she going to spend years in therapy reconciling her loathing of ranch dressing.  I’m not sure where that was coming from, because she fell back asleep before she could tell me about it.  But you can bet that I wouldn’t be offering her ranch dressing with her nuggets at dinner any time in the near future.  Or maybe ever.  Thankfully I didn’t give her a hot dog for dinner.  That would have been a whole different set of nightmares.

ETA:  I have to give a shout out to JILL – who just learned about my blog.  Obviously she doesn’t REALLY read my FB page b/c the link is right there.  Just sayin’ – and I did write about my favorite subject.  YOU!  Word.  XOXO