Shave My Legs!!

Because Sugar and Spice know that their mother is practically comatose in the early morning hours, that’s when they plan their attacks.

Several weeks ago I was fresh out of the shower and getting ready for work when Sugar flew into the bathroom. “Mama, it’s going to be 82 degrees today. You need to shave my legs so I can wear shorts to school.”

I took about .2 seconds to gather my thoughts and told her that first off, her legs really didn't need to be shaved; they have wispy, light colored hair that isn't even noticeable unless she’s in the direct sunlight. I then asked if she was sure it was going to be that warm and she shoved her iPod in my face to show me the weather with a big smiling sunshine and 82 degrees.

I knew this was something she really wanted to do BECAUSE ALL HER FRIENDS ARE DOING IT, but I didn't have the time, or the necessary equipment (an extra razor and shaving cream). I reiterated the same conversation that we've had several times, “Please wait until after you turn 12.”

She seemed ok with this and left to take a shower and get ready for school. I continued with my morning routine, and as I finished up I could hear angry voices coming from another part of the house. I went to investigate and found that Sugar was indeed angry and was taking it out on her sister. I looked at EN with raised eyebrows and a WTF look on my face. He said, “She’s mad because you didn't shave her legs.”

Sweet mother of God, the girl doesn't even have enough hair to shave! I told her that if she was that worried about it, she should just wear capris.

When we were all in the kitchen, she continued on with her rant about how she has GROSS HAIRY LEGS and that she was going DIE, JUST SWEATING TO DEATH IN CAPRIS IN THE 82 DEGREE HEAT. At that point EN snapped to attention… “Who told you it was going to be 82 today? It’s only 40 degrees now!”

I didn't realize it was still that cool out, but it’s not inconceivable that we’d see a forty degree in a day. After all, we live in New England… if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes. I said, “She showed me on her iPod that it’s going to get that warm today.”

He asked to see the iPod and handed it back to her… “We don’t live in Atlanta.” She found the weather for our area and found that we were going to see temperatures in the 60’s. Still not enough for her to call a truce.

“All my friends are going to make fun of me. They are going to ask me AGAIN when I’m going to shave my legs!”

As is typical for me, I finally snapped… “The next time they say that to you, ask them when they are going to shave their mustaches!”

I could hear Spice and EN trying to muffle their laughter…

Sugar: They don’t have mustaches. They have peach fur.

EN: Um, I think it’s called peach fuzz.

Sugar: WHATEVER! But they don’t have mustaches.

Me: Well you don’t have hairy legs either. They’re covered in peach fur. 

The End.

xoxo

Ice Princess

Sixteen Weeks

Excuse another moment of silence. Where I've been and what I've been doing since the last post is a mystery to me as well. Lots of stories to tell, just living life I guess.

The battle with the weekly weigh-ins continues and many days I feel like a failure. I thought I’d be farther along by now and am somewhat disappointed with my progress.

At this week’s weigh-in, I received a special “16 Week Charm.” I've been attending Weight Watchers meetings for longer than that, but must have skipped a few weeks here and there. Regardless, 16 weeks is a milestone of sorts. “Research shows” that members of the program that reach this goal are more likely to stick with it. So stick with it I shall… even though the weight is coming off at a snail’s pace.

At the 16 week weigh in, I am down 17.2 pounds. If you add in all the weeks I've missed, I’m losing at a VERY slow rate. I disappoint myself. If I look at the online tools, I see that I’m losing an average of .5 pounds a week. Yippee skippy, maybe if I pee before the meetings I’ll lose more. Regardless, I shall soldier on. As I've said in the past, slow and steady wins the race.

I KNOW what my problem really is… I occasionally binge on something stupid like pizza, beer or Chinese food. Then to get back on track, I’m vigilant about the food I consume, to the point that I don’t eat enough. I know this is stupid and I need to pay more attention and eat what I need to eat, but some stupid voice in my head keeps saying, “The less you eat the more you’ll lose. “ Apparently, I learn new behaviors as quickly as I lose weight.

I have started cooking differently and exercising more, steps in the right direction. I've discovered new recipes that are low in points and heavy on flavor… one of my favorite recipes right now is a Rachael Ray “Curried Carrot Soup.” One might eat a vat of it for very few points. One might add in a spoonful of low fat sour cream and really come undone.

Can you tell this girl loves her food?

Another favorite is a recipe from Brown Girl in Montana… homemade salsa. I made this and knew it was supposed to sit overnight in the fridge to blend flavors, but after all that chopping and dicing, I had to have a bite… or 20, just to make sure it was OK  Holy hell, I may never again buy salsa at a store. It’s more expensive to make but so much tastier and I know every ingredient that went into the food processor. Oh Lawd Jesus that’s some good shit! EN is also a huge fan and I made three batches in three weeks. That’s a lot of tomatoes, baby!

Anyway, I think I’m back now. I have a lot of shit to say. Stay tuned for posts about shaving the legs of a 12 year old. Or my next big thing, growing my own salsa ingredients so I don’t pay out the ass. Yes readers, that’s right, this girl is planting a garden. It will be “totes adorbs” and I’ll love it until I break a nail. 

xoxo

Ice Princess

Morning Dance Party

I've blogged plenty of times about how much I hate mornings. I’m generally all business and no party, kind of like the front view of a mullet-style haircut.

It’s not that I’m angry or grumpy in the morning, it’s more of a “failure to comprehend” type of problem. During the week, I wake up, I get ready for work, I leave for work. There’s no messing around, this girl is on a tight schedule and there’s not big margin for error.

Over the last few months, I've been playing fun music on my iPad in the morning while packing up the girls’ snacks and lunches, and making them breakfast. Sugar is normally still doing her hair at this point, but Spice and I will dance all around the kitchen.

Sugar and her eagle ears hear this going on from upstairs so she’s made a point to get ready faster so she can play along. In addition, she has started setting alarms to music to avoid forgetting to do things in the morning. Kid Rock reminds her to eat breakfast. Hannah Montana reminds her to put her lunch bag into her back pack. The list goes on.

We liked her music choices and started using some of those songs to set the stage for our morning dance party. Now we've gotten to the point where one of us shouts out a song and whoever is manning the iPad plays the request.

Recently, EN was up early enough to see the VERY WHITE (read: lack of rhythm) chicks he lives with dance and sing all over the kitchen. Rather than laugh at us on that day, he decided to join in and dance with us, white man overbite and all.

He was quite pleased to show off his insane dance moves.

He “mowed the lawn.”

He “picked apples.”

He “weed wacked.”

By the time he was done, he was the only one left dancing. No one took him up on his offer to teach his stellar moves. We all just stood there in silence, wide-eyed and watching. I should point out here that while he may have stayed within the beat better than we ever do, his “moves” are as bad as ours.

Spice finally broke the silence when she walked over to grab her cereal bowl, “Well. That was awkward.”

Awkward or not, we continue to sing and dance in the morning… and I find myself functioning, awake and smiling just a little bit earlier than I used to.  

xoxo

Ice Princess

A Random Sunday

I feel as though my girls have grown up enough to the point that the hat I seem to be wearing most often lately is that of a taxi driver. It doesn't happen on a regular basis, but on a day like Saturday, where we had two birthday parties to attend at different times… and presents to buy, I felt like I spent a lot of time in the car.

Of course the day had to start off in Target for the gifts. In the process, I refereed three fights, spent scads of money on household crap that we NEED (does everything have to run out all at once?!), lost my cell phone and lectured the children who were trying to buy stupid crap with their own money. Seriously, if Spice adds one more interactive stuffed animal to her collection, I will lose my shit.

After 11 on Sunday both girls were back home and we had a day with not much to do besides laundry and a little house cleaning. The girls attempted to go outside for a bit, but the weather wasn't overly conducive to bike riding and fighting where the neighbors can hear you. Before long it was drizzling and both girls were back in the house. A perfect lazy day.

We've recently become addicted to shows on Food TV like Restaurant Impossible and Restaurant Stakeout, all to be watched when Cupcake Wars isn't on, of course. So on a drizzly Sunday we parked our butts on the couch and watched random stuff on TV. As we are all somewhat opinionated, we all have something to say about what goes on during these shows.

We would have stayed there all day, but I woke up that morning with a hankering for pizza. I've been doing great with the dieting, but when this girl wants pizza, there is no denying her, or there will be hell to pay.

After EN left for work, we got a few things done and headed out for the pizza I was craving. We went to a local place that EN and I used to go to “when days were old and nights were bold.” It tends to be more of a bar type of atmosphere at night, but I figured we’d be pretty safe at 4 pm on a Sunday afternoon.

As I suspected, there were about six people in the place-watching golf, a mellow day all around. Our usual table was available and we quickly ordered as I knew exactly what I wanted. I’d been dreaming about that pizza all freakin’ day!

I would have expected that we would have eaten our meal and left and no one would have noticed our presence. However, we had an awesome waitress who really went out of her way to make sure the girls had fun.

I never really allow the girls to have soda, but when we go to this place, I do let them share a Sprite. I asked to have a cherry added to each of their glasses and the waitress overdid herself by adding a shit ton of cherries to each AND the shot of grenadine to turn the Sprite into the favored Shirley Temple. Already my girls fell a little bit in love with the waitress.

The girls mooched a couple dollars off me to go play songs on the jukebox with the promise that they would play a song for me too. Suddenly the volume skyrocketed and I’m hissing at the girls to leave the volume button alone.

The waitress said, “Oh it’s not them, it’s me!” And Call Me Maybe is blasted through the restaurant.

Two biker looking dudes at the bar start dancing and singing the song to each other.

A lady at the bar starts dancing in her seat, hollering that this is her favorite song.

And the waitress handed my girls a stack of cash because she liked their taste in music and wanted them to choose a few more songs.

Our pizza arrived and we ate and sang along to a bunch of popular favorites by Bruno Mars, Blake Shelton (the ONE song they played for me) and a whole bunch of singers and bands I've never heard of. We chatted and laughed and no one had time to remember to fight or to complain about not being hungry, a very rare occurrence.

The point of this post? The point is that in the grand scheme of life, this was a quick weekend and really, “nothing special” happened that will make us remember it forever. It struck me then, and still sits with me a few days later, that a fun few hours out doesn't require a ton of planning or a lot of money. The dinner out cost me a whopping $22, but the fun we had together (and with the others in the restaurant) was priceless. 

xoxo

Ice Princess

Chubby Chicks: Weeks Ten and Eleven

And here I fell off the planet again. Not going to lie, the dental work I had done two weeks ago today kicked my ass. I am going to taunt the Gods in Heaven by saying that I’d much rather endure pregnancy and childbirth again before enduring another “measly” four hour appointment at the dentist.

I still don’t feel right and it’s been two weeks. I recovered from c-sections faster than that!

On to the big news of the day, or the big news of the last two Thursdays.

Week 10: Down 3 pounds (over two weeks) for a total loss of 13.8.

Week 11: Down 2 pounds for a total loss of 15.8.

That’s right, I’m about to go buy my THIRD bracelet.

I’m feeling good about this and I find myself treating meals differently. I plan ahead more. I make allowances for when I know I’ll be around good food/drinks… I’m cooking healthier foods. I've learned to roast vegetables and just eat mass quantities of those because they have ZERO points.

I even lightly breaded and baked eggplant for my own white trash version of Eggplant Parmesan.

I’m trying so hard to make healthier decisions every day, but you know what? I miss bread, potatoes, pasta and chips like nobody’s business. And you know what else? It’s true that one can still enjoy these foods, albeit in smaller quantities, and lose weight. I did some good eating on Easter, but managed to reign it back in for the week and still managed to lose weight.

Just when I get really good at this, I’m going to plateau. We all see it coming, yes?

My euphoria has ended because I surfed the internet while typing this post. I was curious about what my ideal weight should be and it came to my attention that I’m not even halfway there on this journey. Damn it all.

Slow and steady wins the race.

Slow and steady wins the race.

Repeat for infinity…

xoxo

Ice Princess

Under the Influence

There will be no Chubby Chick update this week. I skipped the weigh in and I have a VERY valid excuse. Yesterday, I started my HOLY FUCKING EXPENSIVE time at the dentist’s office. As a reminder, I broke two teeth in January and they were deemed “unsalvageable.” I decided to go with permanent implants and just work one step at a time over years, to maximize my dental insurance benefits.

The only thing that bothered me about this dentist is that he declined the medication that would put me out for the procedure. He promised I would be ‘very comfortable’ and gave me a prescription for Valium for the night before and some for the morning of the procedure. I can drink beer like a champ, but medications knock me on my ass. I agreed to his plan. Boo highly recommended this guy after all. And Boo is the straightest shooter I know.

I took my medication on Wednesday night and the second dose Thursday morning. EN drove my loaded ass to the office and we were told again that the procedure(s) would take 2 ½ hours, but they blocked out four in case they ran into problems.

If you’ve ever met me, you KNOW I’m the gal that will cause problems and the appointment lasted the full four hours. There was an issue with the extractions-they shattered and had to be pulled out piece by piece. I was there so long that a potty break was required, Novocain shots were refreshed and I was given an oral painkiller during the procedure. I am hazy on the rundown of all that went on, but I believe that I had two teeth extracted, posts drilled into my jaw for implants and maybe bone and skin grafts and a whole lot of stitches. I’ll clarify everything on Thursday when I go for follow up.

Through it all, I listened to the dentist banter with his assistant and put in my two cents whenever I could. EN said that he could hear me laughing from the waiting room. Who laughs at a time like this?

We were given a care package which included a bunch (five) of prescriptions that we were told to have filled right away. Since I was still feeling pretty grand, we stopped at the Rite Aid in our town. We dropped off the prescriptions and walked around the store for a while.

I should mention here that I’m pretty frugal and only buy what I need. I don’t browse much, so this unexpected time in a store threw me for a loop. I was tanked and decided to SHOP. Some of our purchases included a birthday card for Sugar that we thought was cute because it has a dog that looks like one of ours in it. Mind you, we’ll forget where we put the card as her birthday isn't for a month and a half. I also perused the wine section and selected a bottle, because with all the medication I was getting, I’d SURELY need a bottle of wine. And really, who doesn't buy wine at Rite Aid? Then I came across these bad boys in the Easter aisle:

Yes, that’s right… an elephant and a frog that make noises and POOP Easter eggs. Could anything be funnier under the influence than pooping frogs and elephants? Then I remembered the lady in the dental office suggested ice cream, so I was off to check out the variety of ice cream. Oh look, it’s buy one, get one free. It sure as hell better have been because that ice cream was $6.50 per gallon.

Halfway through the ringing of our ginormous purchase I decided I had enough and demanded the car keys. I stumbled out to the car and waited for EN who quietly loaded our $100 purchase into the back of the car. Jesus.

By the time we got home, I was in severe pain so EN sorted out my prescriptions and doled them out to me like he was a doctor. It became quickly obvious that I couldn't take care of myself, let alone our girls, so he called in sick to work. Champion caretaker, y’all. He got me ice cream, made me soup and fed me medication at the appropriate times.

Today I’m still under the influence of some pretty good shit but I’m getting my sass back. I lectured the boy on how the mugs should be placed on the mug tree. He reciprocated by telling me exactly how the silverware should be placed in the dishwasher. I probably get even more indignant after ingesting codeine, so I said, “Are you lecturing ME?!” and he pointed to the mug rack and said, “Payback.” I attempted to make the point that the mug rack is aesthetically pleasing but the dishwasher doesn't fucking matter. Even the dogs rolled their eyes.

I’m still loaded to the gills and resemble a half a chipmunk. I can’t bear to look in my mouth but I can feel the stitches with my tongue. I consider myself lucky that for right now, I have the means to fix this issue and someday my mouth will look and feel so much better.

But I’m even more thankful to the guy that ran me around town yesterday, then today did endless errands to pick up books from the library and ingredients from the grocery store so I could make something that didn't need to be chewed… as an extra bonus he stopped at McDonald's both days and got me my beloved sweet tea. Granted today, he got himself REAL FOOD, which he feasted on before getting home. I SMELLED it on him

Payback for my sassiness, I’m sure. 

xoxo

Ice Princess

An Unorthodox Hairstyle

I need to preface this story to let all 22 readers know that I am NOT making fun of religion, or hairstyles worn by people that belong to specific religions. I am not overly religious by nature, but do respect those that have their beliefs as long as they aren't shoving their information down my throat. I am not poking fun at anyone, I merely am pointing out a similarity between something I saw at my own home and something that truly exists.

So no haterade, m’kay?

A few months back Sugar had a Winter Concert at her school. The timing was terrible as Spice had spent three days home sick from school. We decided that EN would call in sick to work so he could attend Sugar’s concert. Of course my heart was broken as I never miss such an event.

While I cooked dinner, Sugar went upstairs to ready herself for the concert. She’s 11 now and would like to be in charge of her hairstyle and attire. I reminded her that she had the required outfit (white shirt, black pants) ready to wear.

She was upstairs for a long time, then finally appeared as I finished dinner. She came into the kitchen holding her head really still, obviously afraid to move and ruin the hairstyle that she worked so hard on. EN and I just looked at each other and tried not to laugh. As gently as I could, I touched her hair and offered to pull some of it back. Wrong move, mama. The girl came unglued and snarled and jerked away from me, “What’s wrong with my hair?!” I tried to tell her that there was too much pulled to the front and she hissed at me and told me I had no idea what I was talking about.

Before I could stop the words from coming out of my mouth, I said, “That’s the hairstyle that male Orthodox Jews wear.” As we don’t have many of the Orthodox faith around these parts, she had no idea what I was talking about, so I googled a picture and showed her.

Picture lifted off the Internet. 

She laughed and denied the similarity and sat down to eat dinner. I tried again to offer assistance, which she declined. Then she got mad again and said, “My favorite one of my friends wears it like this all the time!! What would you say to her?” I told her I would ask her friend if she converted.

She’s my girl and started to see the humor in the situation but still wouldn't change things up. So I offered to play Adam Sandler’s “Hanukkah Song” as dinner music. I offered to change her name to Veronica like the girl in the song. At this point, EN was about to burst out laughing and left for a different part of the house.

She laughed about the song and we joked through dinner, but she steadfastly insisted that her hair looked wonderful. So she and EN left for the show with her mass of Orthodox curls.

A few minutes after the concert was due to start, EN texted and said, “Not sure what happened but her hair is fixed.” Before long they were back home and I asked what happened to her hair. She said that it didn't look right so her friends fixed it. Of course little Veronica never came right out and said that her mother was right!

Fast forward a few months and we laugh occasionally about that night. Sometimes we’ll even sing a line or two of Sandler’s song. If she’s cranky, she’ll tell me I’m not funny and I assure her that when she’s 22 she’ll look back on this and agree that the hairstyle didn't look quite right.

It was one of those parenting moments that left me confused. I knew that her hair looked awful, but I also knew that she loved it. I am always afraid that the middle schoolers will jump on her and laugh at her. I tried to protect her by using one of the few tools I have, a sense of humor.

Yet another instance that will keep me from being nominated for Mother of the Year.

xoxo

Ice Princess