I’m a stress eater

31 08 2008

Right now Jeff is packing for his work trip (I’m not allowed to reveal the destination of this trip (I got in BIG TROUBLE for doing so last time he went away), but I will say that as a result of this trip, he’ll receive a month’s hazard pay, which TOTALLY calms my already jacked up nerves, RIGHT?) and I’m sitting on the couch. Eating. (The last leftover roll from dinner.) And thinking about what I’ll eat next. (String cheese? No… Junior Mints? Nope, finished those off last night… Brownie? DING DING DING.)

Um, yeah, I’m a total stress eater.

I’m completely dreading this week. I know that if I can get us out of the house at least once a day for the next 5 days, it’ll go by somewhat faster, so I’m planning accordingly. Even if we only get out to Target one day, that’s enough. And since I just happen to be in need of book #2 in the Twilight series, well, a Target trip is definitely in our future. (Might as well go spend all that hazard pay he’s gonna take home.) I’ve also decided that we need to kick this potty training thing IN THE REAR. Ethan had one of his most prized possessions (Geotrax Grand Central Station) taken away this morning for Poop Mishap #3 in as many hours, without so much as TRYING to use the potty. It will be returned to him when he at least starts ATTEMPTING to not poop in his underpants. I also made a lovely little chart, upon which he gets to place a sticker for every time that he uses the potty. There are ten sticker spots, and when they are all filled up, he will get something AWESOME and COOL (to be determined at a later date) (but not to exceed $5 in price) (you can buy Awesome and Cool for 5 bucks, right?), and then we’ll remove the stickers and start again. I’m also going to go back to taking him potty every half hour. Which is to say, I’m going to be spending all day every day IN THE BATHROOM. But darn it if I don’t have this boy at least IMPROVING by the end of the week. That’s all I’m asking for, some improvement.

And maybe another box or three of Junior Mints.

Sidenote: Jeff, who is still packing, just walked by and said, “Hey, do you want me to take the camera with me?” “Uh, are you going to use it?” Jeff: “I don’ t know.” “Then NO. Thanks, but I don’t really need another 4 pictures of a hotel room that could just as easily be the EconoLodge down the street.” I would TOTALLY give up the camera for week, if he’d actually use it. But I’m no fool. He won’t.

This has nothing to do with anything, and I’m too tired to cleverly transition to it, so just pretend I was talking about phone calls in the last paragraph: last week I noticed I had a missed call on my phone. I didn’t recognize the number, and they didn’t leave a message so I figured they’d call back and forgot about it. A day or so later, I noticed I had another missed call (I lose my phone a lot), same number, same deal. The next day, I actually had my phone on me when the call came in, but I sat there going “Who could this be, that keeps calling and not leaving messages?” for so long that by the time I’d decided to answer it, they hung up. This happened like 5 more times over the next few days. It was starting to really creep me out. I hate talking to people- even people I know really well, even family– on the phone. I have no idea why this is. So you can imagine how little I wanted to answer this strange call from a stranger who refused to leave me messages. It got to the point where my phone would vibrate, I’d see the number and immediately find something to do that would keep me busy so that I could justifiably avoid answering. Finally it rang yesterday, and I just about screamed, yelling something about my stalker to Jeff. He forced me to answer the phone, and…

…it was the Washington Post. Informing me that I could now receive the Post weekdays for the same price I was already paying for the Sunday edition. And did I want to let this opportunity just slip by?

I said yes, I did, and to please never call me again. Or to at least leave me a message the next time I avoid answering the phone, for the love of sanity.

One more thing that has nothing to do with anything: they might punch each other in the face a lot, but MAN, are my boys adorable or WHAT? You know, when they’re not, ahem, pooping all over the place. And punching each other.

Oliver’s thighs: MEATY. You’re hungry now, aren’t you?



One response

1 09 2008

Oh, I’m going to eat those legs, alright!

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