10 Minutes

I can't tell you how many times in a day I'm like, 'H/Monkey, gimme ONE MINUTE.  Please.  I'll give you $10- just let me get a glass of water/eat this one thing/pee/write a blog entry bashing my in-laws, etc...

Obviously, the last one is what I just begged Hillers. J took Monk to have her blood drawn really quick (state-mandated blood test, nothing serious) so I have way less time than I need to tell you about the horrors of Xmas for 3 days and 2 nights at the in-laws.

• As I believe I told you before, J & I boycotted the country club from hell this year because (a) we have 2 kids under the age of 2 (b) it's filled to the brim with people and screaming children and (c) it's a buffet.  I can tell you what the scene would've looked like: J frantically getting 3 plates: 1 for me, 1 for Monk and 1 for himself.  I'd be standing against some wall furiously rocking Hill*ry, who would be crying.  While Monkey didn't mind chaos and unfamiliar places, my sweet Hill*ry is a homebody.  And a diva.  Homegirl will scream.  I would've left hungry and J would've left STRESSED.  So we said to GoodSIL, 'You guys go, we'll hold down the fort at home.  No worries.'  She was like, 'No!  None of us will go then.'  Fine.  Little did we know they would attempt to make the fanciest meal in the world, get in a huge fight over potatoes and filet that would pretty much ruin the entire dinner and have MIL explain to us repeatedly that, 'It would've been much easier on them to just have gone to the country club.'  Okay.  For starters, it would've been much HARDER on us to "just have gone to the country club."  We didn't prevent anyone from going.  In fact, we wanted peace and quiet.  2nd of all, not to bring us down to the level of farm people, but why didn't she prepare a lasagna ahead of time and just throw it in the damn oven? Why do we need to have surf & turf? Especially if you generally do not like cooking and are high strung? Which brings us to bullet point numero 2
• I hate when people have you over and then give you a guilt trip about it.  When I have people over, I cook if I feel like it or, if I don't, I order a pizza.  I don't cook and then b*tch about it and slam down plates on the table and make people feel unwelcome.  Afterall... I invited them here.  If I don't feel like getting plates, I say, 'Get your own plates.  They're in X cupboard.'  If we run out of milk I say, "Sorry, we're out of milk."  I don't scream at J or look accusingly at my guests to see who was the a-hole who finished the milk.  During dinner both nights, there was plate slamming by GoodSIL and a lot of looking around by the rest of us to try to figure out what happened.  Then there was a lot of scrambling to "help" - but this is a risky move bc who knows if GoodSIL is the "get out of my kitchen" type or what.  I had a screaming baby in my arms- I couldn't help with anything.  Plain and simple.  I just popped another Xanax and minded my biz.  Did I mention I also woke up on Friday morning w an ear infection? So, yeah, overdone potatoes weren't on the forefront of my mind. 
• GoodSIL planned for pictures the next day.  She called both J & I and said, 'Dress casually.  No white. Have the kids wear their nicer play clothes'  To me, "casual" means dark jeans and a nice shirt and heels or boots or whatever.  The kids wore nice sweaters nice pants- no dresses or anything.  We walk downstairs at 9:30am on Saturday morning to find everyone dressed to the effing nines. I mean- not a pair of jeans in sight, my niece-in-law wearing a dress, the boys in church clothes.  In fact, everyone was in church clothes.   This raised my blood pressure.  I was annoyed with GoodSIL for the first time in my life (other than when her kids are threatening the physical well being of my kids).  Why would she change the rules like this? WTF? Why did she say dress casually and then put on an evening gown?  Ugh. I said to J, 'I'm so annoyed.  Our kids look like ragamuffins.'  I love J.  He goes, 'Whatever. [Niece] is wearing an ugly, awkward dress.'  Statements like that make me fall in love with him all over again.
• We had originally planned on going to that uninspiring children's service that we go to every year that I hate.  After scrambling around for an hour trying to get ready (did I mention that one of the showers broke so 5 of us had to share a bathroom?) with a screaming baby, everybody else had left for church and J looked at me, went to the fridge, pulled out a beer and said, 'I'm done. We're not f*cking going.  Do you want a glass of wine?'  I said 'Yes' and thus began the most peaceful hour of our Christmas weekend.  Everyone else arrived home and the wine began to flow freely (this was before GoodSIL got mad about potatoes and threatened to pull an EvilSIL and ruin Xmas for everyone).  MIL referred to someone as "damaged goods" and EvilSIL said, 'Mom, please don't refer to X like that.'  MIL then started crying and said to me, 'I'm so happy that I have so many people to tell me what I say wrong!' And then J's dad said something to change the topic, at which time MIL said, 'Nobody cares what I have to say!'  The combination of Xanax and wine started talking and I said, 'That's not true.'  I should've been honest and said, 'That's not true- I love listening to the bullsh*t that comes out of your mouth and then detailing it all on a secret blog which has pretty much become dedicated to b*tching about you.'  but I wasn't that drunk!  :)    Anyway, she got over it. BUT...
• She apparently has been taking jabs at me to Evil SIL who had bought me a cashmere cable knit turtle-neck sweater but MIL said it was "too country club" for my "casual" style.  In fairness, I don't like turtlenecks and I never wear them and I do typically roll over to their house in sweatpants on a Sunday night for dinner, but.... f*ck you, right?  She also has been trash-talking how I give my kids tap water.  Umm... we use a Brita thankyouverymuchasshole.   A few weeks ago she came over and said to me, "I hope you don't use tap water in H*llary's bottles.'  I responded, 'I ONLY use tap water.'  She doesn't get my brand of humor.  In fact, I made a comment about how after J farted in the car, we didn't speak for weeks because it smelled so bad.  Everyone laughed and she got very serious and said, 'When did you start talking again?'  It's statements like these that make me wonder if she is a little bit slow. 
• In short, I'm completely shocked that the a$$hole du jour was GoodSIL and NOT EvilSIL.  In fact, EvilSIL was on her very best behavior and I think it's because she started internet dating.  I still generally prefer Good SIL over the evil one because her brand of crazy is more predictable.  I mean, she just loads her plate up too high with things to do and expectations and then gets stressed and acts like a jerk.  EvilSIL has "issues" (perhaps why she didn't want her mom to refer to anyone as "damaged goods") that make me nervous and make her irrational and unpredictable.

Merry Christmas

Above are my 2 sweet peas.  Evidently being the little sister involves an inevitable invasion of personal space.  I never had a sister- so this is all new to me.  But if Monkey wants to pick Hill's nose, Monkey picks Hill's nose. 

In other news, I FINALLY got on meds to deal with the anxiety I've been struggling with since Monkey was born.  I'm on Lexapro and while I was so so so skeptical because I was convinced that Lexapro was for depression when I'm not depressed at all, just super anxious (in fact, my MD gave it to me and I didn't start taking it until I spoke with a therapist who was like 'GO ON THE MEDICATION.'). But, my friends, it worked!  In fact, it worked so well that me and my therapist have nothing to talk about anymore but we've become such good friends that I don't want to hurt her feelings and tell her that I don't need her anymore, so I keep going.  Last week we spoke about the royal family for 45 minutes and then during the last 15 minutes we talked about her life: her sons, her previous career in nursing, her family background, etc...  In fairness, I only have gone to her 3x and I go once every 2 weeks.  But I do feel like we're pretty good friends.  When she breaks up with me on a professional level, I hope she asks if we can still hang out from time to time.

The other reason I have been absent is because I started working out again, which freaking blows.  I decided that just because I am 30, doesn't mean I should stop giving up on having a nice a$$. 

Also, remember my new year's resolution to get an EZ Pass? Still don't have one.  But I've made very good on my resolution to host more social events.  We have had people over like every weekend for the past 2 months. 

Tomorrow Monkey and Hill wake up to Santa at our house and then we are off to celebrate Xmas with the in-laws.  Ahhh!!!

Tales

Regarding who, you ask?  WHO DO YOU THINK? 

Where to begin..  Well, for starters, I turned 30, which warranted a birthday dinner at ye old in-laws.  It was fine- some sort of breaded chicken hoo-ha, broccoli (my personal favorite) & some sort of rice concoction.  The in-laws are big on this type of meal: one over-sized piece of meat (pork, chicken, steak, fish), salad and a starch (usually rice).  I am not a big meat eater and I have a thing against rice.  Total filler.  If we're going starch, let's go all out and have pasta or a baked potato.  So basically I just like the salad or veggie she cooks, so long as it isn't leftover.  Leftovers are fine, but once it hits the 24 hour mark, hell no.  I've seen her serve breaded eggplant yum yums like a week after cooking them.  All soggy and stuff.  Also, she makes soups with meat they don't finish at mealtime.  So whenever you are over there at lunch she will say, 'Do you want soup?'  And at first you will think, 'Oh, tomato and grilled cheese? Delicious!' But then after awhile you realize that the soup is homemade and suspiciously comprised of leftover meat and a bag of frozen "soup vegetables."  My true understanding of the ways of my MIL occurred when I saw her- one Xmas Eve- pour the cocktail sauce leftover from the shrimp tray BACK INTO THE COCKTAIL SAUCE JAR. 


ANYWAY, the meal seemed fresh and innocent enough.  The cake was fine too.  The card was very sweet.  All was going suspiciously without a hitch.  Until we started to leave.  MIL said, 'Oh, wait!  We forgot your present!'  I figured it was a book she had been reading about this woman who survived all sorts of crazy stuff in Africa and then went on to be really important.  She was telling me about it in November and she got me a book last year, so...   But a clothing box appeared before me.  I opened up the box suspiciously, assuming I would simply return the contents for store credit and found...............................USED SWEATERS.  No joke.  The one had tags on it, which initially threw me off, but was way out of date- it was like polyester and smelled very distinctly and strongly like it had been in a closet at my in-laws' house.  Their house smells very strongly of something that I cannot pinpoint (it's not bad or anything, just distinct).  The 2nd sweater was a Mr. Rogers sweater and had no tag on it even and had hairs on it as if it had been worn and also smelled very much like my in laws' house.  No gifts receipts were included.  My MIL said, 'I got them both at the same store, but I took the tags off the one sweater!'  I thanked them and felt a little confused, but hadn't really put all the pieces of the puzzle together at this time.

J said to me in the car, 'How about those ugly sweaters my mom got for you.'
I responded, 'I think they were your sister's.' 
He said, 'No way.'
I said, 'Yes. Smell them.'
He said, 'You're right.'
I said, 'Should I ask for the gift receipt to call her out on it?'
He said, 'No.'

I went on the An* Taylor website and, naturally, the ugly sweaters were not to be found.  Also, I recall her telling me a few weeks ago that she had been cleaning out Evil SIL's closet and she had many nice An* Taylor clothes that hadn't even been worn that I should look at.   Instead of realizing that I didn't take a look because.. I DON'T WANT THE SWEATERS, she boxed them up and gave them to me for my birthday.  Cheapskate.

Anyway, many people have been asking me how I feel turning 30.  This is how I feel: I wish I had a different job.  That's it.  I don't feel particularly old.  I don't feel particularly young.  I feel exactly the same way I did when I turned 23 and was working as a legal assistant for a solo practitioner in NY, which is unhappy with the way I am currently bringing in money.  Instead of taking from that: 'Gee, maybe the law isn't where it's at for you...' I decided to go to l*aw school!  Haha  Sigh.  Nah, I was bored there too.  There wasn't much work to do and my boss was always trying to get me to stay late and was creeping on me.  His breath smelled.

Stretch Marks

For starters, I've been busy painting.  And the rest of the time I've been tending to a 3 month old and an almost-2 year old.  Hillster is being quiet and sleepy right now and I have some stuff to do so I've got to make this quick.

This morning after feeding the baby, she fell asleep and I looked down at my boobs.  I examined the old stretch marks from 18 years ago (I believe I first got them in 6th grade which would mean I was 12.  I will be 30 in a few days, so..).  These days since I'm pale as a ghost you can't really see them, but if I pull at the skin and lift it, I can see that the elasticity is gone in those now-silver stripes.  It's so f*cked up- especially since I never ever had big boobs.  Like, my B cups must have developed overnight to get stretch marks like these.  I also got acne.  So stretch mark- ridden boobs and a face full of acne = recipe for high self esteem, no?  I feel  lucky that I didn't get stretch marks during either pregnancy.  My SIL (the crazy one) got them all over her belly and she looked like a tiger.  I do not like her, but boy do I know the woes of stretch marks.  She probably had them all over her boobs in puberty but, unlike me, she is about a size DD cup.

I do not remember the moment I noticed I had stretch marks, but I do remember looking down at my basically flat chest and thinking, 'WHAT THE F*CK?'  They were ALL OVER.  Dark purple lines.  There was no internet for me to Google what was going on (although I do recall knowing they were stretch marks) and I had no clue how long they'd be there.  At 12, I wasn't even close to not being prude, so I wasn't concerned about a boy seeing them.  Nor was I wearing revealing clothing or bathing suits or getting naked with my female friends, so this burden was pretty much mine to carry alone in secret.  I assume that other girls around that time also had stretch marks, but there was no support group and I also assume they were as embarrassed about their stretch marks as I was about mine.  I never breathed a word about them to anyone, nor did anyone breathe a word about theirs to me.  How nice would it have been to have known that you weren't alone? That these would fade and that for generations girls in puberty had been looking down at their awkward and sh*tty bodies and assuming that nobody else was dealing with something so atrocious.  I remember on a field trip in 6th grade, the class slut was sitting in the row next to me on the bus (she was in the three-seater).  2 guys who were both her boyfriend for the day were on either side of her.  She had her shirt up and her bra off (or she just wasn't wearing one) and the 2 boys were taking turns feeling her boobs as she sat there and the whole class was looking on.  All I could think was, 'She doesn't have stretch marks.  I must be the only one.'  I felt pure envy. (Disclaimer: Not at her ability to be a huge whore.  Just at her clear-skinned chest.  I've never been one for group s*ex, I suppose.)

I don't remember when exactly they faded to the beautiful Christmas-y silver lines that they are today.  

I've read that stretch marks can be genetic.  The type of skin, I guess?  With 2 daughters, I am totally going to make sure they know I had them and that they fade.  And then I will apologize profusely for giving them these genes.  If they don't get them, I will ensure that they count their lucky stars.