Hey, Amanda, this one's for you.

The rest of you will enjoy too. Look what came out on DVD this week. Oh, DES. We should feel badly about making fun.

He ain't heavy. He's my brother.

I feel bogged down right now. It's midterm at school, and I am the consummate good student. It is just such a burden to want to do well. I don't feel like practicing essays of English Literature; although, I have enjoyed the class. I don't feel like studying body parts. I don't think I should have too. I should get a free pass in any type of A&P; I'm a friggin mortician. It all just seems like drudgery at my age. Why can't I just settle for the C? I am irritated beyond words. I'm irritated at the direction of this blog.

My break from it all is when Ethan does or says something really cute or smart. He's dressed up as Mario right now with his daddy's hat and a tool belt made by his Grandma. He's walking around the house humming (very loudly) the Mario theme and jumping with his fist to the ceiling. He says that his Daddy is Luigi and that I am Princess Peach. Cosmo is Toad, and Frodo is Baby Princess Peach.

So, I don't wanna be melodramatic, but I'll risk it. I have to remember that I am going back to school for him. I want to be able to spend time with him. With my previous career, I worked ALL of the time. Of course, I want to be a good example, and at four, he can tell you what essay and paper and test and homework mean. So, I'm proud of that. But, I have to worry that he may see the stress involved in what I'm doing now. Do you think he will one day say, "Why bother?" Having a kid, and knowing that his longterm memory is now close to in place is terrifying. I raise my voice at him sometimes, and it breaks my heart later. I hope he doesn't remember that I was busy with schoolwork and got frustrated with him. I don't think my parents worried too much about these things.

Excuse me. What's big?

So, I went for my well woman exam today, and with that comes the breast exam. You ladies know. My arms were pinned behind my head, and Dr. Li squeezed around. He said with his Chinese-English, "Boy is getting big." I said, Dr. Li, what exactly are you talking about? He said, "I said you're boy is getting big." I forgot I was wearing my necklace that has a picture of Ethan on it.

Let me just tell you now. If my boobs did get bigger, I would cut them off myself.

Did you know Melissa on The Bachelor had a breast reduction? I'm getting one, I swear, after I have all the kiddies we want. I would be afraid they would mess up the milk ducts accidentally.

Mosey Gone Wild

So, we're back, of course. And, we came back with a story for ya. Our last night in our little cabin, we opened a bottle of Mountain Valley Winery's Mountain Berry and went out to the hot tub. I skipped a few steps and went out wearing only a towel. Jer, the more tasteful of our pair, went out in his boxer briefs. He decided he would later need a towel and went back into the cabin. He came back over to the hot tub where I was making some headway with my glass of wine. He says, "I'm pretty sure we're locked out." Uh huh. Locked out...bare-assed naked. Obviously incapacitated, I drowned myself in another glass of wine while Jer set out in his underwear and too small towel and the twenty-nine degree weather to the main office.

He went down the mountain to the office that was CLOSED. He memorized the emergency phone number posted beneath the office hours and set out to find anyone that could help. It was Valentine's night, so finding someone home proved to be a special challenge. He hiked up (and I mean UP) the mountain and found the lights on at a cabin. He had to walk by two windows and was certain he'd be shot. He knocked on the door to discover that the only people, naturally, that would be in their cabin on Valentine's at 9 p.m. rather than at a pricey restaurant would be a family. There he stood in his underwear and too small towel and asked to borrow their phone. The lady on the other line said it would be fifteen minutes, and she'd be there with a spare key. So, back down the mountain he goes. The guy didn't offer to give Jer a ride, and he wouldn't have asked. Like he says, "No one wants ass all over their car seats, and for all this guy knew, I was naked under the tiny towel."

So, Jer gets back, and I'm still naked in the hot tub. (Where else would I be?) I shared with him all of my plans to fix our problems that I had dreamt up while he was on his nature hike. We could break the glass out and pay for it later, or we could wait at the cabin nearest us until our neighbors get home and ask for a bedspread and camp out. I had planned to fashion a tent out of the hot tub's cover and was this close to making a fire Survivor-style in the grill.

The woman with the key got there in our estimation of about six hours later, thirty minutes in real, clothed and sheltered, time. The mood was gone, mainly because I was convinced I was going to be raped while Jer was out on the mountain. We went back inside, finished the wine with some delicious Adobo cheese and went to sleepytown with SNL in the background.

With a story like that, there is not much else to tell. We had a great time, and it was super sweet of my hubby to get me away for a few days. Today, it's back to Wii Fit and Weight Watchers.

You can go here to see some more pictures.

Pancake Pantry, Here I Come

We're here in Linden, TN to drop Ethan off. Then, we're fast on our way to our VD Mosey. We will be celebrating this, the massacre holiday, by staying in a cabin in the mountains of East Tennessee. There will be wine, and there will be hot tub.

My mom is snoring in the other room. When she comes to our house, Jer says we're running a "hotel for bears."

I digress...
I am super-duper excited by the opportunity to put my mind toward something other than school. Naturally, the excitement about destination luvin and massage oils and the wine again has got me by the pants.

So, off we go, TALLYHO!

Spittin Up, Pissin Up, Bleedin Blood, Bleedin

Maybe that's an exaggeration. But, I can't seem to spell today, and against my better judgment, I have begun sentences on at least two occasions with conjunctions. It just looks sloppy.

We're going to blame all of this on the onset of what seems to be "The Worst Cold in the History of Man." Seriously, dating back to caveman days, nothing has come close to this virus-run-rampant. Sparing you the gory, mucousy details, I can tell you definitively to stay the eff away. Sidebar: I hate it when people call it the "crud." That is one of my hundreds of pet peeves. Although, it does seem that it adequately describes my current condition; it just reminds me of middle-aged Southern women that paint their too-long nails red and wear too much expensive jewelry and keep their hair styled (not at all in the endearing way you most likely have dreamt up).

I hate to write such a poo poo post, but I need you all to feel sorry for me. I won't settle for less. I want you all bringing me get-well fixes and praying for me over candles. Because (there I go again), Jer is taking me on a VD holiday overnight trip. I'm not one hundred percent sure, because I'm not a guy, but I really think he would rather make out with one of those East Tennessee bears than a mucousy mother of his only child. 1.)He runs the risk of becoming sick., 2.)It's just not very sexy.

Sexy is what I always try to be but fail at miserably. I really don't try as hard as I should, and it's so tragic. Maybe I take for granted that the fire and passion and other Harlequin words are still there in our marriage. Maybe after almost eight years, it will always be there? That's naive. I'm naive. Maybe subconsciously, by the grace of God, I work on it. Something's working.

I'll tell you what's not working properly: my nose, my trachea, my eyes. I remember Amanda singing, "Dr., my eyes have seen the years...."

Tiny Victories

Today was a long and exhausting day. I subbed, and now, I have assignments due for school and no time to read the books that I want to read and no time to do my Wii Fit exercise program.

Light at the end of the tunnel: I went to buy groceries, and God heard my prayers. My cart was one that exhibited the grace and precision one would witness at a big city ballet.