Get In My Belly!


What a difference 4 months can make!  Documenting your progress with pictures is so important, even if you are the only one that ever sees them.  You might not notice any changes over the course of a month, which might lead to discouragement or a sense of failure and disappointment.  However, when you put a picture side by side, a month apart, you might just amaze yourself!

I’m so very late with this post, I meant to post last Tuesday…but life.  Better late than never though…right? We started homeschooling my 11 year old son 2 weeks ago, and I’m still trying to figure out both our schedules, but that’s a blog post for another time.  In my blog post, Believing Is Achieving, I disclosed that one of my major goals for 2017 was to plan and prep meals more consistently and eat out less.  So far so good, but the year is young.  One of the products I purchased for myself that has been a game changer in our household – meal prep containers.


Seriously, these cost me $20 for a pack of 20 and they have been working awesome for us.  My husband can pre-pack his lunches with either leftovers or I prep some meat and veggies for the week.  It makes it so much easier to grab something healthy for lunch or snack and resist the temptation to eat out because I’m too tired or busy to cook/make something.  I ordered mine thru Amazon, but I’m sure you could find them anywhere.  I prefer the 3 way containers, but they also come in 2.


I can’t stress this enough.  If you remember nothing else that I ever say, remember these 2 things:

  1. Throw out your scale!  DO IT!
  2. EAT EAT EAT – stop dieting

I’m an emotional eater. I eat when I’m upset, bored, lonely, happy, angry, etc… You get the picture.  I shared with my nutritionist that I don’t actually remember the last time I was truly HUNGRY.  Dieting just made me feel deprived and angry.  Angry at what I perceived to be my failings.  Anger that I couldn’t be the kind of person to eat whatever I wanted, never exercise and stay magically thin and fit.  Anger led to binge eating, losing control and hating myself.  A vicious cycle I couldn’t seem to break.  One of the key things my nutritionist and therapist taught me was that food isn’t inherently good or bad.  It’s a mantra I live by now.


It’s about choices.  Some foods are better for you.  They have better benefits.  I feel better when I eat them.  Sometimes you just need that slice of cake or that piece of pie or bowl of ice cream.  My life is now a series of choices.  I know that an apple is better for me than a ding dong.  I know I need to fuel my body.  Once I changed my mindset, and food wasn’t a series of things I wasn’t ALLOWED to eat, my eating habits improved.  Improving my eating habits, filling my plate with nutritiously dense foods, fueled my body in ways that I could FEEL.  I found myself with more energy, both physical and mental.  My moods improved.  I wasn’t constantly filled with self-loathing.  I didn’t feel like a failure when I reached for the mega-stuffed Oreo.  I enjoyed the heck out of that Oreo, but I stopped at 1, instead of eating 6 or more.  I started to learn to love myself.  It’s a process, one in which I’m still evolving.  I’ve found new confidence and joy in my body and what it can do now that it couldn’t do before at almost 300 pounds.


I’m willing to put myself out there and be vulnerable in sharing my journey.  If even one person understands that they are not alone, that I understand how they feel and that I am here to inspire, motivate or just love them through it, then putting myself out here – the good, the bad and the ugly – will have all been worth it.  My goal is health.  Healthy looks different on everyone, and I think that is beautiful.  I think YOU are beautiful.  I don’t have a goal weight.  I just have goals.  Society doesn’t dictate what beautiful means to me, I define it for myself and I embrace every scar, every stretch mark, every fabulous flaw because it’s the roadmap in my journey, in my beautiful life.

So what do I eat?


A big part of my daily nutrition comes in the form of Shakeology by Beachbody.  I usually drink one as my afternoon snack.  The long hours between lunch and dinner are my most vulnerable.  If I’m going to reach for the Oreo or bag of Doritos, it’s during the interminable mid-afternoon.  I prefer the chocolate flavor.  It curbs my cravings, gives me a boost of energy to finish the day strong and fills me up till dinner.


I also enjoy fruit, granola and trail mix for my snacking pleasure.  I’m a creature of habit, so I’ll typically have the same breakfast, lunch and snacks every day for weeks until I get bored, then I change things up.


This is an easy one, because I eat the same thing for breakfast every morning.


And coffee.

Lots and lots of coffee.

And eggs.  I love eggs.

I vary what I put in my omelets, but I love me some eggs for breakfast.  I always add spinach, I’m not a huge vegetable lover, so I get them in however and whenever I can.  I might add turkey sausage or diced ham.  I’ll throw in some peppers and onions, a little cheese, different kinds every week.  Sometimes I add an avocado or fruit on the side.

And yes I eat the whole egg.  Yolk and all.


Part of my meal prep for the week is grilling some chicken for easy go-to lunch choices during the week.


A recent favorite of mine is the turkey, avocado and red pepper roll up!  So good!  And no I’m not anti-bread.  I LOVE bread.  It’s important to meet my protein goals every day, and that’s harder to do if I fill up on carbs, as lovely as they are and as much as I love them.


Another lunch favorite is the quesadilla.  I eat this one quite a bit, it’s easy and I love a hot lunch.  I’ll add grilled chicken, spinach and peppers/onions to a whole wheat tortilla, sometimes throwing in some cheese or avocado.  The quesadilla is great because it’s a versatile choice, there are so many directions and iterations you could try to shake things up if you get bored easily with food.



First, I will share my list of favorite websites that I use religiously for recipes/ideas when I’m not using Pinterest.  Pinterest is pretty much my one-stop shop, but these websites are beautiful and have deliciously wonderful recipes.


Our favorite dinner last week came from How Sweet It Is.  It wasn’t too difficult to make, I did throw in some cheats and I was able to prep most of it ahead of time to reduce actual cooking time.  It was a hit with the family, even the man-child, and he’s impossible to please these days.  It tasted even better reheated the next day.  I can’t wait to make it again!


I mean seriously, how good does this look?  And I’m usually a Pinterest fail, so when my food (or project) comes out actually looking very similar to the fancy picture, I’m super stoked! Even admiring how pretty it looked, I was still afraid to taste it.  I would have curled in the fetal position, crying for days, if it hadn’t tasted as good as it looked.  Luckily, it did!  Here is the actual recipe.  I didn’t grill corn on the cob and shave it off, that’s too much work for me.  I just bought the Del Monte Fire Roasted Corn (yes, in the can).  I made the bacon ahead of time, crumbled it up and stored for later use.  I also kept the grease in a bowl and reheated it for cooking per the instructions.

A small serving of this tasty dish filled me up, but not in that uncomfortable food baby belly wear elastic pants kinda way.  I love it when a recipe comes together from kitchen to table like this one did for me.  It’s just the best feeling, especially when you aren’t the best cook in the world, like myself.

Anyway, I hope some or all of my suggestions work for you and your family.  Meal prepping really does help control poor eating habits and choices, not to mention all the money we’ve been saving not eating out.  It takes a bit of organization, planning and prepping but it’s so very worth it.  Try it!

It’s a game-changer, I promise ❤

Oh, A Pinteresting We Go-Go

I’ve been trying to organize my Pinterest boards lately, because I can’t find anything.  I have vague recollections of pinning good stuff about chicken or pork or brownies, but when I look at my boards, all I see are 1,300 pins of potential failure and disappointment.  I can’t remember which ones I’ve tried and failed.  It’s easy to remember which ones I’ve replicated successfully because the answer is zero.  One of my friends suggested that I create a board of attempted pins so I can clear out the epic failures.

The only reason I keep pinning is because my kids hate it when I attempt to cook, and making their lives miserable is one of the bonuses of parenting.  Plus, I am sick and tired of cooking the same crap over and over and over again.  Pinterest recipes come with pretty pictures of divine culinary delights.  I yearn to break out of my cooking rut, at least until I try, and then remember that I hate cooking and I am spectacularly bad at it.  I’m terrible at following instructions.  I skim instead of read recipes and inevitably end up missing some crucial step in the process.

So it is with dread and fear that I walk into the heart of my nemesis…the kitchen.  The first thing I notice is that the dishwasher is duct taped shut which means the dishwasher has been run and not emptied which means a sink full of dirty dishes, not exactly conducive to the whole cooking experience.  The question is can I ignore the mess and fix dinner, or do I delay the nightmare by confronting the other nightmare that is my kitchen sink?  My husband will tell you that I am a hoarder in training.  This may or may not be true, but one thing I will admit freely…I have a pretty high tolerance when it comes to filth and clutter.

IMG_0978IMG_0979Sorry for the blurriness but I thought to preserve the gag reflex of my reader by not publishing the gory details with vivid clarity.  I’m pretty sure that was dried tomato soup, but maybe it’s vomit…I don’t know.  Right now you know without a shadow of a doubt that you are never inviting me to a potluck.  It’s okay.  I hate potlucks.

I’ve decided to make Stuffed Shells for dinner.  The pinner of this recipe swears it’s easy peasy and yummylicious.  We shall see.  If anyone can screw it up, it will be me.  When it comes to cooking, nothing is dummy proof.

We start with 1 lb of ground beef.  I really hate touching raw meat.  I tried to be a vegetarian (even a vegan) for a while, but apparently, I don’t hate touching meat bad enough.  I missed my meat.  Just not touching it.

IMG_0975Of course, I spend a few moments making fun of the packaging promises.  Not only is this meat “natural” but it’s been vegetarian fed.  I mean, I’m happy my cow has been fed no additional hormones and no preservatives have been added to my beef, the last thing I want is for man-child to get man boobs.  Correct me if I’m wrong but aren’t cows herbivores?  So claiming my cow was vegetarian fed is redundant, right?  These questions are rhetorical, please don’t corrupt my carnivorous nature with horror stories of animal cruelty and vile feeding practices.  I read Jonathan Safran Foer’s book “Eating Animals”, as I mentioned above, I was a vegan for about 6 months.  I’m also a quitter, and I grew up with those “Where’s the Beef?” commercials.  Once I’m done reading the packaging and wishing I had gone into Marketing, I dump it into a pan.

IMG_0976My dog smells bloody red meat, and throws herself at my feet in what I can only interpret to mean she is literally starving and will die if I don’t feed her this raw and delicious beef.  I know some people believe in feeding dogs these raw, natural diets, but my dog gets kibble.  It’s expensive kibble, but kibble nonetheless.  Our dog likes to let us know, frequently, what complete failures we are as doggy parents, little does she know, We’ve plenty of experience with human children, so we are immune to her cries and pleas.


Still…I have to admit this is pretty pitiful, so I get her a treat.  Well played dog…well played.

So, I push the meat around with a spatula and eventually it looks like this:


Are you looking at my dirty stove top burners and silently judging me?  Well, don’t expect an invite to dinner anytime soon then!

I drain the meat, and place it back in the skillet/pan or whatever you call it and put it on the back-burner for now.  Now, I fill up the BIG pot with water, which I never measure, just fill up about half-way and hope for the best, and set to boil.

IMG_0980Yes, that is two cans of Pam you see back there.  We like to open new stuff before the old stuff is completely finished.  It’s how we roll.  The other stuff is just there so it looks like I’m a master chef.  Pretty sure most of it has crystallized at this point.  Actually, I really shouldn’t have those bottles near an open flame…probably.  Anyway, back to my riveting cooking tale…

The water is boiled and it’s time to add the Jumbo Shells.

IMG_0981Target brand.  Oh yeah.  And look!  There are stuffed shells on the front of the packaging.  Mine won’t look like that though, so don’t get excited.  I boiled the shells for about 5 minutes, so they’d still be kinda hard.  The pinner suggested it was easier to stuff them that way, boil them any longer and they might be too malleable.

While the shells were boiling, I combined a container of ricotta cheese and a package of mozzarella cheese.

IMG_0982IMG_0983IMG_0984I usually buy the Philadelphia infused shredded cheese by Kraft, but I sent my husband to the store, and he came back with the regular, boring kind.  If this recipe is a fail, I’m blaming the sub-standard cheese product.

Oh and I almost forgot to pour the sauce in with the beef!  No, I don’t make my own sauce.  How cute that you would think so.  We use Newman’s Own, it’s the only kind my kids will eat, and believe me I’ve tried every kind.  It’s not too chunky or tomatoey.


The directions called to place the meat mixture on the bottom of my baking dish, but I put half on the bottom and then the saved the other half for the tops of the shells.  I worried if it was on the bottom only, then you wouldn’t get a meat filled bite every time.  Of course, because it was meaty sauce, it didn’t really spread over the top that well.  I sort of felt like my shells were getting meat bombed, and some of them did kinda break, so maybe next time I’ll remember not to improvise and just follow the frickin’ instructions.

Anyway, now it’s time to stuff my shells.

IMG_0987I had to dig around and find the opened ones.  It was hard to pry some of those suckers apart without breaking them.  By the time I was done, I felt like I’d violated my food, and maybe I should have a cigarette or a stiff drink.  Poor shells.  Is cooking always this sexual?  Or has my pining for Adam colored my every thought and deed?  My husband chooses that moment to walk in the kitchen, takes one look at me, and immediately gets defensive…”What?” he says.

I shake my head, and go back to stuffing my shells…muttering under my breath.  Husband decided to come around the kitchen island and hump my leg.  And you wonder about my Adam fixation?  I’m thinking of making hubs watch Magic Mike as punishment.  If you’re going to hump me, at least look like  Channing Tatum while doing it.


But I digress…where was I?  Oh right, stuffing my shells.


Not bad right?  I’m thinking about patting myself on the back.  Maybe this dinner won’t completely suck.  Then I lob on my meat torpedoes and some more cheese, because you can’t have too much cheese right?



I bake it at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes.  In the meantime, I put the leftover shells back into boiling water, and serve those with plain sauce for those kids of mine that won’t eat food that’s been “mixed.”  Freaks.

Here is my finished Pinterest “Stuffed Shells” recipe:



I served with Garlic Bread and Salad.

Hubs said it was “good, so good.”  He gushed and made ridiculous mmmmm mmmm noises, so much that I was forced to doubt his sincerity.  Bastard.  Why can’t he just give me honest criticism or feedback!  I’ll just fix it again if I think he likes it, so it serves no purpose to pretend.  There is enough leftover to feed him all week, so if it’s still in the fridge by Friday, I’ll have my answer, and then he’ll pay.  Oh, he will pay.

I liked it, but it’s that time of month, so if it’s not moving, I’m eating it lately.  Run, kids, run.

Happy Funday Sunday!


Who’s the Crazy Woman? Oh, That’s My Mom….

image courtesy of

The first day of school dawned bright and beautiful as I lovingly packed lunches, woke up sleepy yet excited children and prepared to enjoy my day home alone.  Then I realized that was my alarm going off, and I actually needed to get up and get these hoodlums ready for school.  Packing their lunches?  I haven’t packed lunches for the girls in years.  As soon as they were old enough to reach the pantry shelves, they were responsible for making their school lunches.  My 16-year-old daughter’s good friend pointed out the other day that her mother still packed her lunches, cleaned her room, did her laundry…

daughter:  yeah, mom…did you hear that?!

me:  Yes, and she will suck at life and still be living at home when she’s 30.  Some day you will thank me.

My daughter’s friend laughed…like I was joking.  I wasn’t.

I still pack man-child’s lunch because if I didn’t, he’d go to school armed with cookies, cheez-its and soda, and I’d be the mom that feeds her child processed foods and sugary beverages.  Which of course I don’t.  In public.

There was one major back to school incident that occurred with one of my daughters.  It’s still a bit of a hotspot, so we won’t poke this wound today, maybe tomorrow.  Suffice it to say, a hanky posing as a skirt, a great deal of yelling and crying, and an instrument were involved.  Everyone got out alive.

I baked some cookies and planned this dinner from a recipe I got off Pinterest.  I made a Breaded Parmesan Chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans.  I should admit the mashed potatoes were courtesy of Country Crock.  I’m a terrible cook.  I really am.  I try, and sometimes I hit a home run, but the problem is I don’t enjoy it.  I blame these children.  They hate everything.  I will swear I have the pickiest eaters on the planet.  How many times a week can you do grilled chicken or pasta?  I mean, my palate is DYING.  My parents would find all this amusing, because I’m pretty sure I invented the word picky eater.  But whatever, that was then, this is now and I NEED MORE VARIETY!  While my chicken is cooking, my oldest daughter comes down (weak with hunger) and starts raving about what an amazing cook her friend’s mom is and how she made the most amazing dinner in the history of dinners.  As she is listing off these culinary masterpieces, I am completely dumbfounded.  NEVER and I mean NEVER would my daughter have eaten any of those things if I had fixed them, even if I was an excellent cook.  Then my meal comes out, and she sniffs at it (actually sniffs it) and says “this looks like something I should Instagram”.  Not because it was a beautiful work of culinary art but because all of her hundreds of Instagram followers deserve the right to know the horrendous food choices forced upon her.  I mean she could tell this story later about how I tortured her with bad food, but wouldn’t it be a better story if it came with a picture.  Apparently, my cooking should be used as a Survivor or Fear Factor challenge.  Ingrates.

Oh, and I forgot to take 1st day of school pics.  <ugh>  I’m ready for this day to end.

Enter Tuesday.  I get up, head to work.  My workday is hectic, pretty typical after being out for 7 days.  I decide to leave a little early, so I can buy school supplies on the way home.  Naturally, they need these supplies ASAP.  Now, I need to veer off just a bit here, and talk about my car.  We haven’t been able to use the air conditioning because it makes this horrible sound, but since I’ve been off work, I haven’t really thought about it.  Today, when I leave work, I get in my car and it’s at minimum 1,000 degrees inside of it.  I roll down the windows, but I’m already melting.

Enter rainstorm.  It is now 999 degrees inside my car, and I am faced with the mother of all choices.  Either get soaked by rain or sit in a bath of my own sweat.  Awesome.  Our oldest daughter drives the “good car”.  Sadly, the “good car” is held together by duct tape and zip ties, but it runs great and the air conditioning works.  I’m not driving the “good car” today.  For your listening pleasure, I actually videotaped the dulcet tones emitted by my lovely car.  In the first 18 seconds of the video, you just hear the normal squeaks my car makes without the air on.  Be grateful, my windows were up while I was filming this, so the sounds are somewhat muted.  The sound you hear at about 20 seconds, that’s not a turbo jet engine on the tarmac of an airport, no that’s my baby with the air on.  Lovely, wouldn’t you say?  You might even catch a glimpse of the crack in my windshield.  That just gives my baby street cred.  She’s got buck, lots of it.  In a street fight, hand to hand combat, my car wins.  Every freaking time.  Make sure you turn up the volume.  This is great and you don’t want to miss a second of it!

So, now that I’ve impressed you all…let us move on.  Finally the rain stops, I arrive at Target (normally my happy place, but today it becomes the tenth circle of hell in Dante’s Inferno).  I am armed with the school supply list, let’s do this!

Dear Target,

Couple of thoughts for you.  The GIANT pencils you have hanging from the ceiling which read “we have it all”, yeah…you might want to take those down.  I realize you have Christmas decorations to put up and whatnot, but when I enter a store which promises to have it all, I kinda expect you to have it all.  Just sayin’.  The sign doesn’t say “we have it all until the first day of school and then good luck even finding a pencil unless your kid can write with the one hanging from the ceiling”.  Also, in the future, can you separate the 5 star 5 subject notebooks from the Mead 5 subject notebooks because apparently schools are brand specific now.  While I am hugely impressed by your ginormous display of pens made up of recyclable materials, I have 4 kids and spending $4 per pen is a bit ridiculous, so if you could keep a few Bics lying around that’d be great.  If you saw my car, you’d understand.  Oh, hey I made a video of the cool sounds it makes, wanna listen to it for shits and giggles?  What, no time?  I understand.  No need to look at me like I am a crazy person.  Jeesh.  Oh, and I hate to be picky, but do you have just regular #2 pencils.  Yes, I see the mechanical pencils, and those are great, but I’d really just like the original #2 pencil.  In fact, it looks like the ginormous one you have hanging from the ceiling but kids can actually write with them.  I’m sorry?  What’s that?  Oh, I might have better luck if I go to the office supply aisle.  Of course, naturally, why didn’t I think of that, I must have gotten confused by all the “BUY YOUR SCHOOL SUPPLIES HERE” signs.  Thank you, thank you so much.


Deranged Mom of Four  

This day is almost over, I just have a school meeting at 7pm and then I can crawl into my bed.  Did I mention that I also have this pain in my elbow which according to Dr. Google is either Tendonitis or Cancer.  It’s been lingering on for over 2 weeks.  I should probably get it checked out when I go back to the doctor about my hair problem (see earlier blog titled Sasquatch).  My husband takes the “vintage, I’ve got character” car (we don’t like to use the word bad or old, car’s have feelings too) to pick up middle daughter, and naturally she is running late, so I barely have time to make it to my meeting by the time he gets back.  Oh, and I need gas.  Or at least I think I need gas.  The gas gauge is broken, so it always reads either full or half a tank.  The car is pretty much already a crap shoot, so I track the mileage and try to fill it up every 200 miles.  230 miles if I’m feeling lucky.  Even though I am going to be late, I have to stop for gas.  I fill the car up, and then the little pay outside screen tells me I have to see the cashier for my receipt.  I didn’t ask for a receipt.  I am running late!  I don’t need a freaking receipt, but what if there really is a problem with my charge, and I drive off and didn’t really pay for my gas and then the police identify me using the little cameras and they arrest me as I sit in my school meeting in which I am the VP of Volunteers!  I go inside the stupid gas station, and explain the issue.  She asks me the number of my pump.  Uh, I don’t know, so I point to my car.  Here is the rest of the conversation:

Me:  It’s the silver car (and I point to it)

Cashier:  #3?

Me:  I am not sure the number, but it’s that car right there, the silver one.

Cashier:  At the end?

Me:  No, the silver car.  Right there, and I point again.  (IT IS THE ONLY SILVER CAR)

Cashier: <stares blankly>

Me:  Oh good grief.  I stomp back outside, read the stupid number of my pump and stomp back inside, and say #6.

Cashier:  Oh, the silver car.


I finally arrive at the meeting, 15 minutes late.  My hair is a rat’s nest all around my head because I have to drive with the window’s down and I’m sweaty, my face is red, I think I smell like gas, and I have spinach in my teeth, but I don’t realize this until later and no one bother’s to tell me.


Humpday has to be better, right?  <sobs pitifully>

Tis the Week Before School…

I clearly see what I did wrong now.  Hindsight is truly 20/20.  If I could get a do-over, I would take it.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  Obviously, I wasn’t thinking.  On a side note, I found out that banging your head against the wall burns 150 calories per hour.

What did I do wrong you ask?  (Suspend your disbelief momentarily that I could EVER do anything wrong, it happens people…occasionally, but don’t tell my husband, because he hasn’t figured it out yet and once he is on to me…well, let us get back to the story shall we?)

I decided to take 7 precious vacation days from work the week BEFORE school started.


Ok, maybe not gasp.  Perhaps, the buildup was a little much, I mean it’s not like I sold a kid on the black market or anything.  However, I did burn 7 precious, hard to come by, vacation days to do what exactly?  Sunbathe nude in Bora Bora? (it could happen)  No.  Ride an elephant on safari in Africa?  (not sure if that could actually happen) No.  Surf the waves in Australia?  (dude, I could learn to surf.  Probably) No. Eat my way through Italy?  (now, this I could do) No.

No, I decided to have a stay-cation.  You know, where you stay home and do all those projects you’ve pinned on Pinterest, play games with your kids, celebrate the local flavor by visiting shops, restaurants and attractions you never seem to have the time or energy to conquer.  You devise a workout plan Olympians would envy.  You plan all the amazing meals you are finally going to have time to cook for your family, and they will all fawn over you in adoration and appreciation.  You will don the cape, and take over the world and it will be awesome!  I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR!

Image from

Reality punches me in the face and laughs at my pain.  Reality is a bitch.  I hate her.  And she’s thin.

I was maybe half a day into day 1 of this glorious stay-cation when the error of my ways led a parade down the middle of my living room, complete with floats, brass instruments and confetti.

Since taking an actual vacation wasn’t going to happen, I should have taken a me-cation and taken off during the 1st week OF school.  You know, when the kids are gone and I have the whole house to myself.  I might not get to bask in the sun on the island of Bora Bora, but I’d get to bask in SILENCE.  Oh, sweet silence.  The mistress we almost never see.

I love my children, and I enjoy them immensely (most of the time).  I just would have preferred to enjoy them between the hours of 2:45 and bedtime.

So, here it is Sunday, and I have only 2 precious days left.  I thought I would spend this time to reflect on what I did actually accomplish off my stay-cation dream list.

image courtesy of

I made the crock pot pulled pork BBQ recipe.  I pinned some gardening ideas.  Ummm.  Yeah, that pretty much covers it.  Wanna see a pic of my awesome crock pot BBQ dinner?  Sure you do.

Oops, apparently one thing I did accomplish was to clean out my iPhoto library.  It was really good.  Very porky and BBQ-y.  In a crock pot.  Yeah.

Remember my blog about the airport security scan, and how I was all concerned about the underwire poking out of my cheap bra?  My bra lost its battle this week, and for some reason, I took a pic of the underwire, so you get that instead of gourmet crock-pottery.

Bra Underwire

Next stop on the stay-cation highway:  CLEANING

image courtesy of








<racking brain>

<still thinking>

Oh I know!  Technically, I didn’t actually clean or organize anything during my fantasy stay-cation, BUT I did take a picture entitled He Said/She Said.  I took a comparison pic of my husband’s side of the closet and my side of the closet.  The purpose of this pic was to display my husband’s annoying OCD-ness.  He color codes and organizes according to sleeve length.  I mean, come on people.  A picture is worth a thousand words.  Judge for yourself.

I think it’s pretty obvious here who has ISSUES.  I was going to organize my side in a gesture of goodwill, but I decided that sometimes in life you have to stand up for what you believe in.  I took a stand.  I’ll hold for applause.  Thank you.  Clearly I am the one truly “living”.

My husband’s favorite hobby is to point out what I like to call my “little quirks”.  For example, not throwing away my Splenda packets after I fix my morning coffee, instead placing my stir spoon on top of them.  I’ve explained how I’m saving the environment, not to mention the counter, by recycling the packets instead of using a napkin or paper towel and saving the countertop from coffee stains.  He just doesn’t appreciate me.  I also leave Pepsi bottles lying around with like 2 swallows left of Pepsi in them, because who likes backwash?  Umm, no one.  At one point, I counted 6 bottles, which would have been a great start to my Pepsi pyramid, but Mr. Buzz-Kill threw them away.  So, when the opportunity presented itself, and I could extract a little revenge AND a blackmail photo, I took it.  Voila!

Peanut Butter

How ’bout we finish one jar of peanut butter before opening another one!  I didn’t buy Peanut Butter at the grocery store because after looking in the pantry, I see 3 jars.  Like any rational person would do, I assumed that 2 jars were unopened.  I was lucky I had enough peanut butter for my snack!  I only get 1200 calories a day asshole, how about you NOT EAT ALL MY PEANUT BUTTER or TELL ME WE NEED SOME AT THE STORE!  He does this all the time.  He will run out of shaving cream, and use mine.  Then he will buy him some new shaving cream, and when I go to use mine, it makes that spitting noise and 1 minuscule drop comes out.  I MEAN, I DID SHARE MY “HAIR” ISSUES, DID I NOT?  So now, Sasquatch has to stomp to the store to buy peanut butter and shaving cream with dirty hair, because HE DID THE SAME THING WITH MY SHAMPOO!

<deep breath>

Okay, I’m all good now.  Got a little off track there.  So, next port at the stay-cation cruise is…

Image courtesy of










Local Flavor:  I spent a morning at the Department of Motor Vehicles.  If that doesn’t scream local flavor, I don’t know what does.  I could spend an entire rant on my experience at the DMV alone, but I still have a bit of recapping to do, and this blog doesn’t need to be 5,000 words.

We went to “Meet the Teacher” night at man-child’s school.  We met his first grade teacher.  Here is a pic:

Isn’t she precious?  She mentioned that she went to the same high school as my daughters, and I couldn’t help thinking “what, last year?”  I mean, she is very young.  Her last name is Potter, so another really fantastic side dish of stay-cation goodness was listening to my son walk around all week yelling the phrase “Harry, Harry Potter” in a British accent, and playing the Harry Potter Puppet video over and over and over again.  If you don’t know which video of which I speak, pop on over to my friend Mr. Google and watch it.  It’s a gem.  Thankfully, he didn’t speak to her in a British accent, but her first words upon meeting him were “Oh, I’ve heard all about you.”  She tried to save it by adding “and your blue eyes.”  What followed was really awkward silence.  I look to my husband for a save, but he’s just standing there drooling, and later had the nerve to comment that “teachers didn’t look like that when I was in school.”  Ugh.  My son is 6 and he’s already got a reputation.  I’m so proud.  I fully expect to be able to wallpaper his bedroom with the “I made a sad choice” letters that come home after a spectacularly awesome day of mischievousness and mayhem.  Maybe I can get some ideas from Pinterest.

Afterwards, we continued reveling in local culture by attending my youngest daughter’s Marching Band concert.  Our junior also had a concert, at a different high school at the same time, so hubby and I had to divide and conquer.  Since I was on a stupid decision marathon, I decided it would be a marvelous idea to take man-child with me.  Other than complaining about his hunger pains (apparently sno-cones aren’t filling) and breaking out the dance moves when the band played “Moves Like Jagger”, he was actually a very good boy.  At least if I ignore the pelvic thrust/hip gyrating move he pulled on the poor lady sitting next to me.  She was a very good sport.  God bless her.

There is one photo to commemorate the evening.  A pic of my husband learning how to march with our daughter’s instrument.







He did hear there might be a performance by parent’s sometime during the event, but I’m pretty sure he thought something more along the lines of an impromptu reenactment of the film  “Magic Mike”, so he wore his rip-away tank top and velcro jeans, much to his daughter’s embarrassment.  Not to worry, we’ve got her in therapy three times a week now. She will be fine.  Eventually.  With medication.  I’m only joking.  Partly.

I did work out.  Once.  Unless you count reading as a workout.  Eye strain probably burns calories.  Breathing through your nose burns calories, and I did tons of that in an effort to keep the lid on my temper.  So, Olympians may not be jealous, but I give myself a Gold Medal for stay-cationing with awesomeness.

I believe that wraps up stay-cation week, which is like shark week but with kids not sharks, which is actually kind of the same thing now that I think about it.