If at first you don't succeed...try, try again!

And much to my chagrin I am not the Falafel King. There was an epic falafel fail at the Leonard house this evening. It was heart breaking. And several of the falafels didn't make it. RIP little chickpeas! Did you know that if you don't follow the recipe exactly that your falafels will disintegrate into nothing - literally, just a floating mass of crumbs when you drop them into hot oil? Well, it's true - I witnessed it tonight. And then, if you think that you can switch the little buggers to a pan to "pan fry" them, thus saving the hard work and fresh ingredients you've slaved over, you will end up burning those suckers, setting off the smoke detector and pouring yourself a glass of wine as a consolation. At least, that's what I did. Correction, my hubby poured me a glass of wine after I almost cried because my falalels were dying, and my pita bread broke in half. I just might need a nap. I'm just saying... But here's the kicker. I posted about this fail on facebook and a friend noted that maybe I didn't have enough water in my recipe. Genius! Who knew? And when I asked him to send me his recipe he told me that he uses a mix - as in "just add water." Wuh???? Cheaters! I feel like taking it out of a box defeats the purpose of vegetarian cooking. Call me a snob but I want to open my can of beans and crush them myself. :) Ha! It's ok, there will be a rematch. The falafel doesn't win.

The Year of Cheese!

Today I am...

Eating Mrs. Richardson's Caramel right out of the jar with a spoon. Hey, it's Fat Free. That's the same thing as good for you, right?

Cleaning out the clutter. Trash bag? Check! Recycling bin? Check! Goodwill pile? Check!

Cuddling a lot with a boy who's getting two molars at once. Poor guy! I talked Dad into picking up ice cream for him. It's definitely for the boy...not for his hungry prego mom...I swear. Ok, it's for me, but he will benefit.

Looking at my still decorated Christmas tree and embracing the fact that it will probably be up into February. It's how we roll these days.

Really missing a lovely glass of wine. Being pregnant or nursing for the better part of two years has really put a damper on my becoming a wine connoisseur. Give me a few months...I'll be boozing it up again in no time. :)

Making New Year's Resolutions.

And all I've come up with is...wait for it...

Learn to make amazing home made macaroni and cheese.

It's lame, I know. But it's so irritating to me that this is the one dish that eludes me!

2012 is the year of cheese!! And mac! And wine! :)

And that's about all I'm doing.

I haven't showered.

I haven't washed my floors.

I haven't done a single load of laundry.

Hey, it's only 3:30 pm. I have plenty of time for all of these things.

And I may even take the time to do all of those things...right after I take a nap.

Ho-Ho-Hose

I'm usually a very private person.

You won't find me sharing personal information with co-workers, acquaintances, or the bank teller (as noted in a recent post).

But for some reason this blog makes me want to share.

And today I'd like to share with you about maternity compression stockings.

Remember that one time when I told you I had to order a pair (or two) of these babies?

Yes, well, they arrived.

They're here, they're here - get the door!!

A disturbing, but true fact?

I was actually really excited to get them.

Don't judge me - I've been in pain.

And they're just like nylons, right?

Wrong.

Allow me to bring you into my world for a moment.

It'll be fun, I promise.

Ok, first I'm going to need you to find a 9 year old girl and steal her tights.

Pink, white, black, whatever she's got. Rip 'em out of her hands and run.

Now...and this is essential.

Throw them in the dryer on the high setting and shrink them so instead of fitting a 9 year old, they'd maybe fit a 5 year old.

Or, if you're super efficient, steal the tights from a 5 year old.

But don't blame me if she cries.

Next, tape a balloon or a beach ball around your midsection so it's nice and tight - preferably pushing on several internal organs, and sure not to move in all the commotion that's about to ensue.

Good, now take your little girl tights, and gather them all up so you can shove your foot into one side.

Start with the left or the right - it's really your choice - it's all going to turn out the same in the end.

Finally got one foot in? Good for you. Try to pull it up past your calf.

At this point, if you're not laying on the bed, out of breath and ready to give up and wrap your legs in saran wrap for the next 8 weeks than you're doing better than me.

If you do manage to pull those tights up past your thighs, over your hips and past that balloon or ball you've adhered to your belly they're not going to stay there.

I'm just saying.

Gravity will take over. And about the time you are walking into work they're going to start trying to escape from your body...traveling south with such speed you'll be sure your pants are about to slip right off you.

But you're still going to have to act like a grown up, pretend you're not walking around with your crotch around your knees and discreetly hike up both pants and tights while acting like you're merely adjusting your waistband.

Good luck with that.

There, now you have walked a mile in my tights...er...hose...er...stockings.

Whatever, at least you can walk a mile.

I'm just going to stay here on the couch in my granny hose, dreaming of the days when I'll be cute again.

When instead of compression hose I can reinstate the fishnets.

Ah, the good old days.

Happy New Year's everyone!

May 2012 be filled with fishnets!!

Reality Check

It's about that time to break forth the rhythm and the rhyme.

Oh, wait, no that's not right.

It's about the time for New Year's Resolutions!!!

This year I'm not going to get all crazy and make 60 resolutions.

Maybe just like 32.

Nah. Nothing like that either.

Originally I was going to jump on the 32 Before 32 bandwagon and make a big list of things I want done before my next birthday.

But guess what?

In 2012 I'm going to have another baby.

My toddler is going to learn to run and say no.

My dog will continue to be neurotic.

And our two really furry cats still haven't mastered sweeping up their own hair - no matter how many times I show them how with the broom and pan.

And did I mention the laundry? More laundry than I can fathom. Where do all these clothes come from? It can't be from me, because I can never find anything I want to wear in my closet.

Dirty laundry fairies.

So, this year I will be realistic instead of optimistic.

Because optimistic gets me a big list of unchecked "to dos" and we all know how I feel about that!

For today, let's look back at my 2011 list and see how I did. That should make for a nice reality check and a good reminder while this year's list needs to be paired down.

And I'll be back in a few days with a SHORT list of resolutions for the big 2-0-1-2.

2011 Resolutions: Reality Check
Fails: Running a 5K, date nights, Beth Moore Bible study, taking a dance/cooking/crafts class, painting my nails, finish a craft project once a month (I got all the way to NOVEMBER without screwing up - so close!), use an Advent calendar for Christmas, volunteering (what's that?).

Successes: Losing the baby weight (and then I added another baby and MORE baby weight), practicing generosity, sending birthday cards (I was MUCH better than I have been - I'm counting that as success), eat more vegetables (mmmm...broccoli), take more pictures, start a new blog (well, hello there!),

*Side Note*
I'm feeling awfully pregnant these days. That'll happen when you're past the 30-week mark. But today I'm having a wardrobe malfunction that isn't making the situation any better.

I'm wearing a cardigan that will not, for any reason, or with any persuasion, stay buttoned.

I've buttoned, and buttoned, and then cursed some choice words while buttoning some more.

And all to no avail.

My belly is just too much for those tiny white buttons and they are crying out in protest.

I guess I don't blame them.

It's probably time to retire this MATERNITY shirt to the "too small" pile.

That pile is getting a bit too big for my taste.

And so is my rear.

Happy Holidays everyone! Have a safe and healthy New Year's!

Let's Pretend

I'd like to say a few things about this week.

1. Bank tellers at Wells Fargo have a special skill for irritating me.

Why must they know what I'm doing with the rest of my day or over the weekend?

Or if I'm using the money I'm withdrawing to go Christmas shopping?

For some reason (call me crazy) I don't think that's any of their business.

Let's maybe stick to impersonal banter - like the rest of the civilized customer service world.

I'd be happy to chat with you about the weather, the upcoming holiday season, or our struggling sports teams.

I will not be giving you my Christmas shopping list or a rundown of my weekend plans.

I'm pretty sure my mom doesn't even know those things, teller-boy.

I miss the days of bank tellers who didn't make eye contact, let alone venture into chatty banter with you.

2. Generic sandwich bags are NOT the same as Ziplocks.

Normally, I love me a good generic brand.

I celebrate with the rest of the discount fairies at saving a penny or two.

But, I have found that the generic bags just don't keep out smells/tastes like those Ziplocks.

Little geniuses that they are.

Today was the last straw.

My yellow cake/fudge buttercream sandwich cookie tasted like garlic bread (since that's what it was packed on top of in my lunch box).

That is truly horrifying and completely unacceptable to me.

Pregnancy tastebuds aside - fudgey, delicious buttercream should NEVER taste like garlic.

NEVER.

Protect yourself and your family and buy retail!

And that's the only time you will hear me say that.

Amen.

3. No one is getting a Leonard Christmas card this year.

It's not going to happen.

I have to have peace about it.

And so should you.

Shout out to all the other working mom's who can't get their act together!!

Woot! Woot!

Seriously, I don't have time.

The dog is misbehaving, the cats are puking, the boy is running, my belly's growing, fa la la la la la la!!!

And just so I feel better, here's a little family picture.

Well, ok, you were going to get a family picture, but blogger is not cooperating and it's 9:45 pm. I've made caramels, fudge, 5 pans of pumpkin bread, and packed up Christmas gifts in the last few hours and I'm tired. I'd like to go to bed now and not watch the picture upload spinning thing circle round and round fruitlessly.

So let's pretend together.

Pretend you saw a really attractive family picture - one where we're all groomed and coordinated, and not what it actually was, which is a picture hastily taken at the Mall of America on Halloween night after a long day. :)

Pretend the picture came to your house in a gold-foil lined envelope, with the greeting, "From our family to yours, Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year!"

'Cause I'd do it up real classy-like if I had time.

And a nanny.

And a house cleaner.

And a personal chef.

THEN, I'd have classy Christmas cards.

Until then, feel free to come back to the blog to view Christmas - Leonard style.

There. Now I feel better.

Christmas cards: Done.

Life is Good

Last week I started a new job and I love it!

The people I work with are friendly, funny, and super laid back.

It's a nice change from where I've been the last month.

And there are some bonus features to where I now work.

Let me round out some of my favorites:

The bathroom smells like a Mister Misty Freeze - cherry flavored, I think. Let me clarify - The WOMEN'S bathroom. I will not vouch for the smell in the men's room!

The sensor in the paper towel dispenser (in said women's bathroom) is malfunctioning, making it so you have to lean all the way into the doorway. So there's a good chance I'm going to get smacked in the face by a swinging door for my good hygiene efforts. This is particularly funny to me since my company produces sensors. Ironic.

On my desk I have approximately 50 paper clips, 14 post it note pads, three tape dispenser refills, two computer screens, one stapler and zero files.

But my social calendar is blowing up. I have two potlucks, one holiday lunch, one holiday dinner, a holiday party and 3 paid holidays coming up! Which probably means my rear is going to be doing some blowing up of it's own. Sigh.

I suppose I could exercise some self control and not eat ALL the goodies offered.

But where's the sport in that?

How can I gloat about the amount of weight I lose after the baby if I don't gain any weight in the first place?

That makes sense, right?

In other exciting baby news I found out today that I get to be fitted for the ever stylish, highly sought after compression hose.

They sound sexy, right? Ow, ow!!

Not only do I have to wear them, but I have to be measured for them.

I'm not even sure that I want to know how big my thighs are, I definitely don't want someone else to measure them and then record that number for others to review and assign a size to.

If those panty hose come and they have a size that begins with an X, I'm ripping that tag out immediately and blocking the memory from my brain.

Just one more thing I'm going to hold over my son's head when he's older.

Right along with the amount of time I end up in labor with him, and my never ending supply of gray hair (which I swear has multiplied since becoming pregnant the first time).

I think his high school graduation party would be a good time to bring up these items...along with the naked baby photos.

I'm really looking forward to it.

Wax On, Wax Off

Oh, if only I were talking about waxing.

You know, as in, I am smooth as a baby's butt kind of waxing?

Listen, even my butt isn't as smooth as a baby's butt, let's just be honest about that one!

But oh, I long for the days of manicures and waxing. Time to myself. Feeling pampered and luxurious (still a word, honey!).

No, my greatest luxury in life right now is a pair of velour maternity sweatpants.

They are the only pants that don't cut off my circulation and make me feel like a bratwurst stuffed inside a hotdog.

Nice imagery, right?

Anyway, as usual I've run away from the point.

And by run, or course I mean, waddle.

Back to the point.

Wax on, wax off.

I'm convinced that I am housing within my being the next Karate Kid.

This eggplant sized human, who cannot even open his eyes yet, somehow manages to reach out and punch me with a force that was never achieved by his older brother - bless his heart!

And when I say he is punching me, I am not exaggerating.

I know, it's hard to believe. What with my propensity for story telling and all.

But it's true.

Today, as I walked down the hallway at work, his assault sent me staggering into a wall, grasping my stomach and exclaiming, "Ouch!"

And maybe that was a tad bit dramatic.

But only a tad.

I miss my anterior placenta.

I didn't think I'd ever type those words, but there they are.

And it's true. I miss it's protection. This posterior nonsense is just plain silliness.

I love this boy - and I love that he's so active.

But I don't need to see his little fist trying to escape through my skin - like a scene from Alien.

Settle down in there Daniel-son or I will send the Sensei after you!