Ring Dammit

If anyone is still reading this poor, forsaken blog, I will be amazed. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Let me outline this for you dear interweb machine. We entered the adoption pool at the end of October. It is now July (or will be in a couple hours). THAT'S 8 LONG MONTHS WITH NARY A SINGLE CALL!

"But Lori," you say, "isn't the average wait around 10 months."

Excellent point.

"Haven't placements been slow in general lately?"


Yes, they have. Another good point.

"And shouldn't your focus be on the right match, not the quickest match?"

Enough already. Nobody likes a know-it-all.

I want the right match, really I do. We want a life-long relationship with a birthfamily as much as we want a baby. But may I point out however that this wait has been nearly twice as long as the wait for both Ian and Lillian COMBINED?! So forgive me if common sense has taken a back seat right now as I battle through all of the unknowns.

I'm tossing out a humble prayer request to anyone who is still reading. Will you join me in praying that the right birthfamily and the right baby would come into our family at the right time? And in the meanwhile, grant me patience as I wait. I'm thankful Relay is a week away, work is keeping me busy and Ian keeps me running and laughing all at the same time.

An open letter to moms who bring sick kids to public places

Dear moron fellow mom,

I understand how difficult it is to stick around the house with a sick toddler. Believe me, I do. We've suffered through 2 bouts of croup and the chicken pox in the last 18 months. But the rest of us aren't interested in attending whatever snot-filled germ party your kid is hosting. When I take my kid to a play gym, I expect the other children are healthy. And that their parents are abiding by the simple posted health rules (also known as common sense). So if your kid is sick, for the love of all that is holy, stay home.

Thanks to you I haven't smelled...well, anything in the past week. My right ear is completely plugged. Snot is being manufactured at record-setting rates. And I sound like a four-pack-a-day smoker. Oh and my kid and hubby are suffering with the same bug. Our house may require professional fumigation and disinfection when this stupid cold finally ends.

But hey, if it's more convenient for you to get out of the house and play among innocent children, by all means, don't let me stop you. It's obviously all about you. But be forewarned. The next time my kid has even a slightly runny nose, I'm letting him lick your car door handle.

Cheers,
Lori

Open letter to cranky old ladies

Dear cranky old lady in the adjoining booth,

Let me be the first to acknowledge that my 15-month old is quite loud. He knows only one volume right now and that volume is admittedly deafening. Those are, however, his happy noises. See, aren't they fun? Let me assure you that his UNhappy noises are at a comparable volume yet much less pleasant to hear. And if you continue to give me the stink eye, I will personally see to it that you are treated to a private concert of his unhappy noises.

Sure, it's adorable that you and your sweetheart are sitting on the same side of the booth. But it may have been a wiser choice to opt for the side not adjacent to a rambunctious toddler. Consider that a friendly tip for your next restaurant experience.

I also find it odd that you have chosen to flash me the death glare despite the raucous din from the neighboring party of eight. Since they are discussing social security benefits loudly enough for the President himself to hear, I think it's safe to point out that they are old enough to control their volume. My 15-month old does not have the same skills at his age nor am I willing to gag him.

Let me assure you that we don't eat in restaurants very often (for my own sanity as much as for your comfort). But when we do, we select family restaurants like this one. You know the kind with high chairs and crayons and kid's menus. The kind with a general hum of noises loud enough to conceal the occasional joyous squeal from my child. The kind with understanding patrons who likely have parented children of their own. In fact, didn't I just hear you talking about your grown children? Have you forgotten the whole Toddler Restaurant Experience? Or perhaps your children were polite little angels who only spoke when spoken to.

I am sorry for disturbing your meal and humbly propose a truce. For my part, I will continue to shush him and cover his mouth as any responsible parent should do. For your part, you can just continue to make a production out of turning down your hearing aid.

Yours truly,
Lori

Disillusioned

I am all fired up about this week's "The Biggest Loser" episode. And not in a good way.

I've bored you with my weight loss tales for a year so you know that I've lost over 50lbs by eating right and exercising with fitness DVD's. I have not stepped foot into a gym at all during this time. The only special equipment I've used are hand weights and frankly, a couple cans of soup would have worked just as well. So when the contestants on "The Biggest Loser" were locked out of the gym for a week in sunny Southern California, I didn't think it was such a big deal. Go for a flipping run outside instead of on the treadmill. Fill a couple jugs with water and you've got hand weights. Try some water aerobics in that crystal blue pool. It's not that hard people.

But the contestants were practically crying. Which is fine. They can whine and cry if they want. It's hard when someone throws off your routine. If someone told me I had to workout in a gym for a week, I'd probably whine too. The commute, the germs, the girl wearing perfume and makeup on the elliptical, the communal changing rooms. Eck. But when Jillian, my hero and personal trainer, started whining too, I wanted to slap her silly.

First she complained because she's not an outdoor girl. Neither am I. So she decided to convert the living room into a gym of sorts. Perfect, I do the same thing with my kid's playroom. Move on.

Then she moans about how much she loves her equipment and toys. Mkay...

Finally she starts training her team with moves that were very familiar. Mountain climbers. Jumping rope. Plank stands. All the torture she inflicts on me through her workout videos. I'm thrilled to see other people sweating and huffing through the same moves instead of the typical uber-fit women from the videos.

And then Jillian says this: "I basically did like a horrendous host of fitness videos circa 1980's. But you know, that stuff used to work. That crap." [2:38 mark in the video]

With that, I lost my mind. I forked over my hard earned cash for 10 of those "horrendous fitness videos" that SHE created (none of which are circa 1980's). I workout with that "crap" every freaking day. I lost 50 lbs by sweating to that "stuff [that] used to work." So when a trainer who I respect(ed) starts making fun of those workouts, I tend to get a little mad.

If they are so outdated, why does she make fitness videos? If she loves her toys so much, why does she create video workouts that don't involve treadmills and weight machines? If she is such a gym rat, why does she tell me that her 30 Day Shred workout will "take the place of hours of phoning it in at the gym, if you give me 20 minutes of intensity."

Talk about hypocritical! Grrrrrrrrrr.

What a morning.

It's only 9:15am and already this day has served me a giant crap sandwich. Being the generous person that I am, I thought I would share it with you. If I'm going down, I'm taking you all with me. Haha, just kidding. Maybe.

It all started when I reluctantly crawled out of bed and stepped on the scale. Normally I wait until after my workout to weigh myself but I recently read that the number may be higher post exercise and I wanted to test the theory.

Let me pause to mention that on "The Biggest Loser" this week, a contestant who had immunity gained 2 lbs. Convenient, right? Though she did a commendable acting job, I was convinced that she was water logged for her immunity weigh-in so that she would have better numbers next week. Not a bad plan and I wouldn't blame her a bit.

Okay, enough about her, let's talk about me some more. So I hopped on the scale and through bleary eyes, I was horrified to see the number. I gained 2 lbs?! How is that possible? I redoubled my efforts this week with daily work outs and stellar eating. SO HOW COULD I GAIN WEIGHT? Suddenly, I had a new found empathy for that Biggest Loser contestant. Perhaps she wasn't acting after all. And then my clearly rational mind decided that I must be harboring 5 lbs of...um...pee. Yes, that's the problem, I just need to go potty and work out and the number will be reasonable again.

After visiting the loo, I dragged my pitiful self back to the playroom for a workout convinced it would make the difference. But when I returned to the scale, I found basically the same stupid number. [insert numerous 4-letter words here] My initial response was an immediate craving for potato chips and donuts with a chocolate milk shake chaser. Huh, I wonder how I ended up weighing over 200 lbs? I resisted that temptation but boy, oh boy am I discouraged.

And that's the bread in this crap sandwich. Now onto the creamy middle.

The morning's scale shenanigans meant that I was running late. So I ran out to the car to find the windows were frozen over. I turned on the heater and popped the trunk to get out the ice scraper. Before I got to the ice scraper, I grabbed the paper from the driveway as I do everyday. I toss it onto the porch before I leave for work so that it's more convenient for the hubby. I know, I know, I'm wonderful. Anyhoo, I grabbed the paper, walked over to the porch and gave it a toss. The world started moving in slow motion as the paper flew into the air and ricocheted off the light fixture. My hands flew to my mouth in horror as the globe cover came crashing down. All I could do is shake my head and return inside to get a broom. Did I mention that I was running late?

The final layer in the crap sandwich came shortly after I arrived at work. I screeched into the parking lot, ran to my office, dropped my purse, grabbed my bag and dashed to my first meeting. As soon as I entered the room, my new boss stood, walked around the conference table and quietly asked me to leave. Again. It's a long story but suffice it to say that my work doesn't naturally fit with any one group so they moved me over to report to the HR organization. Needless to say, there is a lot of confidential information passed around at an HR staff meeting. Which means that I am typically asked to leave from about 90% of the meetings. Normally I just shrug and exit without a second thought. But after the earlier blows, this one hurt.

And that is just the first 3 hours of my day. Frankly, I'm a little worried about what more is to come!

I don't know about you but I'm going to have a soda and chips & salsa with my burrito for lunch. Screw it. I need something to wash down this crap sandwich.

If it were up to me...

• ...the first day back to work after a long holiday break OR vacation for that matter would be a half day. We need some transition time! How can we be expected to instantly go from sitting on the couch all day to sitting in a chair all day? How I ask you?

• ...car dealers would be honest. Am I to believe this scenario: 1) Drop broken car off on Monday. 2) Car is diagnosed as broken (duh) and part is ordered. 3) As of Friday, the part still hasn't arrived. The service guy assigned to my car is coincidentally not at work on Friday. 4) Today, my car is magically ready to go. The service guy assigned to my car is also back at work today. Seriously, is that believable? Let me paint the more likely scenario: 1) same 2) same 3) Service guy goes on vacation on Wednesday, meanwhile part arrives. 4) Service guy returns, plugs in part and car is ready to go.

• ...I would not start eating sugar again...EVER. The detox headaches are sooooooo not worth it. My body is still reeling from the holiday binging. Overall it's really not happy with this whole healthy eating and exercising routine but sooner or later, it will have to accept this new reality. I'm in charge Body, do you hear me? Suck it up! You're not getting any cinnamon bears no matter how hard you beg.

That's my top 3 for today, what's yours?

Don't mess with me Jack

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. A white Christmas even! After just a few days of this cold, snowy weather, I'm ready to move on. How on earth do people live with this white stuff all winter long? It's too bad the forecast is for more snow. I guess I can tolerate it as long as it doesn't start messing with some important plans. On Friday, I have a much needed haircut scheduled. I NEEEEEEED this haircut. My pixie do is more like a helmet right now. And more importantly, we're supposed to travel to Seattle and back on Saturday to visit Ian's extended birthfamily. We've really been looking forward to this visit. So Jack Frost had better cooperate. Do you hear me Jack? Trust me, you do not want to mess with my plans.

Crafty toy company big-shots

Remember that scene in "Father of the Bride" when George is in the grocery store ranting over the different number of hot dogs in a package compared to hot dog buns in a package? Let me refresh your memory...

STOCKBOY Excuse me, sir, but what are you doing?

GEORGE I'll tell you what I'm doing. I want to buy eight hot dogs and eight hot dog buns to go with them. But no one sells eight hot dog buns. They only sell twelve hot dog buns. So I end up paying for four buns I don't need. So I am removing the superfluous buns.

STOCKBOY I'm sorry, sir. But you're going to have to pay for all twelve buns. They're not marked individually.

GEORGE Yeah. And you want to know why? Because some big-shot over at the wiener company got together with some big-shot over at the bun company and decided to rip off the American public. Because they think the American public is a bunch of trusting nit-wits who will pay for everything they don't need rather than make a stink!

Aaaaaand, end scene. But not before George is arrested for this rant and learns a valuable lesson. Don't mess with the bull or you'll get the horns.

Well I have a rant of my own that hopefully won't land me in jail. I'm beginning to suspect that some big-shot over at the toy company got together with some big-shot over at the battery company and decided to rip off the American public. Why else would a toy say "goodbye" minutes after it's been abandoned for another shiny object?

We already purchased the toy so the big-shots at the toy company have no motivation in ensuring it's actually being played with. Yet moments after some far-too-happy song has FINALLY ended and my child has moved on to quieter entertainment, that darn toy reminds him that it's still there. And the music begins again. Why? WHY?! To run down the batteries, that's why! So we'll have to buy more batteries. So the toy can remind our kids that it's over heeeeerrrreeee. So that they'll run down the batteries. So we'll have to buy more batteries. So the toy...

You get the picture.

And to complicate matters, the big-shots at the toy company don't tell you their toy has this handy little feature until after you've purchased it, assembled the fortygillion pieces, given it to your child and recycled the box. They're crafty, those toy company big-shots. I'll give 'em that.

So what's a mom to do? How do we show them that we are on to them? How do we protest the blatant manipulation of America's youngest consumers?

No seriously, I'm asking what to do...

Contradictions

I am gracing you with bullet points about recent observations. You're welcome.

• While I appreciate that my company has an aggressive recycling and composting program, I'm not sure it's wise to put the compost bin in the copier room. It gets pretty warm in there. You get the smell picture.
• Excuses for avoiding workouts seem really valid at 5:30 in the morning. Even the weak ones suddenly make total sense.
• When Xanadu gets to the top of my Netflix queue, I start frantically looking for new releases. Why is it in my queue at all if I'm never actually going to allow it to ship?
• I'm all in a tizzy about finding the perfect, unique Halloween costume for Ian despite the fact that he has no where to wear it.
• I never want a camera phone until I see a diet program banner on a van in the Taco Bell drive through.

Missed Connection

I got the finger last night on the commute home. I love that. There's nothing like a stranger telling you that you're numero uno. Apparently the fact that she didn't stop at her red light and turned in front of me causing me to slam on the breaks as I dared to proceed through my green light earned me the aforementioned bird. I responded by throwing both hands in the air as if to say, "Nice move. I would have stopped at that red light but hey, that's just me! Not you though. You are a rebel. You live on the edge. And who am I to question your choices? Nobody, that's who! Go right on ahead friend." She must have misunderstood me because she quickly followed up with that lovely suddenly-mash-your-breaks-so-they-think-they're-going-to-rear-end-you-thing that I enjoy so much. I thought "Oh, you rascal. You almost got me that time. Hahaha!" Unfortunately I turned at the next light (after it turned green of course) and she went straight so that is where our friendship ended. *sigh*

I'm thinking about posting a missed connection on craigslist. Wanna help me write it?

BTS Traffic

Ahhhhhhhhh! I hate this time of year. When my 8-mile commute suddenly jumps from 15 minutes to a full and torturous 45 minutes. All because kids the future leaders of these United States need an edumkation? Can't they get that book learnin' during off peak hours? Think about it. They could sleep in. (win) And I could drive to work in a reasonable period of time. (win)

The real question is...how, after that glorious 3 month hiatus called summer, do I manage to forget that this is the norm 9 months out of the year?

Stupid traffic.

WHAT????!!!!

Right next to the Halloween aisle, I found this...

It's September people!

SEPTEMBER!!!

The paste hasn't even dried on the first school projects yet.

It Sucks to be Sick

After an extended stay, the germ villagers finally overtook the dragon and I was once again free to breathe without coughing and wheezing. But the celebration is short lived. Apparently the germ villagers decided to sub-let their comfy home to a new gang of germ villagers. And these new tenants are having a rip-roaring time redecorating my throat. That pesky pink color is soooooo yesterday. Red is in people. And in order to achieve this lovely shade of rouge, they must pour acid thoroughly over the surface. Don't worry about the fumes, they turn to liquid and drip out of the skylight known as my nose.

What is it about a cold that makes me thoroughly goofy?

Unfortunately the whole family is battling this cold. Did you know that there is a 33% chance of infecting the kids if one parent has a cold but 100% chance of infecting the parents if the kid has a cold? I don't pretend to understand how that math works but it does. Despite rigorous germ precautions, Ian managed to pick up this bug last week from somewhere. There is nothing more pathetically sad than hearing your baby cough in the middle of the night. Poor little guy. And now that I am on day 2 of this bug, I feel even worse about what Ian has been going through. This sore throat is enough to keep me up at night and make me shun food. FOOD PEOPLE...FOOD! All things considered, I'm amazed at what a trooper Ian has been.

I never get sick so two colds in a month is crazy. Heck, two colds in a year is unheard of for me! Let's hope this anomaly ends soon because it sucks to be sick.

It's That Time...

No, not That one. What kind of blogger do you think I am?

I'm talking about oil change time. The time that strikes fear into the hearts of women everywhere. When we stumble into the testosterone jungle and pray that we'll make it out alive. And by alive I mean, the car still works and our life savings is still intact.

My jungle of choice this time? Jiffy Lube. Sure, they're all "ma'am" and opening doors and such. On the surface. But listen closely and you'll hear the real Jiffy Lube.

One mechanic complained about "hurtin real bad, man" because his girlfriend unexpectedly dumped him that morning. Went back to her ex. One minute she loved him, the next she didn't. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Until his tale took an abrupt turn to needing some rebound "fun." You know, to heal his poor wounded heart. Uh huh.

A mechanic snaps about needing some paperwork. Another mechanic doesn't appreciate his attitude. Yelling ensues. Yet another mechanic tries to tell them to postpone their little tantrum. They don't listen.

A customer limps into the waiting room leaning on her boyfriend. "F#$%! I'm fine but my f#$%ing shoe isn't." After ripping paper towels from the wall dispenser and dabbing at her $2.99 flip flops, I gather that she slipped and fell in the oil soaked garage en route to the waiting room. Her boyfriend ignores her.

Another customer breezes in and demands to know how much coolant they added to his Cadillac. The mechanic explains that it was dry so they just filled it. In a very don't-you-con-me-you-whipper-snapper tone, the customer argues that it couldn't be dry or the a/c wouldn't work. The mechanic looks up the coolant capacity for his car and tells him they added 10 quarts. That seems to soothe the customer.

Finally, a mechanic enters the waiting room holding what appears to be some sort of filter.

"Ma'am," he starts.
I know I'm in trouble.
He asks if I've rotated my tires.

"Uh, no."
"Well, you should rotate them every 5000 miles. Your car's an all wheel drive. If you don't rotate them every 5000 miles, the front tires will go bald."

Call me crazy, but shouldn't ALL wheel drive indicate that all the tires get worn evenly? I know, I know. Stop trying to insert logic into this process Lori.

"Do you want us to rotate them today?"
I pause. Big mistake. This shows weakness. He goes in for the kill.
"Should only take 15 or 20 minutes."
I swear he has given the same time estimate to every single procedure he's sold to the myriad of customers that have come and gone during my wait. Need the coolant topped off? 15 or 20 minutes. Tranny replaced? 15 or 20 minutes. Rotate the tires? 15 or 20 minutes.

"Sure."

Then he holds up the dirty filter. I get a sick feeling in my stomach.
"We don't stock this air filter. Just swing by the dealership or Auto Zone and pick one up. You need a clean filter to get good gas mileage."
As though I don't know what gas mileage is, he explains...
"Good gas mileage is what hybrids are for."
Thanks for that brilliant summary.

"You want the same oil today?"
Um, yeah. Same oil. Yep, let's go ahead and stick with the WD40. HOW SHOULD I KNOW WHAT OIL IT TAKES? How about looking it up in the handy dandy computer there? Or, I don't know, checking the owner's manual?

That's what I said...in my head. What came out of my mouth was something more like "sure." I find "sure" to be the optimal response in the jungle. Keep it light. Keep it simple. Keep it fast. Talk to much and they will know you're lost and confused. That's how they separate out the weak ones.

He disappeared into the jungle to finish working on my car. I retreated into my Happy Place. La, la, la.

I hear someone shout from the jungle "It's in electric mode."
The little confidence I once had is slipping quickly.
La, la, la.

True to his word, 15 minutes later the mechanic emerges from the jungle.
"Well, I thought we could rotate the tires but we don't have the tools for that."
???
"You can just call the dealership and tell them you want the tires rotated. It's free."
?!?!
"No use paying us for something the dealership'll do for free."
!!!!!

So let's recap. I waited 15 extra minutes for nothing. And now I need to swing by Auto Zone to pick up an air filter. (And who pray tell is gonna install that?) Then I need to swing by the dealership to get the tires rotated.

Well, why don't I just take night classes and learn to fix my own flippin car while I'm at it?
La, la, la.

I pay and head for the door just as Cadillac man comes storming in with the reminder sticker.

"This is wrong," he says tossing it at the mechanic.

I almost feel sorry for them. Almost.

Craziness and Cat Deeley

Several unrelated yet semi-odd things have happened in the past couple of days. With that intriguing description, I can tell that you are DYING to know what they are so without further ado I give you...random bullet points! Enjoy.

• "Is Lori there?" - This is what I heard when I answered my office phone. Why is this strange? Oh for about eleventy hundred reasons but the most obvious is that this co-worker clearly looked up the internal number to my desk, dialed it and then asked if I was here. Yes Thomas. I am here. Are you there?
• "Are you losing weight?" - Someone who I have seen nearly every day asked me yesterday if I am losing weight. I would expect that question after five or ten pounds. But 45? Please tell me after all that sweating and dieting that I look different enough to make that a statement, not a question.
• "I thought I stopped too suddenly but he was right there." - As I was driving home last night, the light turned yellow. Since I was nearly in the intersection already, I gunned it as did the car in front of me. Until she was about 3 feet into the intersection and the siren sounded. An ambulance had just flipped on their siren in the left turn lane across from us. So she stopped. Three feet in the intersection. She stopped. SUDDENLY. I did the same and missed colliding with her bumper by a matter of centimeters. I threw up my hands and clutched my head in an effort to ensure it was still attached. After a minute, she got out of her car, walked to my window and uttered an apology. Wow. All I can say is...wow.

Now on to the biggest question of the day. Who the heck is dressing Cat Deeley from "So You Think You Can Dance"? They should re-title the show "So You Think You Can Make A Hot Chick Look Horrid." Are you with me? Anyone? Bueller?

Happy Friday everyone!