The Party You Are Calling. . .

. . . is no longer at this address.

I finally got my own domain! It’s jerseygirl89.com.

I can’t believe I’ve consigned myself to being Jerseygirl on the interweb forever, but hey, it was available.

Anyway, if you subscribe, this shouldn’t change your subscription. And if you don’t subscribe, get on that, would ya?

Please, please, follow me there.

I’m trying to update links and whatnot. Email me at jen@jerseygirl89.com if you think you need to be on my blogroll.

Now With Even More Weirdness

The preschool is closed this week.

I’ve actually been enjoying not having to get up and force the children to look presentable and drag them all the way to school. But for some reason sitting around the house watching me blog is not that entertaining for them. So today we went to an indoor play area with some kids from Ironflower’s class.

Apparently we were not the only people to have this idea. And as I stood and watched them (yeah, it was so crowded that all the parent chairs were actually being used – the gall) duck under some obnoxious boys blocking their way, I truly thought I would be posting about the traumas of being around other people’s children. But the obnoxious boys left, and things were fine.

They were so fine that I was actually able to converse with the other moms. One of whom was surprised to find out that I will not be having a fourth child, because I’m “so calm”.

Clearly, she doesn’t read my blog. And yes, I’m pretty sure she was serious.

I had my tubes tied when I had ChunkyMonkey, so it would be an act of God for me to have a fourth child. (Note to self: start going to church or temple or something.) There’s no way we could handle another child financially or spatially (Spatially doesn’t sound right. Possibly I am using it incorrectly. But you know what I mean, right?). Or mentally.

But.

Is it weird that it makes me a little sad?

Naughty Blogger

I would like to say that I’ve been busy saving the world, or at least spring cleaning my house. (Of course, I would also like to say that I wear a size 4 and feed my children nothing but organic food but, uh, I can’t say that either). I would like to have a good excuse for being such a lousy blogger, both post-wise and comment-wise, but I don’t have one.

Between reading the whole Twilight saga (I didn’t want to like it, I certainly didn’t intend to) and trying to write more articles for cash, I’ve been slacking. Oh yeah, then there’s that timesucker Facebook. And the fact that I’ve just been in a LOUSY freaking mood lately (I refuse to believe these things are related.)

So I’ve been a naughty blogger, and not in the fun way, either. So I’m sorry. Give me a few more days to get myself organized and I’ll be back to normal, okay?

The Other Woman

Hot Guy is willing to do whatever she says. Without arguing, or even grumbles. In fact, if I contradict her, he grumbles at ME.

She’s skinny, too.

And she’s easily annoyed.

Whenever Hot Guy listens to my directions, she snottily says, “ReCALculating.” Like we’ve pissed her off.

She’s Hot Guy’s favorite Christmas present, the Garmin Nuvi GPS. As if I’d let some other woman tell him what to do. As if he even listens to me, except maybe where directions are concerned.

I grew up around here. Which makes me smarter than Garmin Girl, who actually thinks getting on the highway is the answer to everything. I want to tell her, “This is Jersey, bitch. You’re taking your life in your hands every time you get on the highway. Stop telling us to get on the damn highway when we can use back roads and get there just as fast.”

I may have a problem with authority.

I may also have inherited my father’s penchant for using the most scenic/least trafficked/strangest way to go anywhere.

And did I mention that I grew up around here?

So I have a hard time listening to the Garmin Girl. In fact, when I’m driving she’s not allowed to talk. Though I am secretly entertained each time she says, “ReCALculating.” I swear she sounds pissed, like we’re inconveniencing her in some way. I like to see how long it takes her to figure out the way I’m taking us.

Am I weird?

Honest Scrap Award

So the fantastic Silken at Madameblogalot has tagged me with the Honest Scrap Award. I am to share 10 honest things about myself that most people don’t know. Which has presented quite a challenge, because most things you all don’t know are things that NO ONE needs to know. So if you already knew some of these, I apologize.

1. I have a near pathological fear of dentists.

2. Animal House is one of my favorite movies.

3. I believe that no bands will ever measure up to Led Zeppelin or U2.

4. I’ve lived in Boston, Portland, OR, Seattle and Kansas City as well as Jersey.

(Wow. I am clearly not good at this.)

5. I don’t like reading poetry.

6. I have a HUGE CRUSH on Kevin Smith. Despite the poorly titled and pathetically acted “Jersey Girl” movie.

(Is that better?)

7. I am both saddened and relieved that ChunkyMonkey is my last baby.

8. I would rather have a day at the bookstore than at the spa.

9. I have never had Jaegermeister and not thrown up.

10. I cannot stand being touched while I’m sleeping, but I have no problem falling asleep on Hot Guy.

Now I am supposed to tag some other people. Because I love so many other bloggers, I just picked a few at random – who just happen to be wonderfully honest:

Matter of Fact Mommy

Dory at Can’t Remember Diddly

My cousin at Off Da Chain

But if you’d like to join in, consider yourself awarded.

I May Just Be In Need of More Sleep

When I moved to Kansas City one of my favorite things to do was to go to the Beaumont. Despite all the traveling I’d done, the Beaumont was something completely new to me – a “country” bar and club. There was line dancing and two stepping and people in cowboy hats. There was a mechanical bull. And there were cheap jello shots. What could be more exciting to a girl from the New Jersey suburbs?

I quickly embraced line dancing, which seemed like a great way to sober up and cancel out those jello shots. I liked the flirting opportunities that the slow “couples” dancing provided. But for some reason, I could not learn to two step. Many cute (and possibly a few not so cute, but let’s leave them out of it, okay?) guys in cowboy hats tried to teach me, but I never managed to learn. It was depressing. I was never athletic, never able to hit the ball or kick it in the right direction, but dancing I could always do.

Except the two-step. I still can’t do it. It’s like a foreign language to me. Except not. Because I was pretty good at foreign languages – hell, I can still read a lot of French. It’s more like chemistry was for me. Although with chemistry, I had the misfortune of being in honors chemistry – though someone should have warned me that just because I was good at biology didn’t mean I would be good at chemistry. The other challenge that I had with chemistry was that my teacher was crazy. Sometimes instead of having us do experiments during labs he would just do a double lecture about whatever was pissing him off that day. He also had a thick French accent, which made understanding what the hell he was talking about even more difficult for me.

But I guess the point is the same – chemistry still doesn’t make sense to me and I still couldn’t two-step if you paid me. I was thinking about them last night – chemistry and two-stepping – while I couldn’t sleep (not that they were keeping me up, breastfeeding was). The two-stepping doesn’t really matter, as the chances of me going to the Beaumont again are next to none. But I blame my chemistry ignorance on my inability to cook. And apparently I’m supposed to cook during this stay-at-home mom gig. And I wonder, I was able to understand algebra and trigonometry and ballet. . . why not chemistry and two-stepping? How is that possible?

So I ask you, dear internets, are there odd gaps in your abilities?

Why Am I Even Thinking About This?

I have no style. I won’t even dignify my the clothing I’ve been wearing for the past few years by calling it “stay-at-home mom” style. Style implies choice. Going by what’s clean and what still fits is not making a choice.

It’s not like I used to be super-fashionable or anything. But I was aware of trends, aware of what looked good on me and had a certain look. Friends would say, “I saw this blouse at such and such and it’s so you! You have to go check it out.” I don’t think anyone would say that to me today, unless they saw v-necked solid color t-shirts on sale somewhere.

It’s not just that I’m pregnant, either. This has been going on far longer than that – maybe since I was pregnant with Ironflower. Even though I lost most of the weight that time around, my body had changed. And my life certainly had. Comfort began to take on a much bigger role and spending money on clothes for myself made me feel guilty when I had a closet full of clothes that would fit me if I ever started eating sensibly again. Which I swear I’m doing after this one is baked.

But even supposing I do manage to lose all this weight (meaning the baby weight and the chocolate weight I’d gained since we moved), I still won’t know what the hell to wear. Before, I had work clothes (casual with an edge), club clothes (Black, short and/or sparkly) and sweats. Since I’m not going to work outside the home for a while and you couldn’t pay me to go into a club, I’m really lost. I fear matronly clothes and clothes that have to be ironed.  I don’t actually want to wear sweats ALL the time.

Every time I want to look decent, I wear a black shirt, jeans or a denim skirt and black boots. It’s not that I don’t like the outfit, but I’ve been wearing it for five years. I generally hate the outfits I see in fashion magazines. Where should I look for inspiration?

(Don’t ask me why I’m obsessing about this now, when looking like anything but a giant pear is months away.)

Am I Losing It?

Maybe it’s the lack of adult conversation, but I can’t seem to focus on one topic long enough to write a coherent post.  So instead I give you a smorgasbord of the thoughts roaming through my head.

1. Does anyone else think that the trains on the Thomas the Tank Engine DVDs look slightly sinister with those shifty eyes?

2. If they can make fake boobs, fake vaginas and wrinkle-less fifty year olds, why can’t they make a fake uterus? I realize there’s a special joy in carrying your child in your womb, but I’d be willing to let go of that joy if I could tuck NewBaby into a safe little synthetic womb (maybe I’d keep him in the bedroom?) and knock back a few martinis, wear my seatbelt in a comfortable position and go on a rollercoaster with my kids (not necessarily in that order).

3. I want to be half as clever as the Daily Show writer who came up with this line in response to Bush’s delayed visit to flood damaged Iowa:, the response to Katrina and Kanye West’s rant:  “George Bush doesn’t care about wet people.”

4. I think the Bible should come with the subtitle, “Inspired by God.” I know that some people think the Bible is the word of God, but S/He wrote it through flawed humans two or so thousand years ago, plus it’s been translated through a number of languages (game of Telephone, anyone?) and even had some parts excised (it’s true, look it up).

5. Why can’t we have a national (or even international) DNA database? If our government can tap our phones and find out what we check out of the library without a warrant (thanks, Patriot Act!) is privacy something we can really be whining about anymore? Besides, I’d rather have my DNA on file than my penchant for trashy mysteries.

6. I’m only halfway through this pregnancy and I already have freaking carpal tunnel. I got it with Ironflower, but not until I was at least 30 weeks. With Lovebug I barely had it at 34 weeks – and he was born at 38 weeks. Is it because I’m older, fatter or just plain unluckier this time? What’s weird is that both times before I was swelling when I got it. I’m not swelling now – all my rings and shoes fit just fine, but I have carpal tunnel. Grrrrr.

7. M&Ms are not as much fun as vodka.

8. I ordered new cell phones today – our icky Verizon contract ends next week. My new phone is pink! That probably shouldn’t make me so excited.

NOT Falling Apart

So, you may have noticed that I haven’t been posting or commenting as much lately. And I’m going to choose to believe that you care about this (because really, isn’t the internet all about fooling yourself and/or others?).

Ever since Hot Guy went into the hospital in April, I’ve been sort of a mess. Being surprisingly preggers (and all its attendant tests and fears – which turned out to be for NOTHING, he’s fine), getting into a car accident, losing my job and suddenly needing a new car probably have not helped. As a consequence, I have grown lethargic, my house has grown messy and horrifically disorganized, my posts have (mostly) been lame, other bloggers’ talents have stopped inspiring me, my inbox is overflowing with emails that deserve replies and depression threatens the whole damn family. All I have done properly is mother. And you know that’s going to go out the window soon if I have nothing else.

And then I read this book: Lighting Up: How I Stopped Smoking, Drinking, and Everything Else I Loved in Life Except Sex: A Memoir. And I was reminded that I don’t have to let everything fall apart just because one (or two) things have. And that while we’ve had a lot of stress lately, we are exceptionally blessed to have each other and our kiddos.

So I’ve been working on getting my life back. I’ve cleaned and reorganized the house. I’ve gone through Lovebug’s clothes to determine what can be handed down to the new baby. I’ve started exercising. I’ve done paperwork I’m behind on. My list – the list that lives on our calendar and has just grown longer and longer lately – is halfway erased and I’ve only been working on it for forty-eight hours.

Give me another couple of days and I’ll be my old self again – posting and commenting with abandon.

Thanks for putting up with me. And in the interests of being my highly organized self, I’m going to update my sidebar. Leave me a comment if your blog is missing, okay?

There’s A Method To My Madness

*Thank you all so much for your sympathy and clicks – you guys rock. The good news is that we did find another car (2006 Kia Sedona). It makes me happy, even though it doesn’t have all the bells and whistles. It was relatively cheap, had low mileage and has a huge warranty. Now if only getting another job would be as easy. . .

It takes me a long time to grocery shop. My husband and my mother make fun of how long it takes me. One of them even gets cranky about it.

I read a lot of labels at the store – I’m trying to eliminate high fructose corn syrup from our diets (I am not a health nut, my kids eat chocolate and chips on a regular basis, but high fructose corn syrup is far worse than sugar and it’s put in so many foods that don’t need sugar, like ketchup and bread). With Hot Guy’s hypertension, I’m also looking at salt. Plus, I’m always looking for how to get the most for my money. I read a lot of labels.  So I’m sure that I do take an EXCEPTIONALLY long time at the store.

But I don’t care. Because I also never bring home the wrong thing. Yesterday Hot Guy stopped at the store to get a few essentials (and charcoal for the grill). We talked on the phone and I reminded him to get Smart Balance butter spread (no trans fats, no saturated fats) but NOT the light kind (the regular actually seems like butter, the light stuff doesn’t melt). I said I thought the package was yellow and green.

Guess what’s in my fridge today? Smart Balance LIGHT. Because the package of that is also yellow and green and of course Hot Guy didn’t waste time by reading the label. Hot Guy and my mother have both brought home Diet Cherry Pepsi, instead of regular Diet Pepsi (Hot Guy more than Mom). And yes, the bottles do look alike. But that can be fixed by reading the damn label.

Sometimes I forget things I’m supposed to buy at the store. Sometimes I don’t get the best deal. But I never bring home the wrong thing – that’s gotta count for something.