side effects may include...

At the beginning of December I began taking prenatal vitamins in anticipation of all the baby-making fun we would be having. I'm a little paranoid because everything you read about pregnancy has to remind you of all the things you can do to screw it up.

As family and friends soon learned of my new vitamin, I heard over and over how WONDERFUL these little pills are! How SHINY my hair would be! How LONG and STRONG my nails would grow! And my SKIN! It would be so HEALTHY! How do regular people live their lives without knowing about how WONDERFUL these pills are?

And then I learned the nasty little secret they didn't tell me. They all said my hair and skin would be wonderful.

They never said I'd be able to braid my eyebrows into my mustache!

Being a blond, I've never had a noticeable problem with facial hair. But since I started taking these pills I've turned into a hairy-backed Yeti. I have hair growing everywhere. I'm plucking my eyebrows twice a day just to keep up with the demand. I have to keep a careful eye on my mustache in case it decides to lead a coup against my lower lip. The hair on my arms has begun sprouting out of moles like tulips in the spring. All I can do is apologize to Jason on the state of my furry legs. If it grows any more, the hair will soon begin making demands and holding the cat hostage until the authorities deliver $1 million dollars in small bills and a pepperoni pizza.

Oh well. At least my nails look good.

feeling christmasy

Nothing beats Christmas in Phoenix.


(Yes, there really is a Nothing, AZ.)





They have some of the most beautiful sunsets ever.




This is the youngest of my brother's boys, Bryce. He was pretending to be a chocolate covered truffle...with my help, of course.
(Thanks to Shel for the pic)




Jase just gets so excited about presents.




When Carter pulled out the box his gift was hidden in, he immediately yelled "Wow! I got meat!" That kid would be happy with a rock.



This is the box I used to wrap their present. I can see how he was confused.




This is the oldest of the nephews. Parker thinks he's too cool for Christmas. Until you threaten to take his present back.

apropos of nothing

On my way to my car this afternoon my nose began to run. Not surprising since it's snowing and only about 7 degrees out. My nose was dripping so I did what any normal adult would do - I sniffed as hard as I could. BAD IDEA. Approximately 600 snowflakes decided that was the cue to amass their forces and attack my nose hairs. As the brain freeze took over what is left of my brain (the rest being taken up by Spider-Man trivia and catalogs of science fiction novels) all I could think was "This is pure snow! Do you have any idea what the street value of this mountain is?"

inside my head

I haven't written much lately about my depression because I live under the assumption that you can make a bad thing worse. I've been trying to keep it mostly to myself, sensing that if I let it out into the universe, the Dictator of Depression would turn his vengeful eye hither, acknowledge me and sentence me to a beheading. Which sometimes I think couldn't be that bad of a situation. No more thinking? No more brain to cause me stress? No more having to comb my hair? Where do I sign up?

I used to be easy-going. Or at least I thought I was. It used to be fine when I was late. Who cared? And lists? Lists? What are those? When did I become so uptight? When did it become imperative that I not be late? That the dishes be put into the sink and rinsed as soon as we’re done with them? Is the world going to implode if they sit there on the table? Are the Dish Nazis going to storm through the door and arrest us because we let them sit? The answer is simple.

Yes, to all of the above.

I began seeing a therapist on the recommendation of my family doctor about a month ago. I have a major aversion to therapists in general and it took major convincing on the part of my husband (promises of sex and sushi; in that order) to get me to call and make an appointment. I went. And I hated it. A lot. I cried on the way home because I knew I would have to go back. She wasn't mean, just disinterested. She didn't even try to remember my name; just looked it up on the info sheet each time she decided to use it. The next time I went, Jason wanted to go too. Maybe because he knew I would ditch the first chance that came along. The therapist used his name three times in one session. Apparently he's worth remembering.

My diagnosis is that I'm a Perfectionist. It's to the point where I can't function because of the stress and worry over that which I have no control over. I worry about the future to the extent that I forget about the present. And I agonize over all that I can't accomplish. Church is hard. Family is harder. Work is hardest of all.

But I'm working on it. Slowly. That's all I can commit to right now.

irritating

Damn you TLC, for drawing me in and letting me subject myself to 3 HOURS of watching morbidly obese people have gastric bypass surgery! Damn you to hell!