Chocolate is Lucas' crack.

I wish I were kidding.

Hide your candy if you ever come to my house.

Well, I should say "Hide your expensive, imported truffles with creamy hazelnuts centers" because that seems to be his crack of choice right now.

He obviously gets this from his father...as when I get truffles, or most any chocolate for that matter, I bring them home to Chuck...who promptly eats it. Again, as long as it's imported.

I can't tell you how many times "those Hersey hacks" has been heard in my home. I think Lucas has picked up on his father's disdain for normal, everyday American chocolate.

For Christmas, from my boss, I received a VERY large container with Italian hazelnut truffles. Apparently, they are very good...I have yet to try one. Lucas has had several and I'm pretty sure Chuck has gotten into them a couple of times. Chuck even told me to "Keep Lucas out of his truffles". Um, yea, sure. That's gonna happen.

Just this morning, Lucas came to me in the office with his mouth obviously full of something, begging me for a kiss and hug. I give them to him and ask what's in his mouth.

"Nothing" (as chocolatey spittle drips from the corner of his mouth).

By the time I got up from the chair and walked into the living room he was already unwrapping another one.

Well, good news is: imported chocolate only comes around once in a great while. Enjoy it while you can, boys.

Don't know if I can type this without crying...

I'm exhausted.

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

I'm sick of working. I'm so sick of dealing with stupid, ignorant people. I'm so sick of dealing with people who are my bosses that I have to run around after to make sure that things are completed so I don't have to deal with the shit when it's not.

I'm sick of being a mom...well, that's not really true. I'm sick of being a mom and having a billion things to do other than taking my son to the park. I'm sick of being a mom and expected to be a working woman. I'm sick of being a mom and a wife and a daughter and, and, and, and.....

I know that everyone goes through this. I understand that.

I get angry though at times like these. I get angry at myself for not being able to be perfect at absolutely everything. I get angry at my husband for not understanding why this is all so difficult for me. I get angry with my kids for not cooperating.

And then, apparently, I'm mean. And that's why everyone hates me. Or at least that's the interpretation I get from said husband.

I am mean. I'm mean because I grew up with the mentality that if you are mean, at least SOMETHING gets done. I'm so sick of being nice and NOTHING getting done. I try that again and again and again and then I'm stressed to the max, tired, and still have nothing done. So, yes, I get mean.

I hate that people think I have an ulterior motive for the things I do. I hate that certain people never see all the other stuff I say, think or do to TRY to make things better for our family. To try to change my ways. To try to do special, nice things for my husband. Everything, apparently in some people's opinions, is so that I can look the hero and make myself look better to everyone else.

WHY CAN'T IT JUST BE BECAUSE I WANT TO TRY TO MAKE THE OTHER PERSON HAPPY?

Like planning on getting him an mp3 player, researching types, looking at prices and then having to figure something ELSE to get because his parents already bought him one???? And adding just one more thing to my list to worry about and try to squeeze into a schedule that is already packed full of holiday stuff.

I'm sick of worrying about what other people think of me. And I said at the beginning of 2006 that it was something I wanted to work on. And I have tried. I have said no to certain family obligations. I have cut down from years past on things that we do every weekend...so that we can spend family time. But NONE of that is seen! NONE of that counts at all...it's just never enough.

That's the story of my life...no matter what I do...it's never enough to please everyone. Hell, half the time I can't please anyone.

17 week Dr. Appt

On Monday, I saw Sameerah again. I actually don't see a obstetrician, I see a midwife.

I. LOVE. HER.

Seriously, she's wonderful. She's had 5 children of her own and is just a good hearted, down to earth woman.

But she made me laugh on Monday. After asking how I was feeling, and me explaining that I still feel like shit most days between the fatigue and the nausea...she asked what time I went to bed.

I explained that I normally go to bed about 2 and get up about 7 with the boys and to take Chuck to work (the van has been broken, so we were down to one vehicle). Sameerah exclaimed "2 in the MORNING?" Yep. "NO, that won't do. You need to be in bed by 11 pm. You aren't getting enough sleep." Weeellll, that's when I had to explain that I work until 1 am. I'm lucky if I'm sleeping by 2...it's usually closer to 2:30 am.

So, apparently, my body is run down and that's why I'm still having bouts of nausea and dry heaves. Wonderful.

I also gained 5 lbs. Boo for me. That seemed like a lot for one month but they weren't concerned at all, stating that they expect women to gain 5-10 lbs by 20 weeks. Considering I'm still a net LOSS of 8 lbs, I guess I'm doing ok.

I got to hear the baby's heartbeat again. It never gets old. 140's to 150's. Lucas thinks its pretty cool too.

Our "big" ultrasound is scheduled for January 3rd. I guess I gotta figure out if I want to know between now and then :)

Aw, my boys

This morning I was showering and I asked Zachary to make himself and his brother some frozen waffles for breakfast.

I have no qualms whatsoever about him getting out the toaster, plugging it in, and cooking the waffles.

This morning, however, I smelled something burning when I got out of the shower. I wrap a towel around myself and ask what's going on.

Zachary's answer?

"I'm cooking"

me: WHAT are you cooking?

Z: well, we toasted some marshmallows.

me: WHAT?

Z: We toasted some marshmallows. But it wasn't hot enough over top of the toaster so we dropped them in.

I check. Sure enough there are MINI marshmallows now blackened charcoal bits in my toaster. One of them is flaming.

So, lessons learned? 1) Marshmallows don't toast in the toaster.
2) Don't leave the mini marshmallows within boys' reach. 3) My kids are smart as hell.

*******************************************************
The boys have also decided on a name for the new baby.

Are you ready for this?


Are you sure?

Baby Jesus.

Yep. They think Baby Jesus (with the middle name Christ, of course) is the perfect name for our baby if it's a boy.

Chuck said it will go along great with the explitives we sometimes exclaim about the two boys currently :)

Bound, Bound, and Rebound.

So, my husband and my friend Matt told me that my last few posts were a bit harsh. A bit on the ugly, ranting, scary Lisa side. Granted. But like Chuck said "At least she's taking it on the rest of the world, and not on me at home". True nuff.

Last weekend, the boys only had a few minutes before bedtime. And during that time I HATE starting a movie because then they think they should watch the entire thing. The meltdowns that come with me telling them they can't see the end are usually spectacular. So, I don't do that if I can avoid it.

That's why I love movie shorts from Pixar. One in particular is called Boundin' and is on the 2nd disc of The Incredibles (along with Jack Jack Attack which is hilarious if you haven't seen that one).

Anyway, after having a crappy week and being in a crappy mood from all the work stuff, family stuff, etc, etc, etc, Boundin' kinda made me look at my life again in a renewed vision. Something Chuck has been trying to tell me for some time: That I control my moods. My attitude. And that I shouldn't let outside influences make me so upset. That I need to look inside myself for my happiness and peace. Honest to God, I do try. I'm just not very good at it yet.

I wanted to share the story of Boundin' for those that haven't seen it, and to remind myself of what I need to remember.

The story is about a little sheep, all white and fluffy and cute. He dances in the sunshine "showing off his stuff" and all his little prarie friends join him in his dancing. Until the big mean human comes and shears him naked. Then all his friend laugh at him, tell him he's funny looking and *gasp* PINK.

Then along come a jackolope. This is the song that insues:


“Hey kid, why the mope?”

“I used to be something all covered with fluff,
And I’d dance in the sunlight and show off my stuff,
Then they hauled me away in a manner quite rough
And sheared me and dropped me back here in the buff.
And if that’s not enough
Now my friends all laugh at me
Cause they think I look ridiculous, funny, and pink.”


“Pink? Pink? Well, what’s wrong with pink?
Seems you’ve got a pink kink in your think.
Does it matter what color?
Well, that gets nope.
Be it pink purple or heliotrope.
Now sometimes you’re up and sometimes you’re down,
When you find that you’re down well just look around:
You still got a body, good legs and fine feet,
Get your head in the right place and hey, you’re complete!


“Now as for the dancin’, you can do more,
You can reach great heights, in fact you can soar.
You just get a leg up and ya slap it on down,
And you’ll find you’re up in what’s called a bound.
Bound, bound, and rebound.
Bound and you’re up right next to the sky,
And I think you can do it if you give it a try,
First get a leg up, slap it on down…”

So in short, for me, I may have been feeling down but take a look around me. I have my health, a great family with a husband who loves me and vica versa, 2 little boys that love me dearly, brothers and parents that care immensely, a job that pays good money and great benefits. So let's just get my head in the right place.

And then I can SOAR.