From Ours To Yours Redux

Happy Pooh Year!

Sorry - couldn't resist. From our family to yours, have a blessed, prosperous, healthy and very Merry New Year!

Auld Lang Sine

No, this is not one of those posts reminiscent of the glorious year past. Quite frankly 2005 sucked and I am not sad to leave it in the dust. We endured several trials that I am happy to forget. Oh I know, we were immensely blessed with #2 Son, and I am eternally grateful for that. And yes, we are blessed in so many more ways - we're all healthy, we have a roof over our heads and despite the best efforts of my teenage son, we have food in the house. None of this though, is my point.

I miss smoking. I really, REALLY miss it. There I said it. I'm not talking about the preparation of food either. I'm referring to my former dirty, nasty, smelly, totally unhealthy cigarette habit.

I miss the stress relief it gave me. Many a Marlboro Ultra Light died to save the life of another - be it annoying telemarketers, unfriendly customer "service" representatives and even my own family. Is it any wonder I am so crabby?

I miss the solitude of my first morning smoke alone on the back deck. I no longer have that luxury of time to plan my day. Is it any wonder I am so unorganized?

I miss lighting up and calling a friend just to chitchat as I indulged in my addiction, especially if she was a smoker and was indulging as well. Is it any wonder that I have lost touch with several friends?

I miss cranking up the radio in the car really loud so that I could hear it over the noise of the open window (where the ashes were shed). It gave me the opportunity (excuse) to sing equally as loud without feeling foolish. Is it any wonder I have road rage now?

Of course, there are things I do not miss. I don't miss scrounging for $3.50 every stinking day to pay for my weakness. Speaking of stinking, I don't miss that at all. I never really noticed the smell before. To think, I thought I was hiding it from people. I don't miss trying to find a place to smoke in an increasingly non-smoking world. I am happy that my kids are happy. They have been after me for years to quit. Sure, I'll be healthier and I am setting a good example for them. Whatever. I know my teeth will no longer be yellow, not to mention my fingernails. Maybe I can go without polish more often now. Hopefully I have not damaged my skin so much that my face resembles a 75-year-old coal miner when I'm 45.

That does not mean I don't miss it, though. It has been months since I quit. I always told people that I was going to walk away from my beloved smokes "when I was ready." Then I got pregnant, and I had to. A part of me feels like I was railroaded. I was forced to give up a crutch that I was not yet ready to let go of. I still DREAM about smoking. Seriously. Of course in my dreams, I feel a great deal of shame for succumbing to my demon, but I also feel a bit of a thrill for indulging in the forbidden.

Do not worry that I will fall off the wagon. The Good Lord, Karma, Fate, or whatever you believe in is looking out for me, despite my own stupidity. Recently I obtained the forbidden fruit. I didn't buy the pack of course. Everyone knows that if you buy a pack of cigarettes yourself you can no longer claim to have quit. Duh! Anyway, I smoked one. Yesiree, I savored that baby. I drew the sweet nectar deep into my lungs over and over. I may have even blown smoke rings of joy. About 3/4 of the way through the smokage I started feeling a little shaky. No bother - I chalked it up to withdrawal. It took about 5 minutes after my return to sin for my body to experience hot flashes like I was wallowing in the depths of hell, which in turn produced buckets of sweat. I ignored the hot flash, attributing it to an insanely early menopause, but then my head began revolving, eventually reaching a full 100 mile an hour spin. No longer than 10 minutes after I extinguished my former love, I was sprinting for the porcelain God/Goddess. I was VIOLENTLY ill. It was like I was teleported back to my twenties after a few too many bottles of Boones Farm and Bacardi 151 shots. Draped over the edge of the toilet watching my dinner return I could not help thinking that I had made a mistake. True I had probably used too much oregano in the casserole, but more importantly I realized that perhaps I had finally crossed that deep divide - I had passed the point of no return and had finally become a "non-smoker", not that I was happy about it or anything.

Never one to trust fate, I attempted to light up one last time a few days ago. Instantly I felt the frightening "heat" and an echo of nausea. I stomped the cigarette out while I was ahead. As much as I enjoyed smoking, the new consequences were not worth it. Damnit.

I should be thrilled that my body (and a higher power) is protecting me from self-destruction. Instead, I miss smoking. I really REALLY miss it.

It's a good thing I still drink. Otherwise I'd be perfect.

From Ours to Yours

If you've been a reader here for any length of time (like a day), you know that I am "organizationally challenged." Well my friends, are you sitting down? I hope so because believe it or not, I have not only addressed ALL of my holiday cards, but I have also mailed them - with stamps and everything! And it is not even January!

It is a wonder that I actually completed this task. You see, this year I was DETERMINED to send out "picture cards" like all my sickeningly organized cousins and siblings do. I knew that with a new baby all the old farts in the family would be expecting it - "Catt just had a baby, wouldn't you think she'd at least send us a picture at Christmas?" *sigh*

My friends I ask you...do you have ANY idea how difficult it is to take a picture of 3 children (one of whom is a baby who recently started to smile)? I have never in my life wanted to beat my head against a brick wall more. We took literally 63 pictures of the kids, all dressed up in coordinating outfits (let us not even discuss the fight that preceeded that) in front of the Christmas tree. We got some gorgeous shots of each of them - unfortunately not in the same picture. We finally settled on the "least bad" of the group. I cannot tell you how thrilled I was when my MIL said, "why does the baby look so unhappy? Couldn't you have gotten him to smile?" Well gee, I don't know. You tell me. Here are some of the VERY BEST shots that didn't make the final cut:

This mug shot is available in your local post office. Beware the "Toys R Us Gang."

After several dismal shots, we had a wardrobe malfunction. It was embarassing, but luckily C. fixed it and we soldiered on.

No one is having fun and the boys are beyond bored. Honestly, I thought this was was funny and almost used it for our cards. I regret the decision not to use it.

*sigh* Why bother? Just shoot me.

No, the above is not the image we actually used. Our winner was a pretty decent shot of the two oldest ones. The baby looks constipated, but I deceided to go with it anyway. You see, I am smart enough to pick my battles. The oldest two can drive me to a migrane now. In contrast, the baby won't be able to complain about this for years. Welcome to the family Little One.

Weekend Shorts

In the grocery store Friday my son said, "Hey Mom, since you have to get up early tomorrow for an appointment, can you make us breakfast like a good Mom? I mean...uh...that didn't sound good. I meant like one of those Mom's on TV?"

Saturday my wonderful Hubby scrubbed the kitchen floor. Within an hour that same floor was covered with blue Kool-Aid and dog pee. And people wonder why I drink.

Yesterday I learned that in some cultures prisoners of war are tortured by being subjected to endless loud thumping music, sleep deprivation and the sounds of a screaming baby. I consider that a typical day.