Conversations

I know, I know... so much time passes between posts these days. I would like to lie say that this is going to change soon. Honestly? Those "I'm gonna get back on the ball!" posts annoy the crap out of me almost as much as the obligatory "this is my blog and it's going to be awesome!" posts. Chances are good that things will be spotty for a while yet.

Although I've considered writing a bunch of posts to catch you all up (because I am sure you've been waiting around for just that thing), that's not going to happen. 

Okay, so I tried to write something and it turned out awful enough that I'm surprised it's still in my drafts folder.

Instead, here are some snippets of my life over the past few months (in no particular order):

Tonight while rocking Madelyn (and convincing her that it's okay to pretend to nurse through my shirt if I'm wearing a bra, but on braless nights such as tonight she shouldn't because it tickles like crazy) the topic of school came up. "When you're five you'll be in kindergarten. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes." (This is her standard answer for everything.)

"What is it?"

"It's a school with plants."

"It is?"

"Yeah, kinder garden."

Of course.

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Fynnie, who is still nursing. She calls it Booboo and recently took a second to pop off, pull back and say, "Booboo, I think you're perfect."

That's right, I'm 41 (and three quarters), have spent over six year of my life nursing (OH MA GAW!) and someone still thinks my breasts are perfect. That's totally what I'm taking from this.


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On the other hand, against all odds, my nipples are ridiculously ticklish. I learned this because of Fynn's new thing, which is to attack my chest with wiggling fingers while yelling, "Tickle tickle, Booboo!"

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And yes, that thing with Mad. She's going through a struggle with becoming independent and trying to climb back into my womb.

Tom and I are going to be taking a parenting class in a couple weeks. It's put on by someone at my work. I told her, "We're not taking it because of the two year old. It's the four year old, oh my freaking god!"

To which she responded, "It's not the terrible twos, it's the fucking fours."

It's good to know we'll be guided by someone who understands.


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Sometimes it is the terrible twos. Take this conversation over dinner one night, for example.

Madelyn said,  "I need more," so I refilled her bowl.

Fynnie, who still had a full bowl, said, "I need more, too!" 

I took her bowl away, moved food around and brought it back, only to have her yell, "That's too full!"

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Last fall Mad had this observation, "The firework booms its paint into the sky with beautiful colors, like a tear coming out of your wet eye from crying."

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Yesterday I realized something critical about my special blend of two flavored coffees, one regular and one decaf. They are both decaf.

This explains why I didn't get to sleep until 2:00 in the morning the other night after stopping at Starbucks on my way to work.

On the other hand, now that jig is up, I'm not sure how I'll make it through tomorrow morning. 

Oh, yes, I do. I made a pot of my other coffee, which truly is part decaf and part regular. It's not as yummy as the flavored stuff, but it'll certainly do the trick.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fynnie and Mad know how much Mama loves her coffee. Fynnie has begun asking for coffee in her cup. Thankfully, she's willing to pretend that water is coffee.

But the other night as I was moving her from my lap into her bed, she must have been in the middle of a dream. Arms and legs flailing wildly, she insisted that I put my coffee "right there!" Right there would have been the wall next to her bed, in case you were wondering.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

During last week's staff meeting with our new boss, I heard the best, most Dilbert-worthy quote of all time come straight out of her mouth, "We need to be compliant with whatever I was just talking about." Yes, yes we do.

Coffee Slob

I cleaned my car last weekend.  Not only did I remove armfuls of crap toys, books, colored pencils and expired coupons, but car seats were pulled out and the vacuum and shampooer were employed.

I have washable seat covers for the front seats.  The seat covers look fabulous, as usual.  Underneath?  Not so much.

Why?  I'm a coffee slob.  Yeah no, not snob.  I don't care where it comes from.  Gas station or schmancy shop?  Fine, as long as it's reasonably strong and there aren't grounds in my cup.  Oh, and that nastiness known as soy milk?  None of that, thanks.

Coffee is the primary stain on both front seats in my car.  Sometimes while hopped up on caffeine (or not), I take corners and turns quickly.  And I figure that one perk of a four-wheel drive vehicle is that I don't have to slow down for dips and bumps in the road.

So why am I surprised to have found coffee splashed on the back side of the divider between my car door and Fynnie's?

Speaking of Fynnie, the area around her car seat now has 98% less yogurt crusted onto the fabric.

As I cleaned, I thought about the mailer we received recently from the Toyota dealership where we bought Tom's car.  The one where they offered to buy my Escape Hybrid for just over $17,000.

It wasn't exactly a laugh that came out of my throat as I thought about pulling into the lot and asking for my check.

On the upside, my car has been smelling quite good lately, despite having coffee and yogurt flung about.

Have I mentioned I now make my own laundry detergent?  I do.  One of my local mommy friends told me how.  Right before I went and purchased some cloth diapers from her.

Not only that, but I have learned how to change baking soda into washing soda (especially good to know if you refuse to shop at WalMart, which everyone assures me carries washing soda), a key ingredient in homemade detergents.

Yes, that was me just now wondering if I really need to shave my armpits ever again.  I probably do since I time the use of cloth diapers around Fynn's fairly regular schedule.  Oh, and we only use them on the weekends.  So, yeah.  Not quite the hippy earth mama I'd like to think I am.

I have all of the ingredients and materials to make the liquid detergent, too.  It's a bit more complex than the powdered detergent.  And will require that I wash out the two five-gallon buckets that I picked up from another mommy.  Who makes the most exquisite cakes.  With frosting that comes in five-gallon containers.  (She has five kids, people, give the woman a break!  It's still frosting!  And did you see what she does with it?!)

It's the frosting inside those containers that is keeping me from opening them and cleaning 'em out.  I mean, I'm sure it's 100% processed crap that no one in their right mind should eat.  Like the Twinkies factory tube that still had "edible" Twinkie goo in it half a century later, those bits of leftover frosting are not breaking down.

What do I care?  I love frosting.

So for now, one of the liquid detergent ingredients, Fels Naptha, is sitting under the passenger seat of my car, smelling quite fresh.  I had figured that Fels Naptha was going to smell like the homemade soap a relative made when I was a kid.  I believe tallow was an ingredient.  Nope.  It's really lovely.

Which is good.  Because since washing out the interior of my car less than one week ago, I have treated the girls to their first ever sundaes *splash* and dumped coffee all over the console while not taking out a cyclist *splishity splash*.

In almost unrelated news, I am sitting in Fynn's room.  I usually leave my computer in here because I use it while we're nursing or she's napping in my arms (still).  She's downstairs with Daddy right now and I've snuck back up for a few minutes.  Madelyn just woke from her nap.  She popped her head into see me, went across the hall and turned off the laundry room light before coming in here and straightening Fynn's fishy lamp.  Then she came over to snuggle.

I know she's my kid because I was there when she was born.  But I have a cousin who would be willing to claim her, I'm sure.  They could live together happily in a home where everything is in it's place and nobody's car interior is covered in coffee, yogurt and ice cream sundaes.

Good Times

Tom has accepted that we'll be paying the $475 truancy fine, even though we got Corey to school every day.  He was always on campus; the school failed to keep him in class.  (Two teachers have told me that they "should have called" when they saw him out and about.  I didn't respond with anything remotely like what I was actually thinking when I heard that.)  Personally, I believe the principal should pay the fine or risk having his driver's license suspended.  But that's just me. 


Corey's printout from the Department of Juvenile Probation was clean, as we'd expected.  Job Corps will be pleased to know that not being a criminal is something my son has going for him.


Pulling an illegal and - worse! - badly done U-Turn in front of a police officer, I have decided, is an expensive lesson for Corey.  Accept responsibility when you make a mistake.  Remain cordial, find the humor and do what you can to avoid making the same (incredibly stupid fricking) mistake again.  That's right.  I did it for my son.


Around 1:00 yesterday afternoon someone said to me, "Shanni... is your shirt on inside out?  Is it?  I mean, some people do that like a style thing."  Dude.  I was fully dressed.  My bra was completely on.  What else do you people want from me?!?


I had my first cup of coffee in about 17 months.  Decaf.  It was heavenly.  I'm sensitive enough to caffeine that it still made me stoopid.  After lunch, I returned to my office.  Twice I started to say, "Hey girl!  How's it going?" or something along those lines before realizing that the woman in front of me was, in fact, not the boss' assistant.  And by "started to say" I mean words had begun flowing from my mouth.  With sound.


Ten minutes after I went ahead and introduced myself to the woman (who thought I was just very friendly), I did the same thing.  With another woman.  Only this time the new not-someone-I-know looked like my friend's mom.  Friend's mom, Maria, is a teacher and we do have teachers in and out of our office all the time, but I couldn't fathom why she'd be wearing a badge from our office as she does not work in special education.  Or why the name on her badge... which I could only make out while squinting deeply as she approached... was Julie.


I am almost out of those handy wipes that are specially made for breast pump parts.  I plan to buy more.  In the meantime, I'm trying to find places to wash out the parts after pumping.  Happened to be in a restaurant recently and had it fall out of my purse and onto the floor in front of servers who are dear to me, but not exactly mi familia.  Yesterday I brought it into the office, but the restrooms upstairs were closed.  On my way to the staff lounge I saw a man I thought I might know (I'm pretty sure I was right).  Yes, I did start to wave with the hand holding breast pump pieces.


And last, today it took about seven tries to get the buttons lined up on my shirt after pumping on the way to the office. Eventually I had to get out and do it in the reflection of car. I wasn't exposing myself. I had on a tank top (that I realized two hours ago was inside out. What?)

SUIT Or No SUIT?

On the last day of Judy and Larry's visit, we drove out to BFE, also known as Mojave National Preserve.  We knew it was far, but we really had no idea of how far (which means that neither of the S men consulted an atlas... this is, frankly, shocking).


Seventy-eight miles from the Arizona border, we finally made a left turn and drove for another half an hour or so before arriving at Kelso Dunes.  Tom hopped out of his parents car, came over and said, "The dunes are gorgeous!"  I (who might have been slightly peeved from Tom not answering his cell phone and from driving behind Larry... who alternates between 10 miles over the speed limit and 25 miles below it) said, "Really?  It looks like a pile of sand.  We're too far away to know if it's gorgeous or not."


Pissy much?


We got out, sprayed on sunscreen (can this stuff really be healthful if one breathes it in? doubtful) and dragged along Mad's stroller.  Yes, it was a dirt path in the midst of the desert, but she was already an hour late for her nap.  No, car rides don't work like that for her.


Eventually the sand got too thick and loose to push the stroller.  For quite a while we all walked at Mad's pace, but she was the only one who enjoyed sitting here and climbing up and down there.  I sent Tom and Corey off to enjoy themselves.  Judy's pace put her somewhere in between us.  After forever 20 minutes of walking, Mad and I were about halfway there.  Tom estimates that to be 3/4 of a mile.  All I know is she and I suddenly had to turn back because that was the moment Mad had to fill up her diaper completely.


In an effort to avoid letting her sit down (thereby causing a case of SUIT, or "Something Up In There") and for maximum efficiency, I carried her.  Thirty pounds of squirming, squealing, stinky baby under one arm, football style, and a camera and a BPA-free cup without a lid (sure, Corey had asked where the lids were... yeah, I said, "I don't really care, let's get going," because we were already two hours late leaving), half-filled with water on the other side.  And a stuffed frog in my pocket that is really supposed to be "for show."


Mad drank most of the water and helped me throw the rest on the sand.  We passed a young couple heading up to the dunes.


"Did you see our abandoned vehicle?" I asked, wondering if the stroller and diaper bag were still there.


"Yeah, we were a little confused by that."  I'll bet you were!


When we came to the stroller, I didn't think it would be a good idea to lay Mad in it for a diaper change.  For one thing (and I know my Minnesota friends will not like to hear this), it was about 90 degrees.  Bare heinie on hot whatever-the-heck-that-fabric-is cannot be comfortable.


And again, the stroller had been pushed as far as it could reasonably go.  By Tom, AKA Muscle Man.  Not holding a poopy baby.


Mad and I joined forces to push that sucker out of the muck.  Yeah... I held her in front of me and she held the handlebar while I pushed.  It took about 10 minutes or so, but we got back to "just dirt."  I put all SUIT concerns aside and plopped Mad down in the stroller for the slowest, most difficult ride of her life.  Many apologies to the flora alongside the trail.  Sometimes it was just easier to go up to harder packed dirt.  And by easier, I mean I only felt like maybe wandering off into the desert alone was not such a bad idea once or twice while crushing the sides of a few (hopefully) hearty plants.


We made it back to the cars... about 10 minutes before Tom and Corey, who had summited part of the dunes.


Once everybody was reasonably clean and rehydrated, we headed off to the Train Depot and museum.  It was about 35 miles away.  I set the cruise control for four miles per hour under the speed limit.  Sometimes Larry was waaaayy off in the distance.  Sometimes he was right.there.  I now understand my husband's driving a little better.  My latest goal is to never, never ever utter the words, "You drive like your father!"


Mad fell asleep about two minutes into the drive, so I stayed in the car.  When Corey returned and I finally headed out, I realized that Larry had opted out of the museum.


"You okay?"


"Yeah, but I spilled my coffee.  I tried to call Judy, but there's no reception.  Can you see if you can get her to bring me a coffee?  Or a soda pop?  Anything?!"  Apparently I get my coffee addiction from Larry.


Instead of meandering through the lovely old building, I hunted down Tom and Judy, blurted out my urgent message and used the restroom.  By then it was time to go.  I'm sure it was fascinating.


Another 45 minute drive of playing tag with our cars brought us to Baker.  For anyone from Southern California, this is the town with the thermometer.  Since it's a good mid-point between Vegas and anything, there are also a few restaurants.  We chose one of the last remaining Bob's Big Boys.  It's been there for decades, but for at least two of them it was called the Bun Boy.  Now it's back to the old glory days of mediocre diner food.  I guess when you're 90 miles from Vegas and 90 miles from our hometown, quality is a second thought.  I mean, what are you gonna do?  Drive down the block?  Buahahaha!!!


After dinner we were all thrilled when Mad went over and hugged Gramma's leg.  Too bad for Gramma that she was hugging Corey and wouldn't short-change him for his sister.  Too bad for me that I was so slow getting the camera out and on.  The grandparents headed off to Vegas for a couple of days of smoky R & R and we headed home.


We'd like to thank whomever came up with the idea to bring the 15 freeway down to two lanes right after merging it with I40.  That way everyone who was returning from Vegas and the river on a Sunday evening could spent a lot of time together.  A lot.  Our 90 mile drive took nearly three hours!  Thank goodness for the restroom at the Train Depot museum.


***
In Mad news, we saw the neurologist again.  She said the results do show a "slight irregularity."  Then she changed to, "Let me look... uhh... mild to moderate."  Of course she also said that Mad was hyperactive (no... she's active, and she might be more than a little annoyed from having to wait over an hour for you to show up for work this morning!!) and that she had "three episodes" (wrong again).  And Madelyn should have an MRI, which will require sedation.  In the meantime we should start her on Phenobarbital. 


The risks of not taking the medication to treat something that we can't even tell for sure she's dealing with... or if it's simply part of the healing process from having a head injury?  "All the usual risks with medication.  And at first she'll be a little drowsy, but she'll get used to it.  The most common complaint parents have is that the kids become hyper.  She could get a rash.  And with long term use, anything more than 2-3 years, she could lose a few points cognition."


The risks of not medicating her?  "She could continue to have seizures or changes in her brain activity or she might not."


Seriously?  We're supposed to change her personality through heavy sedation... and I've seen kids on phenobarb... they're freaking zombies!  Add problems with hyperactivity and run the risk of diminishing her (admittedly outstanding... I'm just saying) intellect for a problem that we're not entirely sure she even has? 


Anyone surprised that we're not sticking with this doctor?  We'll be seeking out a doctor whose patients are primarily pediatric (not geriatric), for one thing.  Then we'll be questioning the validity of the EEG and whether or not having a recent head injury could invalidate the results.  We didn't pull that last part out our asses hats, in case you were wondering.  In the meantime, I took Mad back to our chiropractor. 


Not only did she not try to insinuate that Mad probably had a seizure and then fell (which she didn't... and if any of the doctors had been there, they'd realize that), Dr. C was very gentle and loving.  Mad did need an adjustment near the top of her spine, which she did not love.  Baby adjustments aren't like those for adults, so there was no big neck twisting or popping, just gentle pressure and some tapping to relax the muscles.  Mad was in my arms the whole time.  I might be a little envious that she got adjusted and I didn't.


***
Corey's girlfriend, Lisa, is joining our trip to the Pumpkin patch tomorrow.  Please let my feet stay on the ground and out of my mouth!

Oh, Coffee Day

Hi.  My name is Shan.  I'm an addict.


*together now*  Hi Shan!


When I was a grade schooler, Mom used to very rarely let us drink coffee.  Her version of coffee for us kids was about 2/3 milk, probably way too much sugar and a little coffee.  I loved it.  After she and my dad divorced, I can't recall coffee ever being made in the home.  We were hot tea drinkers.


The first job I had where coffee making was involved happened when I was early 20's.  I worked at a machine shop as a job coach for adults with developmental disabilities.  Making coffee wasn't part of my job, but since I occasionally had a cup, it seemed fair that I should make some, too.  Plus it was extremely easy.  The coffee was pre-measured and the machines were actually hooked up to the waterlines.  All I had to do was change the filter, add coffee, flip the switch and wait a nano-second to get my cup filled. 


I'm pretty sure angels sang, "Laa haaaaaa!"


My next job was as doing vocational assessments.  Over the span of five years, I went from drinking coffee once or twice a month to two cups a day, plus the occasional "coffee zing" from down the street.  (Not familiar with a coffee zing?  It's chocolate and coffee ice creams, with pieces of brownies, milk and coffee... my mouth is watering and that place has been closed for about 8 years.)  With a standard pot, I finally learned how to make coffee for real.  A coworker gave me her little pot to use at home, and I could do that, too.


I should probably mention that I have a history of heart palpitations.  Once they were so bad that things actually went black and I saw stars.  Caffeine's not really recommended for a person like me.  Additionally, I am generally hyper-sensitive to the effects of caffeine, meaning that I become really hyper and act like a damn fool.


When my daily habit started creeping up to three cups a day, I knew it was time to give it up.  So I did.  For three weeks.


You know how it is with addicts; something happens and they fall off the wagon.  So it was.  I think the wagon might have rolled over me a few times.


My office was slowly being dismantled.  First we lost our student worker.  The GED teacher gave notice and headed off to New York.  Then two of our examiners were chopped.  The axe finally fell on the rest of us by the end of that spring.  Only one coworker, Carrie, and I had bumping rights.  As single mothers, we regretted having to force someone else out of work, but had to protect our kids first (fortunately, neither of us caused actual unemployment... "just" havoc).  After several weeks in limbo, and with a massive packing up of our offices before us, I finally broke down and had my first cup of coffee in three weeks. 


Then another.


I couldn't sit in my seat for longer than a minute or two, and could definitely not talk slower than that guy from the old Federal Express commercials.


*cue phone ringing*


Carrie (she was our receptionist):  Shannon, it's for you.  Jackie somebody.  I think she's from XYZ.  She could be your new boss!"  I spent about .5 seconds doing what were supposed to be some deep cleansing breaths before answering.


As six years have passed since that conversation, I don't recall all of the details.  I do recall coming off as almost excited about everything (which I wasn't), and having to force myself to slow down.  I gave some lame-assed excuse like, "I can tell this is a shock for you, and I understand.  But we've been dealing with this in some form for four months, so I'm probably at a different place in the grieving process."


***I don't normally spew that sort of stuff, but it was all based in reality and it did seem to keep our conversation more positive than not.


During the economic boom, I was eventually sucked into the Starbucks community.  I was there at least once a week because one of my sign classes happened at one.  It turned out that Nance was a pretty big fan of Starbucks, too, so we frequented them together.


Baristas at no fewer than seven Starbucks knew our faces, our orders and frequently, our names.  One of them, Ed, said that I looked like Nicole Kidman (I've heard it before, too, but have to say that the resemblance could have only been fleeting (and non-existent now).  We heard rumors about Ed; that he'd been a host of Fear Factor in the UK and whatnot.  We knew he was married with a lovely wife he adored and twins on the way.  We were surprised, but not shocked when he suddenly showed up on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.


***I ran into him and his family a few months after his hand was injured on the show.  Not only had it been quite a while since I'd seen him, I was out of context.  He had no clue who I was.  I became that person when I said... in front of his wife, child and some other adults, "You said I look like Nicole Kidman, remember?"  Pardon me while I vomit in my mouth a little.


As soon as I figured I might be pregnant with Mad, I quit caffeine altogether.  That meant no coffee, no iced tea, no chocolate.  For a baby I can do what I won't do for myself.  At Starbucks I switched to a vanilla steamer (hot milk with vanilla).


As the nation's economy has tanked, so have our own wallets tightened.  Nance has discovered that she loves McDonald's coffee.  I don't go there on principle... and because the Quarter Pounder with Cheese might actually win.  Plus, they don't make decaf drinks.


Corey and I have rediscovered the joy that can come from a well "brewed" gas station "cappuccino" machine.  For what my drink used to cost at Starbucks, he and I can each get something yummy.  However, they don't have steamed milk at gas stations, and I've found that the existence of decaf is hit or miss.  Plus I now have to leave  at 6:15, whereas before we moved, I was getting up at 6:45.


Coffee, oh coffee, wherefore art thou?


We have been trying to save more money lately, so even gas station coffee is out most of the time.  A few days a week I brew a pot at home.  Since I've got a full-sized pot now, I'm having a hard time figuring out how much coffee to put in for a half-pot.  Every once in a while, Tom will pick up a four-pack of bottled Frappuccinos.  I love him more every time.


Yesterday I didn't brew.  And I forgot the Frappuccino.  I remembered while I was still in our neighborhood, but I figure our neighbors already think we are the forgettingest people out there, so I refused to go back.  The good gas station coffee is about three miles away and across the freeway from us.  Not too far out of the way (just the across-the-freeway-and-back part), but would require pulling Mad from her seat.


I haven't had much luck lately buying coffee down the hill.  It's all funky and weird or downright bad.  Trying to recall where I'd enjoyed gas station coffee years back I recalled that Arco was always good.  I don't go there because the gas is bad, but in a coffee emergency?  Hey, I'm there!


I didn't try it until I was out of the lot and heading to my office.  There was no time to go back when I realized it was awful!  I consoled myself with thoughts of the admittedly bitter coffee at work.


By the time I hit the pots, the coffee was cold.  Like freezing cold.  I'm not sure if it was left out from the night before or if something had happened to the machine (we are forever going through coffee makers).


No coffee for me.  Add to it that my allergies are freaking rampant right now.  I sneezed 11 times in a row the other morning.  Caffeine, in this case, is beneficial.  It helps open the sinuses.


By the end of the day I knew I'd be taking the next day off.  Was it my allergies or was it the bad coffee day?  Who knows?  Who cares?  I spent the day sleeping, sneezing and blowing my lovely red crack-addict looking nose.  Tomorrow, however... there will be coffee.

Chocolate, Naps

Since thinking that I might be pregnant, I gave up all sources of caffeine, including chocolate and coffee. That was July of last year. I'm avoiding the math, because it's just too freaking long no matter how ya look at it. Well, I exaggerate a bit; I did resume drinking decaf when Mad was about four or five months old. Here's how pure my system has been: I can feel the caffeine in decaf coffee, even if it's not from Starbucks.

I know that a lot of women have all sorts of coffees and chocolates throughout their pregnancies and even while nursing. I don't judge. It works for them, and in every single case I know, the moms and babies are none the worse for wear. I've always been sensitive to caffeine, so even at the height of my Starbucks addiction, I couldn't have more than a grande half-caf misto (half steamed milk and half steamed coffee... and half of the coffee was decaf) per day... and frequently I didn't finish them.

I went to a breastfeeding support group the other day. Did I ask for any new suggestions to help increase my milk supply? Did I mention that I'm now down to pumping less than four ounces a day... and not all at one time? How about mentioning that I'd love some tips for dealing what has become a standard two weeks of PMS? Nope.

"When can I have chocolate?" Hmm... maybe I did cover the PMS thing after all.

The other moms looked at me like I was from another planet. I guess the whole, I didn't judge your choices thing wasn't reciprocal, but that's okay. The group leader, Jeri, said... *drum roll, please*

"Well... now. Just don't have a whole bunch. The thing with chocolate is the caffeine, so don't have chocolate and coffee."

The first person I told was my son. Why? Simply because right after group, I picked him up to go to my mom's. If I'd been at the top of Mt. Baldy, I'd have been yodeling it down into the valley, believe me. The thing is, I don't just want chocolate. I want damn good chocolate. I want XOXO Truffles chocolate. Yes, that means driving up to San Francisco (unless somebody can show me a link to their website... all I can find are mouth-watering reviews), and no, Tom's brother doesn't live there anymore, so we'd also have to get a hotel room. I know that's a lot to do for a truffle. Have you tried them?

Aaargh!

Tonight Corey and Tom had guy night. Somewhere along the way, Tom stopped and bought me a bag of Ghiradelli's dark chocolate squares. I tried not to scoff and sneer at this pathetic little imitation. I tried not to rip it open and eat them all in some horrifying impersonation of Cookie Monster, too.

Ugh! I took a nap this evening when Mad did. I figured she was about to wake up in half an hour, max. I'm already up later than I should be. I know that if I have one of those squares tonight, I'll never get to sleep. So I'm signing off now to go enjoy some chocolate dreams, but tomorrow... it's on!