I Love Lucy

This is Lucy. She and I have been together for a long time. My college boyfriend and I adopted her from a south Georgia animal shelter almost 13 years ago. The shelter workers had the cats divided into two groups- the "cool" cats and the "not cool" cats. None of the "cool" kitties really caught my eye, so I decided to check out the uncool group. As soon as I walked in the room, this pretty little black cat started to meow at me. The minute I picked her up, she snuggled in my arms, reached her paw up, and rested it on my cheek. I was a goner. So we adopted her and adored her, and when the boyfriend and I parted ways, Lucy came with me.

Not long after, Matt and I started dating. He knew that Lucy and I were a package deal, but Matt hates cats. He was perfectly nice to Lucy, but I didn't know if he'd ever really bond with her. That concern was laid to rest when I came home from working a shift at the video store to find Matt holding Lucy up to the ceiling so she could catch a bug she'd been chasing. And even if he won't admit it, I know he loves Lucy almost as much as I do. He still hates cats, but he loves Lucy.

And things have rocked along pretty smoothly with Luce ever since. Oh sure, there have been some hiccups along the way. She hid for an entire month after Tess joined the family, coming out only at night, under a cover of darkness to eat. Then there was a terrifying night when we thought we'd lost her while we were moving to a new house. Luckily, Matt's dad found her hiding in a cabinet at the old house! She made herself fairly scarce when Mason was born (though as he's gotten older and more gentle, she's decided he's one of her favorite people), and now that the twins are here, she's stays holed up in my room during most of the daylight hours. But she's been mostly happy and healthy for more than a decade.

Until now. Now my sweet kitty girl has a tumor. It's in her mouth and we have no idea if it's malignant or benign, we just know it has to come out. So she's scheduled to have surgery tomorrow. It's going to cost a small fortune- $500-$600, but what can you do? She's in good health otherwise, and as long as the tumor isn't in her jawbone, she should be fine after the surgery. As long as they can get it all, she should have several good years ahead of her. Now, if it is in her jawbone, she's pretty much out of luck. As much as we love her, kitty chemo just isn't an option for us. But we're hoping and praying that this surgery will take care of it, and that we have lots of years left with our furry friend. So, do me a favor, say a little prayer, send good vibes her way-whatever works for you- that Miss Lucille will come through this with flying colors.

Making Progress

Okay, so maybe you remember that Matt and I got an elliptical back in January, and I was bound and determined to get my flabby ass into shape. So I guess it's time to check in and let you know how that little endeavor is going. Has the elliptical been relegated to an expensive coat rack? I am happy to report that it has not. No, that SOB is still punishing me on a several times weekly basis. Has it gotten any easier? No, no it has not. I'm still a panting, sweaty mess every time I get off that thing, and I still feel like there's a strong possibility that I might die at some point during every workout. But the good news is, it's working!!!!

I've lost about 12 pounds, which puts me over half way to my goal. Honestly, I find that number a bit frustrating- 12 pounds doesn't seem like much in two months. But when I bitch about it, Matt reminds me that I've built a fair amount of muscle, and that weighs more than fat. I've lost several inches and a good bit of jiggle, so I try to focus on that more than the stubborn numbers on the scale. And I'm definitely more fit. Mason and I have returned to our evening walks now that we've got daylight after dinner, and the hills that used to kill me are now easy as pie. (Mmmmmm.... pie....) And I have to admit that I'd probably lose more weight if I was stricter about my diet. I do pretty good during the week, but I kind of let things go on the weekend. C'est la vie, life's too short to live on broiled fish, and I don't want to be skinny that bad.

I've still got a ways to go before I'm happy, but I've got another couple of months before I have to face the most horrifying of horrors- bathing suit season. And quite frankly, I think it would take more than exercise and diet to make me happy in a swimsuit. That would require a scalpel, and I just can't afford the tummy tuck/boob lift/lipo that would give me a "beach body." I'm trying to make peace with the fact that you can only do so much with a body that has housed three people. And it's even worse when it acted as a duplex last time around.

But hey, it's better than it was two months ago, so yay me!!! And I'm totally kicking Matt's butt when it comes to elliptical usage. He hasn't used it since he had the flu a month ago, so I get to be smug about my commitment to fitness! So that's where things stand in Operation Taking Back My Life 2011- I'm (a little) skinnier, more fit, and I got a really cute haircut, so I'm calling it a success so far.

Ol' Yeller

I am a yeller. I admit it. Some moms manage to keep a calm, collected tone no matter what ridiculous, annoying thing their kids do. Me? Not so much. I yell. A lot.

I wish that I didn't. I don't like that it teaches my kids to yell at each other (which they do, constantly) I don't like how it makes me sound. Growing up, I had a neighbor that yelled at her children non-stop, and you could hear her across the neighborhood. She was pretty much the white-trash queen, and that is not something I aspire to be. Of course, I also witnessed her beat the crap out of her kids with a plastic baseball bat in her backyard on more than one occasion, and I haven't sunk to those levels. And yet, I find myself hollering at my children in the backyard frequently, and all I can do is shake my head in shame and wonder 'What must the neighbors think?"

But in the past few days, Will's developed a new habit that I hope will help curb my yelling tendencies. Any time I raise my voice, he puts his finger to his lips and says, "Ssshhh, Mommy, be quiet.." I know it's probably not such a good idea to let my three year old reprimand me, but honestly, kid's got a point. And perhaps getting called out by my toddler will help me be a little more aware of how much I'm yelling at my kids. After all, yelling is way more effective when you don't do it all the time. Then they know you mean business.

Hopefully, I'll be able to turn myself into one of those calm, cool, collected mommies. Okay, that's probably too lofty a goal- you know how crazy my kids are, sometimes yelling is necessary. So instead I'll aim for not yelling unless I really need to. Maybe I can teach them to keep their cool by keeping mine. Hell, anything that reduces the noise level around here is worth a shot.

Escape to Bitch Mountain

Finally, after months of waiting, I had my girl's weekend with my mom and sisters. You may remember that my sister, Elizabeth, rented us a cabin in the mountains as the Best. Christmas. Present. Ever. We were supposed to go a couple of months ago, but had to postpone due to widespread illness. But finally, the weekend that Matt had nicknamed "Escape to Bitch Mountain" had arrived!

We left Friday afternoon, which meant a fairly harrowing trip through rush hour traffic in Atlanta. We narrowly avoided a multi-car pile-up when mom practically came to a stop in the middle of the interstate when she thought she missed her exit, but we escaped with only a few dirty looks. Nightfall was closing in on us as we drove further and further into the hills of North Georgia, and we were racing the dark to get to our VERY isolated cabin in the woods.

I'm not gonna lie, four women alone in a cabin in the woods can be a little scary. I mean, that's how horror movies start. We were slightly jumpy and on high alert lest we be attacked by marauding hillbillies. At one point, mom had stepped out on the back porch only to race back in with a terrified look on her face. My stomach just about dropped out of my body when she said, "I think I hear someone walking around out there." Luckily, it turned out to be a decorative flag brushing up against the porch railing, and not Cletus the Hillbilly coming to get us. (But in mom's defense, it really did sound like someone walking through the leaves.) We passed the night without further scares- well, I think Paige was slightly terrified when we started singing the score of The Sound of Music, but who could blame her.

We didn't do much the next day. We spent a lazy morning drinking coffee and talking. We did have a hillbilly encounter in the form of a maintenance man- I don't know his name, but we called him Pappy. I'm pretty sure that given the chance, he would have taken Mama off to his hillbilly hideaway to make her his bride. But considering his diminutive stature, community theatre sweatshirt, and love of scented candles, we were fairly certain the four of us could take him if he tried. We spent a couple of hours bumming around the rather unimpressive town of Blue Ridge, but we were back by mid-afternoon and spent the rest of the day drinking (except for preggo Elizabeth) and watching movies.

We survived the storm of the century Saturday night without incident, and headed back towards civilization Sunday morning. We had a good time, and it was a much needed break from being the mommy. We definitely want to do it again, but no more mountains. Next time, we'd like to be a little closer to other human beings. It's just a little more relaxing when you're not worried about being killed in your sleep, ya' know??