Calgon Take Me Away, I Mean It, Take Me Away!

I need a break. And it needs to be longer than a bathroom break, with a baby, a dog, and two cats pounding on the door, barking, meowing, and screeching.

I need a break that doesn't involve a trip to the grocery store, picking up dog poo, or stopping at one of our many pharmacies.

I need a break for one day where I don't have to call Medicare, CCS, a doctor, a pharmacist, our health insurance company (who just raised our rates $60 a month), a day without 12 bills in the mail about premiums and how they aren't responsible for this cost because they're just plain evil, and blah, blah, blah.

I need a break from my darling baby who is malabsorbing again, waking up 3-4 times in the night and screaming during meals. I need a break from administering meds, forcing enzymes down a toddler's throat, and worrying constantly about her weight, and if that cough is pneumonia, or just a cough.

I need a break from Sesame Street and Baby Einstein, and the two hours of respiratory treatments a day.

I need a break from the dishes, cheerios wedged into the cracks in the hardwood floor, my barking dog who hates the mailman and won't let me brush the big mat out of his tail, the litter box and the little kitty feet who track litter into every room in the house.

I need a break that involves lots of pasta, red wine, a movie, a massage, a trip around the world, a farmer's market in Provence, a swim in the ocean, a walk through the mountains, a bubble bath and delicious novel about love and betrayal, and one nights rest where the pillow is soft, the room is quiet and the morning is a long way away.

I need a break from myself, because even if I took a break, I would still be worrying about all of those things that aren't getting done because I'm taking a break.

Reina - August 1989-January 30, 2007

Our wonderful cat Reina died today. She was 17.

She leaves behind a loving family who will miss her dearly.

Reina spent her life giving to others, always ready to jump on your lap while reading the paper, head-butting your chin for attention, and never giving up until you submitted affection. She loved to eat, roll in the dirt, sleep, cuddle, and always found the sunniest spot in the house to sit.

Reina joins Mandy, Spock, Kricket, Rosie and Sage in animal heaven.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation.

I Have a Dream

Grandma "W" is the Executive Director of the LA, I HAVE A DREAM FOUNDATION and today they had their annual Gospel Brunch at the House of Blues to raise money and awareness for this amazing organization.

Here's a little history (from their website):

The I Have a Dream movement began in 1981. As New York City businessman Eugene Lang prepared to address a group of graduating sixth graders at his alma mater, East Harlem Elementary, he was told that only 25% of the students sitting before him would graduate from high school. The figure was so alarming that he was moved to make an astonishing offer: He would pay the college tuition of each and every student who graduated from high school. The results were truly amazing: 90% of those sixth graders graduated from high school, and 60% went to college. This remarkable accomplishment led to the creation of the I Have a Dream Foundation, which has since expanded to more than sixty chapters across the country and served over 14,000 Dreamers.

The big guests at the event were Jennifer Garner, Rebecca Romijn, Tyra Banks, Alexis Bledel (Gilmore Girls), and Silvio Horta, creator of the show, "Ugly Betty."

And...Larry David was an attendee!!! He was a co-creator of "Seinfeld" and the creator and star of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" on HBO. He's one of the funniest people alive, and I love him. I'm not big on meeting stars, because you ultimately feel like a dork, saying something embarrassing like, "I love your work," or "Remember that episode of Seinfeld where George's fiance Susan licks too many wedding invitation envelopes and dies from glue toxicity? I LOVE that one!" So, I admired from afar.

But it was a great event and the kids and adults who have benefited from the foundation are always the best part. Their charm, confidence, and honesty upstage the big stars every year. It's amazing how children's lives are forever changed by mentoring. All a kid really needs is an adult who believes in them. And that is what makes this foundation so wonderful. Because they don't throw money at the problem, they throw people at the problem. And it works! I'm so amazed by Grandma "W" and her selflessness. She has changed so many lives and like Superman, still has energy to babysit!

FD and his dad photographed the event, and Froggy was photographed by the paparazzi! We were behind the red carpet and she kept peeking out. The photographers "oooohhed and ahhhed" over her cutie-patootieness and snapped some pics of her. So maybe the next time you read US or People, you'll see a little naughty Froggy! She was totally into her little dress and patten-leather shoes. Such a girlie-girl.

If you haven't read Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech, in a while, here it is (condensed). I wish we had leaders like this today:

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

My new maid

The entire floor? Are you kidding?

Alright, but I want a pony.

Okay, Cough it Up!

And give a donation to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation!

I apologize for the horrible pun. It's truly tasteless, but where would we be without a sense of humor?

Last year, with your help, we raised over $18,000 for The Cystic Fibrosis Foundation! This year I've promised Froggy, we will raise $25,000 in her name. Raising money for a cure is the only thing I can do as a mother to ensure our sweet girl will live a healthier, happier and longer life.

The average life-expectancy for someone with CF is only 37 years. And only 60% of people with CF reach adulthood. That WILL NOT be the case for Froggy. But we need your help to raise money for better treatments and that elusive, but possible cure!

Click HERE to donate.

My wonderful friend, Mieke, has already raised over $1,000. And last year, she raised $8,000! Join her, and post this website on your blog, email all of your friends and ask them to help save a little Froggy!

Tell everyone you know that a little girl is counting on YOU to find her cure! I read every article published about CF, every drug in the FDA pipeline, every article about new antiobiotics, treatments, inhalers, and we are so close to a cure. This disease is not what it was 25 years ago, ten, or even five years ago. Kids today born with CF (I believe) will be the first to live a "normal" life. But pharmaceutical companies need a monetary incentive to do the important research that will get us there. And that is why we are literally counting on you to save those 30,000 people in the US with CF.

Please donate, any amount. Every dollar is a dollar that brings us closer to a cure!

If you would like to walk in the Great Strides 10K, and help raise money for CF, click here. And click on "Join My Walk Team".

Thank you for your help!

Into the Woods

After a fabulous breakfast, courtesy of Froggydaddy, our friend "J" and family headed to the mountains for a hike. It was just what we needed, especially after three pounds of bacon, blueberry muffins, and eggs. I'm sure we walked off those 10,000 calories, right?

Grandma and Grandpa came over for dinner and read stories to little Froggy who got a kick out of Grandpa's funny voices for a monkey, parrot and elephant. She looked up at him like, "you're crazy, but I love you anyway."

It was a wonderful Sunday and I'll leave you with some thoughts on nature :

Other roads do some violence to nature, and bring the traveller to stare at her, but the river steals into the scenery it traverses without intrusion, silently creating and adoring it, and is as free to come and go as the zephyr.

...Wildness is the preservation of the World. - Henry David Thoreau

Nature is loved by what is best in us...And the beauty of nature must always seem unreal and mocking, until the landscape has human figures that are as good as itself.

Nature never rhymes her children, nor makes two men alike. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I think I will do nothing for a long time but listen,

And accrue what I hear into myself....and let sounds contribute toward me.

I hear the bravuras of birds....the bustle of growing wheat....

gossip of flames....clack of sticks cooking my meals.

I hear the sound of a human voice....a sound I love,

I hear all sounds as they are tuned to their uses....sounds of the

city and sounds out of the city....sounds of the day and night.

- Walt Whitman

Hello? Hello? Anybody there?

Hellooooooo, Papa? Papa?

You may find this next blog boring unless you are:

a. related to us,

b. have no life

c. your favorite tv shows are America's Funniest Home Videos, Full House or Touched by an Angel, and you're totally desensitised to cheese.

d) all of the above.

Froggy update:

16 months, 11 days, 6 hours old.

21 lbs (10th percentile)

30 inches (above 25th percentile)

Four teeth on the top

Three teeth on the bottom and one more coming in (thus sleepless nights and lots of Motrin)

Froggy talks on the phone now, and mimics my conversations with "mmmhmmms, and, gackka kanockanock." Her expressions are hilarious, as she pretend-hears the other end of the conversation and either agrees with pleasant 'aaahaaaas' or disagrees with a phone slammed on the floor and an "uh oh" or sometime she reverses it and it's an "oh uh" or is clearly disappointed with whatever the pretend person just said, and utters a futile, "uh."

But the other day when her Papa Gus was talking to her, she said "Papa!" Grandma is a little jealous, so I wouldn't bring it up.

And today, around the time Daddy usually comes home, Froggy went to the door, knocked on it and said, "Hi, Daddy?"

She is struggling to communicate every idea that comes into her head, and I can see the frustration she feels without language comprehension. I've taught her a few signs, but she's started creating her own, and I have no idea what they mean. I think when she points at me - it means, "mom, give me cheese," and when she pats my leg it means, "ahhh, I love my moms," and when she pokes my bellybutton, she's really saying, "time to lay off the Rocky Road, lady."

See, I told you it was only cute, if you love us already!

Did I mention Froggy is totally brilliant? Here are some great steps she's taken on her path to enlightenment, or preschool, whatever.

Actually, I'll let her tell you. She's way funnier than me.

Froggy here. Mom let me stay up late, so I could write her blog. How's that for bad parenting, whew!

So, you wanna know all the cute stuff I'm doing?

I'm totally walking now. I know, I took my time before giving up my super-crawl-moves! But I'm a Virgo, and that means I must master the old before learning the new.

I'm such a girl. Mom's a little worried because she's more of a hiker than a shopper. But I loves me some shoes, let me tell you. Yesterday, when we met 'Gorgeous Hair' for coffee, I could not get over her shoes and had to touch them. Mom's slippers are my fav. I put a hand in each one and polish the floors.

I also inherited Mom's clean gene. When she dusts, I take a baby wipe and clean the floors, my toy car, my baby's face. And I'm a big help with the laundry. When Mommy folds something, I unfold it for her, and throw it on the floor. I think that's how it works, right?

One of my favorite things to do is put on jewelry. Mom has this tacky red necklace, that she bought from "Forever 21", for $3.99. Who is she kidding, she'll be 30 this June! Anyway, it's awesome and I wear it around the house all day, and her butterfly scarf. Today, when Mommy took my shirt off because I smeared avocado all over it, I put on my necklace and scarf on and walked around the house naked, but with a little bling, bling. I am all about accessories.

I can sing Old McDonald, okay, I can't really sing it, but I chime in with the "eeeiiiieeeeiiioooooo".

Pigs are one of my favorite animals, because they snort, and I love to snort. Whenever I see a pig in a book, or when Mommy hits the Rocky Road, I snort, snort, snort!!!

Oh man, I am so cute. This could go on forever.

Mommy chases me around the house, while I play my Kazoo or harmonica. I'm a big music lover, and my favorite is U2 right now. Mommy listens to NPR news and it is soooo boring, but sometimes she puts on music instead and I rock out baby!!!

I'm teething big time and waking up a lot during the night. Two nights ago I was up from 2-5am, and finally snuggled under Daddy's chin, my favorite snuggle spot - when he shaves!

My best friend is my blanket, Lambie, who I call Mimi. Mom bought me a generic Lambie at Target the other day and tried to pass him off as the original during nap time. I didn't fall for it, and screamed. Lambie was in the wash, and it was traumatic, I tell you. How dare they clean my stinky, milk-smelling Mimi!

Usually I call my mom, Eeessss, but she prefers Mom, so I humor her. Daddy is the funniest man alive and makes a killer omelet. Buddy and the cats let me pet them, even when I get a little rough. I still love to eat dog food and everyday Mommy makes me spit out a few kernels.

If you've made it this far, you are a true Froggy Fan! Peace.

One Year Ago Today

One year ago today, we received the news that Froggy had Cystic Fibrosis. It was the worst day of my life. This picture was from the day she was born, the best day of my life.

Last night in a somber mood, after Froggy and FD went to bed, I stayed up til 1am writing this essay.

One Night in the Hospital

The little boy on the other side of the curtain was a new intake, and our new roommate. Soft-spoken and sweet, he was ushered in with a herd of women; aunties, grannies, mamas, and sisters. It was two o’clock in the morning and by the shrill volume of their voices, they must have believed they were at a horse track, cheering Casino Wheels into the homestretch. An interpreter loudly translated the boy’s diabetic specifications, HMO policies, schedules, diet, and meds. These were his needs.

What we needed was sleep. It had only been a week since we were given the devastating news that our four-month-old baby girl had Cystic Fibrosis. It was one of those diseases you read about in the mail. They send a picture of a cute kid, with a slightly pathetic smile and a letter from his dad begging you to give money for the cure. This was us now. We were the family in an envelope, begging for a cure.

Before we had a chance to accept this reality, we were admitted to Children’s Hospital. Our little girl was very sick. She needed a blood transfusion, enzymes to digest food, and vitamins pumped directly into her veins. We were terrified and coping, but more than anything, we needed sleep.

The little boy on the other side of the curtain watched cartoons while the women in his life fought for every detail of his care with loud, cheetah calls. On the television, a coyote chased a roadrunner, with "mmmeee meeps, and beee beeps." I put the pillow over my head and dreamed of anywhere else but here. It was the middle of the night, and yet in a hospital, this was just another hour of fixing someone’s glucose, skinned knee and cancer.

It’s hard to feel sorry for other people when you’re struggling with your own stuff. I needed rest. My baby needed rest. And I didn’t care about this kid, his loud aunties, or the obnoxious interpreter. I grabbed my tiny babe, a couple blankets and left the room, giving everyone a dirty look as I left. It was a look that meant, “Did you ever stop to consider there were people sleeping on the other side of this curtain?” If there was one time in my life where I was allowed to be selfish, this was it.

We followed the yellow-painted feet to the dark side of the hallway, where the respirators never rest. These patients were in isolation and had their own rooms, and I silently envied them. At least they were getting some sleep, even to the hum of metal lungs.

After 10 rounds of circling the fifth floor, we slipped into the elevator, and it hit ‘down’.

A hospital main floor is like a mall after closing. It holds the ghosts of the day and never really feels empty. When I was a Bluebird in Campfire, the local mall in Des Moines, Iowa, let 400 girls spend the night. It was a dreamland for an eight-year-old, like Barbie coming to life, or magically being given the ability to fly. We ate eggrolls, cherry slushies and watched the movie “The Dark Crystal” at three o’clock in the morning. The best part of a mall at 3am is that you aren’t supposed to be there. And as I walked the halls of Children’s Hospital, twenty years later, I felt that same excitement of doing something forbidden. We had broken out of our room, and this place was ours.

We passed the McDonald’s, lobby, coffee stand, and nodded to the janitors as they politely turned off their vacuums for my sleeping baby. They gave us the “sorry” look, and I appreciated their empathy.

The room I finally entered was about the size of a utility closet. It had an alter, bible and place to kneel. There was even a stained glass window and the light illuminated the dollhouse church like an Alice in Wonderland cathedral. It felt surreal and peaceful. I couldn’t help but think that I was supposed to be here. For some reason, the intake, lack of sleep, this place was what I needed.

On the table I found a book and a pen attached with a metal string. I thought it was a guest book, like at a wedding or funeral, or perhaps a list of everyone who had faith. You just sign in as a good Christian and you’re free to go, even if you skip the reception.

But this was a book of prayers, written by people, who like me found themselves alone in a utility closet church, wondering how in the world we ended up here.

The first passage went something like this:

Dear God,

I know I haven’t been a good Catholic, but my baby is sick. She has cancer. We don’t know if she will make it. Dear God, please do not punish her. She has done nothing wrong. If you are mad at me for not believing, please take me.

This was another one:

Dear God,
Please do not let my sister die. If you have to kill someone, take me. I’m older.

And another:

Dear God,
I don’t understand.

And another:

Dear God,
I have always believed in you. You are a good God and I know you will do what is best. But please don’t let my daughter die...

And this one broke my heart the most:

Dear God,
Our baby has suffered so much in this life. I know you will take better care of her in the next one...

I sobbed. And then I sobbed some more. My baby awoke and I had to control it, like putting a lid on a fire hydrant. I hadn’t cried since we were admitted and now it was all coming out in a giant gush of emotion. I was afraid the janitors could hear my sobs over their vacuums.

I didn’t write anything in the book. But I did pray. I said over and over, “please God, please God, please God” and I didn’t even know what I was praying for. For my baby, for the little boy on the other side of the curtain, for all the babies in the hospital who were dying, suffering, and for all those mommies whose worlds came crumbling down with one look in their child’s face. The sorrow I felt for myself lifted. This was not just about us.

In other people’s prayers I found heartbreaking peace. I was not just praying for my own baby, but for everyone’s baby. I ached for them too. And somehow that was comforting.

We took the elevator upstairs to the fifth floor, where our roommate was sleeping. His television was on –the coyote still chasing the roadrunner. His aunties, mamas, grandmas and sisters had gone and he suddenly looked tiny in this hospital bed without an entourage. He was just a boy, small, alone, and sick.

I felt responsible for him. He wasn’t a disruption, he was somebody’s baby.

The next day I introduced myself, and told our new neighbor if there was anything he needed, we were happy to help.

Froggy Smooches

Oh Grandpa J, you are soooo funny. Now, let me at that mustache!

When I'm your age, will I have facial hair?

This picture was post-accident. She was walking with her baby's bottle in her mouth and ran into a box of diapers. Her tooth cut her lip and she was bleeding, and screaming. Poor thing. But she settled down when I put on Sesame Street. My kisses and loving were nothing compared to Elmo. I swear he's the baby whisperer.

Now drink your bottle and go to bed.

This baby has toes, just like me! I wonder if they taste as good as mine.


This Froggymama is too tired to write. But I wanted to post some pics of our sweet girl. She is delightful, funny and sweet. And those lips are sooooo kissable. Everyday, I must kiss them a thousand times. She looks at me like, "ohhhh, not again," but I can't help it. They call out to me, "SMOOOOCHH MEEEE! SMOOOOOCHH ME!!!!" So I do.

Behind Our House

Later, when you have grey
around the edges, poking
out of brow and beard, and my body has sunk
into my middle,

you’ll say, things like “yes dear” and “whatever you prefer love” because anything else is too much effort
and you will have learned the lesson
of fifty years
of not being right.

And I will have ceased to sigh at the sight of unwashed dishes on the counter,
empty
toilet paper rolls,
and peanut butter smeared across the fridge.

We will have traveled the seven seas
And one more,
just to be sure that we truly lived.


Children grown, grandchildren growing and the two of us closing in on
‘til death do us part’ – like toddlers
we’ll revert to order;
a scheduled day of planned naps,
graham cracker snacks and favorite television programs we just can’t miss –
Bicycle Racing and Wild America vs. Lifetime and Court TV.
I’ll cook soft food and put dinner through a juicer.

Behind our house, a bicycle trail snakes its way up the mountain, where we ride
our tandem, taking turns with the peddles
and stopping to take in the view, catch our breath and talk of what
has changed and what has stayed
the same.

At night, I’ll lotion my calves and fill a hotwater bottle
for my achin’ back and you
will fall asleep in the big chair by the window
with the dog on your lap, listening to the radio as it talks you to sleep.

And each morning we will look to see if our partner in life
and love
is still breathing,
still pink,
still there.

-by Froggymama

Come One, Come All

Remember when you made a face as a kid, and your great aunt said, "be careful, or your face will stick that way?"

Well it's true. Froggydaddy and Sissy Snuggiekins are now forever stuck as ugly freaks of nature. I'm thinking about taking them on the carnival circuit. I've always wanted to live in a trailer, while mastering the art of "duck pond" and "skee ball".

We'll eat cotton candy and corn dogs for dinner, ride the ferris wheel before bed, and totally abandon all dental responsibilities for life. It will be a monster truck existence, with bad country music and Metallica blaring out of loud speakers, even during nap time. For chores, Froggy will clean up after the elephants, and when she complains, we'll shout (without any teeth, of course), "It'll put hair on your chest, girlie. Now go get Froggymama another corndog." At this point, I will be the 1200 pound woman, but miraculously Froggydaddy will remain tall and skinny. We'll be the real life Jack Sprat and his very fat wife. They'll have to cart me around in a whale net.

And when Froggy starts dating a wolfman or lobsterguy, we'll be so proud of how far we've come, and look fondly back on how our life as carnies all began with a single picture. Yes, we're on our way. Five bucks for three pingpong balls and you too can win the big prize - a giant Velvet Elvis Painting, or blow-up Bart Simpson doll. Come one, come all!

Sisterly Love

Sissy Snuggiekins spent the night with us and Froggy was smitten. She already looks up to her with such admiration and affection. At sixteen months, Froggy has decided her sister is way cooler than us.

I dressed her in black for the day, so she could bond and feel that teen angst. Sadly, they don't make Alice and Chains shirts for toddlers, so this outfit was the best I could do. They had a great time. Sissy instant-messaged her friends, while Froggy talked on her Fisher Price phone.

I'm thrilled Froggy will have her wonderful sister in life. I am so blessed to have mine. She is my best friend, knows all my dirty secrets and still loves me. Or maybe mom pays her an allowance to pretend she does. Either way, there is no relationship quite as complicated, loving, and powerful as sibling love.

We love those beautiful girls!

Froggy Tootsalot

I'm afraid Froggy is more like her father than I had hoped. That sounds mean, but you'll understand in a second. And for those of you who know FD, you already understand.

As I was changing Froggy's diaper today, she tooted. It was an open tushie toot, and the echo resonated throughout the bedroom. I laughed and said, "Peeeeeyuuuuuu!"

She then tooted again. And again. And again. And again. All for the amusement of hearing her own flatulance. When she was out of gas, this little engine kept trying. Her little face got red, and then turned to disappointment, when she realized her superpowers were merely 'temporary.'

Yes, this stinky little apple did not fall far from her Daddy's tree. And tonight, when I tell FD about his daughter's new talent, I know his eyes will fill with tears, out of pride; pride in knowing his babygirl finds bodily noises (especially her own) to be the highest form of comedy.

What's a Froggymama to do? I guess I'll invest in some whoopie cushions and go with the flow.

Oh No! My Mom's Fat

I'd like to take a moment to blame the parties involved in my five pound weight gain this holiday season.

First, my dad, for filling the fridge with a fabulous local pale ale. It was too good to resist. I saw you drinking your light beer, while supplying me with the good stuff. How dare you. How much did you gain? Nothing? Hmmmmmm.

Secondly, I'd like to blame my mom for baking my favorite Cathedral Cookies. They're colored marshmallows mixed with nuts, and finished with a chocolaty edge that melts, melt, melts in your mouth. They look like the windows of a church and taste like heaven. Thank you mom, for my cathedral-sized butt.

Aunt Arctica, thanks for forcing me to eat at my favorite Thai and Italian restaurant, and making me share your Caramel Lattes, wine, and Ruffles with AE Party Dip. You are so mean, I can barely contain myself. I know your motives are purely selfish - to have a plus-sized sister, so that you can get all the cute guys.

And last, but not least, thank you Great-Grandma Gus for the butter-brickle and chocolate toffee. They are now conveniently stored in my mama-gut for safe-keeping, in case there is a famine and I'm forced to breastfeed my entire neighborhood. Atleast I will be able to survive the long post-nuclear holocaust.

And for everyone else who contributed, with sweets and treats, meals and beers, shame on you! Now I will actually have to exercise. Grrr.

I don't usually diet, but this is unbearable. I had five pounds to reach my pre-baby weight and now it's ten. At least I can find solace in the fact that it's not my fault. It's yours!