I love days like today. The grey saturated sky never fails to cast a mellow mood over me. Rainy/snowy days also always promise an extra 30 minutes of sleep in the morning- fooling our little ones into lengthening their dreams and drooling on their Gund teddy bears for a few moments longer. Soft, damp days make me crave the aromas and rituals of preparing comfort food: buttered toast and hazelnut coffee for breakfast, beef barley soup and freshly baked basil bread from the bread maker, chicken pot pie and spice cake to finish the day. I tend to let our kids stay in their jammies all day: to attend formal tea parties of chocolate milk, goldfish crackers, and colored marshmallows; they each get a fuzzy blanket to snuggle with while we watch cartoons, all three of us smooshed on the rocking chair. We chase, torment, and wrestle with the dog until he is exhausted and begs to go sit outside, alone, in the rain. "Dreary" days like today are the best- even my worsening cold cannot dilute my enjoyment, it only gives me an excuse to indulge in an afternoon nap. Naps savoured under the umbrella of a grey day are amazing! A double whammy of satisfaction and rejuvenation. I had lofty goals for this week- to resume my plans to start jogging, to put a dent in my spring cleaning, and to venture into the basement and attempt to organize the hoards of stuff we store down there, but a grey Monday and a nagging cold have put those plans on hold. So instead, I enjoyed my rainy/snowy day to the fullest.

Sick and Tired

     I was dreaming. I was certain that I was dreaming because I was in the middle of a plot to kidnap and ransom Rachael Ray (and her irritating little chuckle.) Suddenly, and inexplicably, her hands were free from their bindings and her strong right hand was gripping my throat- clenching and squeezing- laughing obnoxiously at me, all the while screaming ingredients to a zesty pesto sauce. I woke up (hungry?) only to realize that something was still tightening around my neck. I barked out a raw, painful cough and groaned. Only a week ago I had smugly chirped that no one in our household had been sick all winter, but alas, a cold has snuck up on me in the thick of night and drop kicked me like a dark, silent ninja.

     Luckily, Nick was home today to help me tag team two very energetic toddlers. When nap time rolled around I popped two cold pills and did a face dive into my pillow. For three and a half hours. The world as we know it could have literally ended during that nap, and I would have slept through the apocalypse. My Bad-Mom-O'Meter registered a strong moderate when I tossed a frozen supper into the microwave and retreated to the hospital bed (a.k.a our brown leather couch...I made the kids play "hospital.") My day passed in a fevered fog without any muffins being baked, without any clothes being folded, without any dishes being washed. The dog had to entertain himself (I'll pick up the chewed up cardboard outside tomorrow, I promise.) My husband had to entertain himself also (an afternoon well spent under our truck in the garage.) Everyone managed quite well without Super Mom and my Bad-Mom-O'Meter even stopped beeping...because I took the batteries out to fix the TV remote. Here's to a healthier tomorrow!

Falling for jogging

     Late in the fall I started jogging. I immediately loved the burn in my legs, the strength in my lungs, the pounding of my heart. I stayed with it every day for three weeks until I threw out my back picking up my son. It took another three weeks before I could walk without wincing and by this point the air was beyond cool- it was icy- and snow had begun to fall. I said to myself, "Screw this. I'll pick up where I left off in the Spring."

     Well, today felt like the start of Spring for me. After Noelle and Dryden, freshly scented with lavender and Colgate, were nestled deep in their beds I got dressed to try round two with the entity known as Running. When I go out walking or running, I do so down the dead end street that we live on. I opened my back door and stepped out into the crisp, dark night. I took my first few steps towards my committment with jogging and then I stepped on a deck-of-cards sized patch of ice (seriously, our deck is huge, 24' x 24', and I step on the only scrap of ice.) Whoosh! Right on my plump bum. I said a prayer of thanks for the extra padding. I looked around and said another prayer of thanks that it was ebony black out and that none of our neighbours could have seen that little display of poise and grace. I got up- let's be honest here, very slooowly- and winced. Turns out I twisted my ankle. So my jog turned into a slow and painful 20 minute walk instead.

     Here I sit, with a bag of frozen peas on my raised ankle, sipping on a Pepsi Max, thinking to myself, "I thought you were going to try power yoga? WTF?"

Spring (and Lysol) is in the air

     Zumba kicked my ass last night. I came home sweaty and damp, red faced and stiff, tired and satisfied. I showered and went to bed early, falling asleep to the warm glow of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi from the TV beckoning me to dreamland. (Dream?: I was Yoda, giving Luke Skywalker advice- "Call your mother you must, worry she does. A Jedi uses the force...to put dirty clothes in hamper he will." Weird eh?)

     Today I had subtle indications everywhere that today is the first day of Spring. Yes, I realize that the calender says its not until March 20th...but it is wrong. Spring starts today for me. All morning long I found myself catching the dog licking random things: the arms of the couches, the back leg of the storage ottoman, the front of the dishwasher, one of the cupboard doors. My morning was a symphony of "Saku! Stop!", "Saku- bad!, "Hey Bonehead, cut it out". Our dog is slightly dim. He's an enormous Golden Doodle with an affectionate heart, a hilarious personality, and an extremely tiny brain. So I just kept shooing him away from slobbering on every surface in my home, thinking that he was just being strange. It wasn't until after lunch that I took a closer look and realized that he is a canine genius. He was going around licking sticky peanut butter finger prints from the door frames, cheesie encrusted smudges off the laundry room walls, trails of dried milk off all the leather ottomans, and hunting rock solid raisins from under the rocking chair. He was helping me spring clean! I patted him on the head and gave him a treat. Maybe not so dumb after all...even the dog is telling me its time to give the house a thorough once over.

     Another clue that today is Spring? I let the dog out to play while I put the kids down for their nap. Normally, if it were still winter, he'd already be waiting at the door for me to let him back in by the time I came back downstairs (although he's hairy, hearty he is not). Today, however, he suntanned on the back porch all afternoon. Any time I opened the door to entice him back inside, he simply lifted his head, glanced my way, snorted in my general direction, and went back to sleep- stretching and rolling over to tan his belly.

     My most obvious indication that Spring has arrived was the cabin fever that quickly, and quietly snuck up behind me and maliciously goosed my ass. I'm a hibernator in the winter. I have to leave the house quite frequently for Noelle's various appointments, but asides from that, I am usually content to stay inside. Today, every cell in my body was screaming and yearning to go outside, to just...GO! I'm officially ready to shed the layers that have insulated me for the winter (figuratively, and literally) and get outside- to visit, to garden, to walk, to start putting into place some of the actions and steps that I have challenged myself with in order to become the better version of "me" that I am striving for.

     For the next hour though, I'm going to flip through my gardening magazines (its never too early to plan a new flower bed or to mentally map out of veggie garden) while I watch the dog finish his spring cleaning. "Hey Saku, there is a splash of spaghetti sauce on the bottom left hand corner of the fridge....yup, right there. Good dog!)

Bedtime: A mommy's wish come true

     When I was very young I shared a small rectangular bedroom with my younger sister. At the time, old linoleum covered the floors and some type of floral wallpaper adorned the four walls. Our room had a heavily slanted ceiling and the smallest window known to man; this tiny portal to the outside world was no more than 24" x 12". I can vividly remember being six or seven years old, shortly after being sent to bed, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ashley, each of us resting our heads on the windowsill- longingly looking outside. The sun had not yet set, the sweet, earthy scent of freshly mowed grass drifted in through our screen, and our neighbours (who were the same age as us) were still playing in their green wooden sandbox. We always wondered out loud, bitterly at times, why our mom was so mean; why did she make us go to bed so early!?

     I was an idiot. Young, but still an idiot.
                I totally understand now.

     I understand that my parents had five children in eight years. I understand that they were insane. Not almost insane, but actually bat shit crazy. My mother clearly put us to bed at a decent hour, regardless of the season, so that she could have a few hours to herself and salvage a few meager moments of tranquility.

     I readily admit- there are days when I have started the joy inducing "Bedtime Countdown" before I've even served lunch...and I only have 2 kids (well, three if you consider Nicholas). When I was a new mom, our bedtime routine consisted of a massage with lavender lotion, a story, a few lovingly hummed lullabies, and then I often rocked them to sleep. Tonight, after they foolishly stomped on my last raw nerve, they were forced to climb up the stairs, and into bed as I popped in a DVD, and set the sleep timer. I closed their doors, and let out a slow, ragged breath. Let that bimbo Snow White sing them to sleep! As I am writing this, I can still hear Noelle dancing around her room to the beat of The Wiggles. And that's fine by me. I firmly believe that they need some alone time away from Nick and myself...at least that's what I tell myself once I start feeling guilty about skipping our bedtime routine (like right...about...now.)

     Over the years I have composed a prayer that I freely offer up on these days when bedtime can't arrive soon enough:

     Lord, I need help today. I need extra patience and grace. I need the ability to show my children my love eventhough they are misbehaving. I need the strength to be a better woman...and I'll be needing bedtime to come sooner than usual tonight. Amen

Everyone swims with a hoodie on, right?

     Today is my weigh in day. I chose Friday as it is usually my least favorite day of the week anyways, and a disappointing weigh in is bound to not have an effect. I secretly refer to Friday as "Crazy Day" as it is usually the day that I am closest to being clinically insane. I've usually just completed a long and lonely week tending to the kids by myself and my small reserve of patience is almost always spent. I long to skip Fridays and wake up to Saturday, to my husband, and to a complete family. T.G.I.S

     Today I was pleasantly surprised- it has been just over a week since I re-devoted myself to putting 100% effort into regaining my former figure, but it has been six weeks since I originally started the endeavor. I was happy to see that I am down 7.5 lbs and 8 inches since my original measurements. Slow, but consistent...

     I have another month before Nick and I go vacationing down south, and I am encouraged by these results. I've been dreading the swimsuit portion of this event...but I think I'll be fine now. And maybe, just maybe, this Friday won't suck too hard.

I swear my clock is defective

     I am a prolific list maker. Our weekly meal plan is itemized on a list on the fridge, our grocery list complied on a note pad on the microwave, our numerous appointments charted meticulously on our calender in different colored ink. But my favorite and most obsessive thing is making "To Do" list. Chores that I'd like to tackle, home improvements that need attention, craft ideas to do solo or with the kids, phone calls and emails that need to be returned: I can, and do, make lists for everything. The feeling of accomplishment (and a little bit of self-righteousness I suppose) after crossing off each item on any list is an affirmation that I am a productive, organized, multitasking domestic maven. At the end of the day I line up all my list and bask in the fruits of my labour. Any left over things that just couldn't get checked off my list are transferred over to the top of tomorrow's list. Life is right on track with the annihilation of each and every list. Check!

     But lately I've found myself lost in a hauntingly slow moving vortex of incomplete lists. Nothing is getting crossed off. How is it possible that I still haven't finished my passport application? Why is our office still a wilderness of unfiled papers that the dog keeps getting lost in? Why the hell didn't I tackle that fossilized blob of chocolate pudding on my formerly cloud white baseboards!? I'm going to have to use a chisel now. Seriously. Why does my day seem so short? I have the same 24 hours that everyone else takes advantage of...yet I am accomplishing far less.

     My former cycle of list making, productivity, and self satisfaction has been interrupted...by both fatigue and television. By my calculations, I am 75% more exhausted from doing 57% less. Wait, that can't be correct. I failed grade 12 advanced math (twice) so who am I to throw around made up stats. What I need right now is an Al Pacino scene inserted right here, where he shows up and screams a moving and motivational monologue at me (and then wins an Oscar). What I also need to do is turn off the TV. Can I exist without the DIY Network on a continual loop in the back round? Will my confidence survive if I don't figure out who did it on "Scooby-Doo and Mystery inc" before my toddlers do? (Incidentally, they are terrible at that game- all they do is eat marshmallows and play with their feet. I win every time. Suckers)

     Today is Day One of no TV. I'll have plenty of time to fit in some exercise and I'd like to do some reading and playing on the floor with Noelle and Dryden. Maybe we can dress up the dog and make him play too. I have an extensive and freshly made list that I am eager to start. The vortex is gone and list making equilibrium has been restored!  crossing that off my list right now...

Feb 14th

     Valentine's day has never held any major significance in mine and my husband's relationship. We've never exchanged expensive, elaborate gifts, never planned intimate, romantic evenings culminating in an explosion of passion. I don't need flowers or diamonds, reservations or poetry, worship or hallmark endorsed greetings. February 14th is a day that we acknowledge with a kiss and a genuine "happy valentine's day."

     I appreciate Nick's quiet, unassuming method of showing me that he loves me. He gets up with the kids to allow me the luxury of an extra hour of slumber on Saturdays; he creates a diversion in the living room so I can enjoy a steamy ten minute shower without the dog poking his head in or hot wheels cars bouncing off the curtains; I often wake up in the morning to the mouthwatering smell of scrambled eggs and freshly poured coffee.; he brushes the snow off my truck before leaving for work in case I need to make an abrupt escape from cabin fever and/or the confining evils of housework. If given the choice between an annual dozen crimson roses and breath taking jewelry or the simple, every day gestures that reflect his affections- I will always choose the latter.

     Our relationship has never suffered with the addition of children to our family. I trust in his financial decisions and he follows my lead in all things parental (Nick: "Seriously, do we really have to teach them manners? Its a lot of work", and my personal favorite, "What do you mean he can't play with that? Its just a butter knife.") We rarely fight- not due to the fact that we're so enlightened but because Nick is so easy going. Most of my best attempts to start an argument are usually swatted aside like a dim-witted fly on a lazy summer evening. Could our marriage use a dash of spontaneity, a light dusting of excitement? Sure, I don't deny that we've toned our social lives down and that we would benefit from spicing up our routine. However, we're not so far gone that a candle lit bedroom or a weekend get-away can't fix. So here's to Valentine's Day for reminding us to be romantic, to vocalize our feelings to loved ones, to open our hearts to the possibility of love.

Baby Shower Season

     In the last few months I have been invited to four showers and within the next few months I will be attending six more. Who doesn't love a good baby shower?! Me, that's who. I always eat too many of those adorable little finger sandwiches and I HATE all the stupid games we're forced to play. No, I don't want to unscramble 127 baby words, I don't care how many candies are in that jar, and I'll be crossing my legs as soon as I sit down so here's my clothespin in advance (any men reading this are blissfully confused right now. How I envy them.) I also suffer from pangs of acute anxiety at the thought of keeping two toddlers entertained and well mannered in a room full of strangers and acquaintances. I certainly must sounds like my mother, from years gone by, whispering fiercely: "Get your finger out of your nose", "No running around the tables please", and "Stop picking food off of other people's plates!"

     On Friday night I attended a baby shower with my husband's sisters and his mother at a quaint Italian restaurant. We positioned ourselves at a table in the corner surrounded by cousins and aunts, ordered up generous helpings of booze and fabulous food, and settled in for some more of the same old shower scene. Eventually we were all passed a little square of paper in which we were to write some advice for the sweet mom-to-be ("um...from now on, always wear a condom"- Marie). I panicked, froze up, and coped out. I wrote something cheesy and passed it back. I am always slightly reluctant to expose the inner workings of motherhood to non-members. Will I scare them? Will they judge me for admitting that I'm not a perfect mom? Will they resent me for revealing that their vision of parenthood is probably faulty? Who am I to give advice- I stumble through each day with my fingers crossed, praying that my kids won't need (much) therapy. I can't help but wonder if things would have been different for me if I had an accurate depiction of what parenting would be like for me...perhaps I would have enjoyed that first year more. Yes, things would have been drastically different.

     Crystal, Lynn, and Erica: I'm sorry. The advice I gave you at your showers sucked. I would like a re-do. (Hey, its my blog and re-dos are always an option). Gina-Girl, listen up...
>The first few weeks after baby arrives will be tough. Go ahead and cry- you'll feel better. At one point you are bound to think, "who's stupid idea was this?" It was yours, and yes, it was stupid. haha.
>I know from experience that it will hurt your pride to admit that you need help. Please ask another mom for help- we are waiting for you to ask!!! You'll be humbled by how fast a group of women can be at your door with frozen meals, kleenex, magazines, wine, and a willingness to share their struggles and how they made it through.
>Breastfeeding is hard. Not everyone can do it. You are not a failure if you can't. I've yet to meet a mom who hasn't struggled and pained over breastfeeding for the first time (and if I do meet one, no worries, I will promptly eliminate her and dispose of all evidence that she ever existed).
>Take baby out visiting. Go see friends, and random relative that you haven't seen in a while. Join baby-and-Me activities to meet other new moms your age. Your days will be long if you just stay in the house.
>Take care of yourself. Eat right, even when you feel like inhaling an entire chocolate cake and a gallon of pepsi (I'm obviously projecting right now). Excersice to feel good and have energy to get up in the middle of the night to feed that screaming, starving monster you call "Sweetie". Remember to get you hair done, your nails looking smart, your feet soft and pampered. Trust me (and husbands/boyfriends everywhere) everyone is happier when Mommy feels good about herself.

     Incidently, we ended up having a great time at that shower. I had a night out without the kids and got to enjoy a few drinks. I laughed and gossiped and stayed out late (I got home at midnight- thats practically an all nighter in my books now).

     My little ones are napping now and  I think I'm going to take my own advice. I'm in need of a mani/pedi and I might just call my two favorite new moms...just to see if anyone needs a pepsi/hug

Spinning Out of Control

     When I delivered our first child, I tore terribly. The doctor tried to put me back together as best she could- but something went wrong. I was in constant and excruciating pain any time I moved or was touched. I had three procedures to attempt to rectify the injury, but to no avail. It wasn't until I gave birth to our son (19 hellish months after our daughter) that I had reconstructive surgery. I finally healed. Thankfully, I am no longer in unending and unbearable pain. I am, however, slightly more sensitive in my nether region than most women (lol- well I am assuming since I have never really felt any other woman's bottom.)

     Now, the reason I have shared this incredibly personal information is because it transitions into yet another humiliating experience.

     I signed up for a weekly spinning class. I wanted to try something new, something challenging, something that would help me get prettier legs. I signed myself up, dropped the kids off at my in-laws, and got ready for chiseled calves. For those of you not in the know- as I myself once was- let me provide you with a 'Spinning Class Disclaimer"
1- You must be a minimum of 5'4" tall to reach the pedals (guess who is an inch too short)
2-You absolutely must love cycling to shitty 80s music (did I just hear "Jesse's Girl?")
3-You need to enjoy sitting on a rock solid, tiny bike seat made of varnished petrified wood that wedges itself right up your ass. This last part is vital to spinning class- apparently you are not loosing weight unless you are painfully uncomfortable.

     Had I known that the full weight of my body would be resting on my super sensitive bottom, which was resting on a seat made out of rusty nails, I never would have attempted such a class. 25 minutes into the lesson ("My Sharona" Really?) I was in tears. Not because of the exertion, not because of the awful tunes blaring in my ears, but because of the pain in my bottom. Why was I tempting fate? Why was I putting myself in a position to re-injure my delivery wound? I stopped pedaling, stood up, and looked around the dimly lit room. I didn't know any of these people; they couldn't possibly know how defeated I felt. I gathered my stuff and left the gym with my head high and the word to "Whip It" fading in the back round. I drove to GT Boutique to grab a Pepsi and a 3 Musketeers chocolate bar (it has 45% less fat- I managed not to totally self- destruct lol) and three workout DVDs and went home to play with my kids.

     It is now two days later and my lady bits are still sore. I'm not sorry or embarrassed that I didn't finish a single spinning class. I'm glad that I tried something new. Maybe a weekly power yoga class is more my style...regardless, I'm still on track and feeling like a better version of myself.

The Social Scene

     I don't have any friends. lol Ok, I don't have many close friends. I suppose that my closest friend would be Ashley, my sister. But does she even count? We're related, and for the first half of our lives we were forced to hang out and pretend (poorly, I might add) that we liked each other. Is she still pretending!?! (I just had a hillarious mental picture of my parents slipping Ashley $20 bills every week and saying,  "You know she doesn't have any friends...call her twice this week and when you see her on Tuesday say that you like her hair. Even if you don't. I mean it- be nice!")

     In my teens and early twenties I had tons of close friends. At any given time I had a dozen girlfriends that I called or hung out with on a weekly basis. There wasn't anything I didn't tell them, anything that I would have refused them. We had fun getting into trouble, drove around aimlessly listening to music, exchanged phone calls, emails, letters and CDs; every weekend was somehow turned into an epic event worthy of discussing and rehashing long after sun had risen, the empties picked up, and apologies made for late night drunken phone calls. I can't really pinpoint the moment in time when I foolishly started neglecting my friends. Life just got in the way and I wasn't smart enough to look around it.

     I'm not totally pathetic- I do have some girlfriends who do not share DNA with me. I consider myself lucky enough to count the wives of Nick's three best friends amongst my close companions (bahahaha! I just had the same mental picture, except this time it was my husband slipping them money.) I don't want to be the type of mom who makes her children her entire life's work- her universe revolving around their existance. I was social and had a life before they were born and I would like to enjoy that while we're raising them and beyond. I think I'll try to reach out to some of my "original" girlfriends over then next few days. I hope they still remember me as the amazing friend I once was...and if not, I'll just get my mom to slip them a $20!

In the dark...about most things actually...

     Our children have been fantastic these last few days. Noelle, our three year old daughter, has learned some new words (none of them can be considered profanity, thank 'effing lord) and Dryden has discovered the electrical outlets. He hasn't tried to stick anything in them yet- he just likes feeding the plastic plug covers to the dog. My husband asked my if I knew why Saku keeps barfing up clear plastic clumps. "Uuummm....I have no idea Hun." I can't expect the kids not to tattle if I do. Teach by example I always say. I should clearly stop feeding the dog plastic plug covers...in front of the kids.

     Last night I went to a Zumba workout by myself. I go weekly with my sister, but she recently had surgery and is out of commission for awhile. Normally this would have been liken to a written consent for me to take a few weeks off Zumba right alongside her. I resisted my initial impulse to veg at home with a good book and went solo. As I am writing this, it occured to me: I have never gone to the gym, to yoga, to Zumba, jogging, or to a sports try-out alone. Never. I alwats find a friend or talk my sister into coming with me. Huh. Miss independant I am not apparently. Now, in the spirit on candour, I am usually content with giving 70% effort at Zumba (with a side order of 100% laughing at what my sister is doing). Not last night. I had no one to pick on so I re-focused that energy on busting some seriously uncoordinated moves.

     After arriving back home, after sending the babysitter on her way, after snuggling the little ones to sleep...the power went out. For the night. So I ended up getting everything I wanted: I found time to work out and I also settled in with a soft blanket, a chilled glass of wine, 37 sandlewood scented candles, and I finished my book.

     Sometimes, life is just good.

I can't sleep...so lets get naked

     I need to be truthful; I need to strip away the mask of humour that I rest behind. This blog is about accountability, honesty, and action above all else. I would love to get to the naked, shivering truth behind my rut.
     The obvious transition here would be that I no longer enjoy the sight of my own naked self...or my fully clothes self either for that matter. My body did not "bounce back" after having my babies. My muscles did not have memory; apparently they are old and senile and currently in a nursing home. I've never had to lose weight before and I am terrible at it. I have tried earnestly and wholeheartedly and I am still 50 lbs over weight. I have a lovely neighbour who, after her pregnancy, worked very hard and returned to her pre-baby, bikini-worthy, look-at-me-everything-fits self (as I enviously look over at her house and sip on my Pepsi Max. Real Pepsi taste and no calories my foot.) I have another friend- that I love- who recently had a baby...and is now 5 lbs lighter than before. At a party over the holidays I overheard her say, "Oh no! I hate excercise! It must have been the breastfeeding." (As I mentally karate chopped her.)
     I must say that I have surrendered to inactivity. At the end of the day, after the kids are engulfed by the promise of dreams, after the dog is played with and fawned over, and after I've managed to tidy my house enough to fool a stranger that wild hogs and feral children do not reside here- I am friggin' exhausted.
     How do other moms do it!? How do they (effortlessly or painfully) make time to work out? Can I...will I re-prioritize? YES! ** so long as it does not interfere with mine and Law and Order's scheduling commitments

Clearly, my life has been hijacked

     Today, somewhere between picking soggy cheerios off my slippers and chasing our 18 month old son to retrieve the dirty diaper he was trying to feed our goldendoodle, it occured to me- I am in a rut. If my pre-mommy self could see me now...she'd kick my ass. I actually did groceries without makeup or even brushing my hair this weekend! I used to go to the gym and play sports. Now I'm overweight and only play various forms of peek-a-boo. I used to have girlfriends that I cherished as sisters. Now their kid-free lives are foreign and they've moved on and left me behind. I used to go out, dance like an idiot, drink my face off, and laugh hysterically. I was in bed by 9 last night. A rut I tell you. A deep, John Deere tractor tire gouged rut.
     I need to find a healthy balance between my "Mommy" persona, and the social/healthy/outgoing/active adult I crave to be. I refuse to wait. Tomorrow is my chance to start over. Tonight, however, I need to make jello jigglers and fish cutlery out of the heating vents.