What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

Closer to Free

Geez, where have I been? You would think I have a full-time job and a family to tend to. Hmmm.

I'm working on a post about my high school reunion, but today is Luke's and my second wedding anniversary, so it's only right that I take some time to talk about marriage after two years in the trenches.

In the weeks and months before my wedding, I was a nervous wreck. I loved Luke and wanted to be with him, but I was also afraid. Afraid of having to negotiate who I was (long-time readers will remember how conflicted I was over changing my denomination), afraid of being a selfish wife, afraid that my ambitious nature would eventually clash with Luke's tendency to go with the flow. But second-guessing is a part of who I am. I keep one foot in the moment and the other on the fence, always looking for the first sign of trouble, searching for a sign that something is not meant to be.

But on May 12, 2006, standing in front of our pastor as the wind wrapped around our gazebo like a blanket, surrounded by family and friends, I believed our love was enough. I believed our future would be more than worth any hardships that came our way.

And there have been a few, the most significant one thus far being our decision to keep me at work and Luke at home. On paper, it was the best way to achieve all the goals we had for our family, but in my heart, I struggled. The weekend before I went back, there was a lump in my throat that would not go away, a proverbial devil on my shoulder that told me to be angry with Luke for not doing everything in his power to "let me" be a stay-at-home mom, to resent him for positioning me as Breadwinner, a title I never wanted.

I knew marriage would be hard, but only in the broadest sense. For the first time, Hard was tangible.

But I swallowed my tears and bit my tongue and became the person my family needed me to be. It wasn't easy, but here we are, two and a half months later, and there is a rhythm to our life that I never thought possible. Now I am completely sure it was meant to be this way, couldn't work any other way, and both our marriage and our daughter are better for it. It was only after saying good-bye to my preconceived notions of Wife and Mother and letting the good of our family take the lead that I found a level of fulfillment that couldn't have been achieved otherwise.

In the media and in our personal lives, relationships solidify and dissolve like snowflakes that stick to the pavement until the sun melts them away. And now, just two years into marriage, it's easier to understand why. I can't count how many times I've given Luke the cold shoulder over a perceived injustice, content to bask in self-righteousness, only to hang my head in front of him the next morning--unable to meet his eyes, tears running down my face--and stumble through an apology.

It's frustrating to rank second in the interest of the whole. It's embarrassing to say "I'm sorry." It's much easier to scrap the whole thing and start over with someone new.   

At our wedding, I thought love would be the glue that held our marriage together, but now I know it's commitment. Love is easy. People break up all the time and talk about how they still love their exes. Every person has traits worth falling for. But to accept their shortcomings? Forgive when they hurt you without keeping score and STILL be in love? Nothing is more difficult.

Or more rewarding.

When I was senior in college, in a class that placed my faith-based coursework in a wider context, my professor said something that really resonated with me. He said that with each choice you make, you become more free.

On the surface, it seems contradictory--when accepting one path, you inevitably say good-bye to another--but it's through the process of decision making that we open ourselves to advancement. My life with Luke is proof of that, because prior to our wedding, we were in a constant state of flux: should we say "I love you," should we move in together, should we tie the knot. Once we did that last thing, a brand-new set of choices lay before us, more sophisticated than those we contemplated before, but not as fundamental. Suddenly we were concerned with how to manage our careers, where we wanted to live, and when to expand our family.

These days, our jobs are chosen, for now. Housing will soon sort itself out. And we have the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. Now it's time to sort through the details, like saving for college and building retirement and bringing more children into the mix. I don't have to worry about whether or not we'll make it. The alternative is no longer an option.

Happy anniversary, honey.

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Visit Parental Discretion Advised to read about Kara's upcoming foray into cereal, my new parenting mantra, and the details of a very special Walgreens trip. You won't be disappointed.

Let Freedom Ring

There is a buzz in Indiana today as Hoosiers flock to the polls; apparently the idea of actually influencing the selection of a party candidate has us all atwitter, because according to the local paper, turnout is more indicative of a general election than a little ole primary.

I hit my polling station on the way to work, and as I parked my car, I realized that for the first time in my entire life, I was truly excited to vote. In fact, it wasn't until very recently that politics meant anything to me at all.

Growing up, the whole function of government seemed a mystery not unlike the Bermuda Triangle. Sure, I took the Constitution test in eighth grade (and passed, lest you deem me a complete moron), and it was interesting enough, but when it came time to apply those principles to the world around me, it was too overwhelming. Hell, I could barely get a handle on basic algebra--there was no way I felt smart enough to talk about the merits of those running for office. My parents are loyal Republicans, and I have memories of watching the news with them at dinnertime, my father complaining about Mayor Daley's latest crime against the Chicago Fire Department, my mother nodding her head in agreement, and I remember feeling slighted on their behalf, too young to do anything but pretend I understood. When I was eight years old, I distinctly remember asking my mom why she didn't like Michael Dukakis and her telling me he wanted to kill babies. Kill babies! I was horrified. Lil' Frema had visions of men in uniforms lined up against a concrete wall, cradling newborns in their arms, each waiting to rid the planet of their vast uselessness.

(And here I must tell you writing that last paragraph was really uncomfortable for me, and in no way do I maintain a cavalier attitude towards abortion, but I'm assuming you all can appreciate my attempt to liven up a hazy childhood memory with the humor that accompanies a child's literal interpretation of a statement way beyond her level of understanding. You got that, right? We're still friends? Good.)

That political naiveté stayed with me into early adulthood. The first time I was eligible to vote was during the 2000 presidential election, but I was attending school in Indiana, and my permanent residence was Illinois, and I didn't know enough about the issues (or care enough, if we're being honest) to request an absentee ballot at the time. I did vote in 2004, at which time I knew enough about politics to label myself a Democrat, but I was only slightly put off by the results, not emotionally invested in John Kerry by any means, and certainly not heartbroken over the outcome.

But now I am different. Now I am motivated by our current state of affairs to want better for my family--specifically, for Kara. Now I follow the news to learn more about the goings-on in my city and surf the Web to become more educated on which candidates best meet my criteria for local and national leadership. Luke and I are currently rooting for Barack Obama, so much so that we seriously considered attending one of his rallies last night, but having a four-month-old baby who wants to be fed and changed and entertained on her terms, not ours, was reason enough to stay home (read: go to Applebee's, where we didn't have to wait in line for two hours and beg for admittance). But we listened to several of his radio interviews, and we watched last month's debate, and we talk constantly about how inspired we are by his vision and his ability to stay gracious under fire.

Also, his winning smile. So dreamy!

 

I like Barack and I cannot lie.

But this post isn't about who I voted for or why (so please don't flame me for my opinion, I have a "Delete" button and I'm not afraid to use it). It's about my new appreciation for the way leaders are chosen in this country and how grateful I am to have a voice in the process. This morning, I almost teared up reflecting on how lucky we Americans are to be able to elect our commander-in-chief (however imperfect the process may be) and support our favorite without fear of repercussion.

And Kara is lucky, too, because finally, she has a mother who cares.

And the branding comes full circle

While preparing for BlogHer last year, I was inspired to order business cards for shameless self-promotion. Many of my online buddies went with Moo cards, charming, wee little things that were quite affordable, but I wanted something with a longer shelf life that painted a broader picture of my literary goals. I wanted a business card that screamed from the rooftops that I AM A WRITER.

Aside from my subscription to TypePad's services, it was the first time I had ever put money towards a writing endeavor, so I enlisted the help of a professional--an Indianapolis graphic design firm I work with for my day job--and I shared my dream for the end result. It was Jenny who came up with the idea of highlighting my constant tendency to scribble, and the final product includes the image you see in my new header. For those of you reading via RSS, here's what you're missing:

I updated my design to better compliment the new art (thanks to PB&J for allowing me to use it on the Web), and voila! My first new template in a year and a half.

I've been racking my brain for months on how to freshen this place up, and I don't know why it took so long to think of mimicking my fancy schmancy business card, but the light bulb finally went off, which means I now have a brand. A consistent brand that reflects who I am and what I do, and that brand is my writing style. Literally. That's my John Hancock up there.

Once again, this change couldn't have come at a better time. The more important this site becomes to me, the more I engage with the local blogging community (I just registered for a two-day BlogIndiana conference that takes place in August), the more I talk up the advantages of corporate blogging at work, the more likely it is to go public. It's inevitable. And when that happens, I want to make sure my best foot is forward and that I'm housing my work in a way that makes me proud, however silly some of it may seem. My previous design was the bomb diggity, but it served its purpose. It was time to move on.

Now, when I'm at my ten-year high school reunion Saturday night, I can give out this URL and not feel like an idiot. Though the dorkitude associated with bringing business cards to such a function will probably cancel that out.

I just joined Weight Watchers Online, God help me

I go ahead and get you guys all fired up about my intent to tackle deeper, more meaningful topics, and yet the next post you read is going to be all about fitness. Which I have written about before, ad nauseum, without showing any real progress.

That's about to change.

Last night, I joined Weight Watchers Online and blew a hundred dollars on a three-month membership, basic starting kit, two cookbooks, and a calculatorish Points-tracking thingie.

When I first hopped on the Weight Watchers bandwagon four years ago in Rensselaer, I attended meetings once a week, documented my food and drink intake with a paper and pen, and used a hand-held slider to calculate Points on the fly. Now, in an effort to save some money, I'm doing it all through their Web site, which has this elaborate set-up for tracking points and searching for recipes and participating on message boards, and I feel a little bit like a ninety-year-old woman who's being asked to send an e-mail for the first time. These new-fangled contraptions are hurting my brain.

But this morning I measured out a cup of Cheerios and a half cup of skim milk topped with sliced banana, and when making my lunch last night I learned I've been scarfing about eight servings of raisins in one sitting every day.

Like I said before, I won't continue with Weight Loss Wednesday because it stresses me out too much, but I will report my progress and let you guys know how I'm doing. Just for posterity, I'm going to tell you that my starting weight is 145 pounds, and my first goal is to lose ten percent of my body weight, which equals to 130.5--just half a pound shy of my overall goal weight (for now). And while I'm not attending meetings, May is Health and Fitness Month at work, and today kicks off our version of the Biggest Loser Challenge, so I will weigh in with our HR director and track my progress via our internal wellness blog, which I launched yesterday (am corporate pioneer!). She's also going to take "before" pictures of those willing to digitally capture how out of shape they are, so I'll drop that into this post this afternoon.

Edited to add on 5/6/08: Finally, finally, here is my "Before" picture (pay no mind to the crazy bush head that will surely one day devour us all, it was pre-trim):

Now I am ready to do this. Now is the time.

Any other Weight Watchers devotees? I know all about Emily's success with the online program (which was actually part of my inspiration to join in the first place), and Kelly signed up last week. Anyone else? And on a related note, exactly how many slices make up two ounces of deli-style lunchmeat?

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Footnotes:

Read all about my "dads are not moms" rant and yesterday's car trouble on Parents.

Monday was my blogiversary! Every year I think I'm going to make a big to-do, and every year it passes me by like a fart in the wind (thank you, Shawshank Redemption, for the colorful choice of words). As I refocus on my blog as well as my approach to wellness, the timing of my return couldn't be any more perfect.

Or any less perfect. Really, if I'd been on my game, my subconscious would have known to post on Monday, and then I could be telling you that blogging is so ingrained in my personal core that the good Lord in Heaven inspired me to publish on my big day.

Apparently God isn't much into blogs.

Last but not least, here is a picture of my kid. Luke picked me up from work on Tuesday and dressed her in this super-cute outfit, which about killed my coworkers with adorableness. Can you blame them?

The names have all changed since you hung around, but those dreams have remained and they're turned around

Well. I'd like to think you guys are ready to welcome me back with open arms, but after gauging your responses to Kara's recent posts, it appears my presence on this blog is obsolete. Luckily, I'm the parent, and this is not a democracy.

(Your mom's a democracy!)

Clearly, I'm feeling much better.

Ever since I posted that last entry, I've been debating when to return. As much as I love being a part of the blogging community and using this site as a means for creative expression, the way in which I was participating needed to change. I had gotten so caught up in posting for posting's sake that I forgot it should mean something to me. Tuesday night would roll around, and I'd want to talk about my upcoming high school reunion, but instead I posted a Weight Loss Wednesday because that's what I was supposed to do. So I did, even if I didn't want to. Thursday night would come, and I'd be inspired to write about the latest Clinton/Obama debate (first forty-five minutes equalled BOGUS), but instead I poured through e-mails about the return of Tragic Love Friday because tomorrow was Friday and that's what I was supposed to do. So I hatched up a few plotlines, even if I didn't want to.

You see the pattern, yes?

I wanted to return but wasn't sure how to break that cycle. I wanted to get back to the days where I blogged because I wanted to, not out of obligation. So I filed those questions away and focused on writing for Parents, trusting that when the time was right, I would know.

This past Saturday, I knew.

It happened at a conference here in Indianapolis, where local bloggers came together to provide insight on how to enhance one's personal and professional presence on the Web. I originally signed up to learn more about blogs as they relate to smart business practices but walked away with renewed energy for my own blogging vision and met some great people who will serve as blogging resources for me in the future. (If only I'd met Doug Karr and Chris Baggott before teaching my class! Missed Opportunity, you are a son of a bitch.) Like I said earlier, this blog is not a democracy. I like that it makes people happy, and I really enjoy the conversations, but ultimately, it's an archive of my life. A place where I can assign words to my feelings and explore new territories and reflect on what kind of person I want to be. And in order to make it worth my time--something I have much less of these days--I have to do it on my terms.

So I'm making some changes.

Effective immediately, I'm discontinuing all weekly features on this site. No more Weight Loss Wednesday, Brain Fest Friday, or Tragic Love Friday. I'll still write about health and wellness, but I won't let the calendar dictate when I do so. I'll still pose funny questions for us to laugh over, but I'll let them come naturally instead of forcing inspiration when it doesn't exist. And as for Tragic Love Friday.... What can I say? The whole idea of a part three started with readers volunteering to help, but when push came to shove, nobody had the time. And I completely understand. Hell, I don't have the time, and it's my damn story. A bunch of us came up with some great ideas, and hopefully, one day, I can do something with them. But until then, we'll have to make do with lil' Frema's original masterpiece, which I still think is pretty effing awesome, and if you haven't read it yet, now you know there's one more way to kill time at the office. You're quite welcome.

The new plan is to start including blog posts about topics that are important to me but haven't received much air time here in the past. Perfect example: politics. I am not a political guru by any means--ask me to name the mascot for the Democratic party and I will probably mimic a deer in headlights--but now that Luke and I are parents, now that we're laying down roots in Indianapolis, now that I'm old enough to appreciate how politics affect my quality of life--I'm determined to take a more active interest in our local and national elections. I want to figure out who I stand for and who stands for me. I want to ask hard questions and receive thoughtful answers from you. I've been afraid to tackle issues like that in the past because I am super sensitive and HATE the idea of someone judging me just because I hold a different opinion, even though I read posts from plenty of bloggers with completely different views and always appreciate seeing issues from other angles. As Doug said at Smaller Indiana's conference on Saturday, "Afraid of conflict? Don't blog." And not blogging? Is not an option.

I want to learn more about the opportunities available through blogging and make that learning process more transparent here. I presented a Blogging 101 session at a writing conference last fall. I studied blogging issues for a whole freaking semester! Why didn't I link to that PowerPoint? Why not post my syllabus? I don't know. But I won't make those mistakes again. 

I also plan to do a better job highlighting the writing I do for Parents.com. I'm not sure why I downplayed this before--I'm proud of the work I do for them, just as if I were freelancing for a print publication. Plus, I've found that with my friends who write for other Web sites, the more they link to those gigs in their personal blogs, the more likely I am to read them. I trust that's the same for you. If not? Um, that's OK, too. (Frema says through gritted teeth because total monthly page views play a key role in renewing blogger contracts. But no pressure. Am Zen.)

After experiencng a brief, emotional bump in the road, life is sunshine and roses again. I have a wonderful husband and beautiful baby girl who both have given new meaning to my life. I work for a company that (finally) challenges me creatively and compensates me well, thanks to a new supervisor and more structured environment. Dare I say I love my job now? That I like being both mother and breadwinner? Because I think I really do. I'm no longer resentful that Luke's at home with Kara instead of me. How can I be when he's so damn good at it? It's no accident we each ended up in the roles that we did. Even though I miss them something fierce when I'm away.

Anyway, the point is I'm in the perfect place to take this blog to the next level and make it more reflective of who I am today.

So that the answer to "What're you lookin' at?" continues to be me.

Happy Birthday to me, it's my special day

Hey, guys, what's happening. Kara in the house! Four months ago today, the doctors pumped my mother full of drugs and ripped open her stomach to bring me into the world. Hooray for modern technology! And Vicodin, according to my mom. Certainly merits a post, don't you think?

Let's see. What to report? I just learned to laugh, I spend hours at a time sucking on my hands, and I can finally last longer than two hours in between feeds. Go me!

I'm also the right size for some very peculiar onesies.

I've been told I got these from a special blog auntie who creates one-of-a-kind clothing for babies, clothing that references dated pop-culture icons who were all the rage thirty-seven million years ago. Take this one, for example. Who is this Kyle person? What isn't his fault? Did he scream his ever-loving head off in a McAlister's Deli and poop all over his clothes, causing his mother to Lose It in front of dozens of judgemental strangers who could only stare as he banged his legs against the cheap plastic changing table while sobbing over life's injustices? Because sometimes, dear readers, this cannot be helped.

Now that you mention it, though, Kyle is quite dreamy. Perhaps he would consider accompanying me to Babies R Us? Picture this: a dimly lit sales floor, my Baby Bjorn, a Baby Einstein serenade.... I get weak in the knees just thinking about it.

Is it hot in here? Goodness.

Moving on.

Now THESE guys I know! Jump, jump! Joey Joe will make ya, jump jump! Jordan Knight will make ya-- Wait, what? Hold on, my mom's calling me.

....

You mean to tell me this isn't Kris Kross?! Crap. But no worries. "Step by Step" is quite delightful. As are drug-free school zones.

This guy's OK, even if he is trying to one-up me for Best Hair. Clearly, I have the best hair. So what if there are bald spots above my ears? It's my new take on the mullet: Business on the sides, party on the top.

"Future Blogger" my tush. The time is now, baby! Momma, eat my dust.

Eavesdropping

You guys! You'll never guess what I heard the other day...

Scene: How should I know, I'm only three months old; Momma and Daddy staring at a big black box while Momma crazily waves a hand in front of my face:

Momma: Hey, look! Twelve Angry Men is in town! You know I did that play in high school? I was the guard.

Daddy: We can go, if you want.

Momma: That would be fun. Oh, yay! I haven't seen a play in forever.

Daddy: We'll have to get a sitter, you know.

Momma: Huh?

Daddy: You know, for Kara. You can't bring a baby to a play.

Momma: Oh. Right. Nevermind.

Daddy: Did you forget we have a child?

Momma: No?

Daddy: ....

Mommy! I am the love of your life! How could you blank on my smashing good looks?

Your mom admits defeat!

Hey, guys, Kara here. What's up? My mom's still on hiatus from non-paid writing (enter shameless plug for Parental Discretion Advised, where she's been a blogging FOOL), so she asked me to post something--ANYTHING--that doesn't imply she's about to throw herself under a bus.

How's that for starters?

Anyway, my mom. What a downer, huh? Why'd she have to be all, "Life is so hard, love me, pity me, cry for me, Argentina," when all she had to do was say, "Listen, peeps. I need a break. See you on the flip side...of your mom!" (Momma said nothing's better than a good "your mom" joke. Am I doing it right? I've got enough trouble keeping my dinner out of her pants without stressing over comedic timing, too.) She fully admits to being kind of a drama queen, and now that she's given herself permission to take it easy for a bit, she's a much happier person to be around. She doesn't cry when she goes to work anymore, and she actually feels a lot better about her job, and she and Daddy have even decided to stay in central Indiana and buy a house for me. They say it's "for the family," but really, it's for me.

I wonder if they'll get a decorator for my room? Sea life bedding is sooo 2007.

Life is very good. Auntie Samantha and Uncle Dan found out they're having a baby boy, and I'm way excited to teach my little cousin how to roll over, which I just mastered yesterday, thank you very much. I also like to suck on my feet, which Momma thinks is gross, but she still listens to Hanson, so even at its best, her taste is questionable.

Anyway, she wanted me to let you guys know that she really appreciated all the nice comments you left on her last entry, and she loves you all very much, and she's working on getting her act together so she can hang out with you again soon. She's even working on a new blog design, which, praise Jesus, because really, Mom, that dumb Prada picture? The joke is over. Time to move on.

Until then, she said I could use her blog to post pictures once and a while, and I totally will, because it's not fair to withhold my adorableness from the masses. You guys live hard lives, being adults and all. Consider it my gift to you.

That said, feel free to return the favor. My birthday? Is December 17th. Baby Einstein CDs, froggie bibs, and spare toes accepted.

Admitting defeat

All week I've been thinking about the return of Tragic Love Friday, mainly because I've been trying to find time to write it.

On Monday, I went back to work after bawling my eyes out on Sunday night, sobbing, "I hate this, I hate this," "this" being having to go to the office all day just as Kara's starting to do more than lay on a blanket and mesmerize her father and I with her adorable, fleshy gums. Samantha was still in town, so we all had dinner together, only I could barely sit still, wanting to finish up as fast as I could so I could have the baby in my arms again but also wishing I could have another cry and wondering why my heart still hurts so much when I've been doing this for a week and a half already. I put on a happy face for Luke and my sister and spent my free time wiping down countertops and picking up toys so there wouldn't be as much mess for Luke to worry about the next day. I was already leaving him with a sinkful of dirty dishes, and as we all know, the cook should never have to clean, but by the time I finished my Parents entry, it was past ten, and I had to get into bed soon or my eyeballs would explode the next day from the lack of sleep. Thus, no TLF writing on Monday.

Tuesday wasn't any better. I had to go to the dentist because last week I bit on a raisin and felt a shooting pain in my mouth that stayed with me for a good five minutes. Only after forty-five minutes of sitting in the waiting room, flipping through the latest issue of People and staring at my cell phone, wanting to call home but not wanting the waiting room patrons to think I was one of Those Moms who couldn't even go to the damn doctor without checking in on her kid, the dentist couldn't find the source of the problem and actually asked me why I didn't bring in any raisins to demonstrate what was wrong. Another half-hour in traffic, and by then I was really charged up and barely said ten words to Luke the entire evening, in my lame-brained attempt to shield him from my bad attitude, but when I told him I wanted to pick up some more work clothes because I'm tired of trying to squeeze into tops that don't fit my belly, he asked where, and I told him, "The store," I'm pretty sure he was able to see I wasn't sunshine and roses. Was major bitch. I'm surprised I wasn't directed to the couch. No TLF.

Last night I thought about it. I'd apologized for my behavior and come home at a decent hour. I scored plenty of play time with Kara and posted a quick entry on Parents, leaving me with plenty of time to draft a chapter or two. But then Kara decided to take a nine o'clock nap before her last feeding, and she took that last nap in my arms, and all I could do was snuggle her close and sniff her head, which smelled wonderfully of Johnson's shampoo. By the time we started her bedtime routine, it was almost ten, and Luke told me I'd better get ready myself, since it appeared I'd actually have a chance to slip under the covers before eleven. I did, and I did. STILL no TLF.

This morning, before I got into the office, I set aside twenty minutes to get some writing done, with the assumption that I could continue my train of thought at lunchtime. Only it was then I remembered that I needed to find updated headshots of the actors and actresses playing each character, and it had to be done NOW because how could I post the beginning of part three without a character introduction, so I got caught up in doing that, and instead of stopping at 6:20 like I planned I stopped at 6:26, leaving me only nine minutes to pack a lunch, brush my teeth, throw on some make-up, and get out the door. I walked out the door at 6:40, just as Kara started to stir, so I hurried out as quick as I could because it's so much harder to leave when I have to say good-bye. Only when I got to my car, the windows were covered with frost. FUCK. So I let the car run and hurried back inside, where Luke was getting ready for Kara's first feed, so I changed Kara's diaper, smothering her face with kisses the whole time. Then I cursed myself out for even picking her up in the first place because of course there were tears in my eyes as I left, and then I felt bad even for that because who would pass up a chance to spend a few minutes with their baby before a long work day?

As delusional as it sounds, I contemplated doing some TLF stuff on my lunch hour, but fooling around on the computer this morning and having to let my car warm up meant I was twenty minutes late for work, and that's when I started thinking, Maybe trying to post TLF tomorrow isn't such a great idea.

Yes, it really took that long, partly because I was so excited to sink my teeth into a project that had nothing to do with work or parenting, but mostly because I've been going on about it for weeks, and I didn't want to let anyone down. I didn't want anyone to miss their TLF fix because I was "too busy" to write it, like I was this big important person with far more sophisticated ways to spend my time then work on the sequel to a story I started when I was fourteen.

But really? I am too busy to write it. To be honest, I'm barely holding it together.

I'm fully aware I put this pressure on myself. On the surface, I feel like nobody expects me to dust and vacuum every week or send baby gifts out on time, but underneath, I constantly think people are judging me, wondering why I can't shape up or get into the rhythm of things. I can't stand it when people appear to be pitying me because I have to go to work and my husband stays home. Samantha called me "noble" and I cringed, because there are so many people in harder situations, so many people with more difficult problems then going back to a job where my work is valued and well compensated. The last thing I want to do is martyr myself. On the other hand, I can't deny that my plate is too full. I'm feeling pulled in all directions. I can't keep up with the pace I've set for myself.

Something's got to give. And right now, that "thing" is this blog.

I won't be gone forever, or probably even as long as I think. I love posting and talking with all of you. This Web site has (sadly?) become a huge part of who I am. But I don't have room for it right now. My plate is too full. I want to spend time with family without scrambling to the computer every ten minutes. I want to write TLF part three without feeling like there's a gun to my head. I want to learn how to be a working mother without trying to spin every single moment into some literary masterpiece. I'm already doing that for Parents. I can't do it here.

I want to read books again. I want to comment on your blogs again. I want to join the gym and talk on the phone and refocus on my job again.

In a nutshell, I want to figure out how to enjoy my life and my new role as a working mom. I've got a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter who both amaze me every single day, and yet, somehow I've allowed the Internet to cast a shadow over both of them because I'm afraid of losing readers. I look back at Amalah's archives during her period back at work and honestly can't believe she posted as often as she did. Even during her maternity leave when she was breastfeeding all the time. I gave in to formula before we even left the hospital and I could barely manage once a week. I've re-read her entries countless times, banged my head against the proverbial wall, thinking, What the hell is my problem?!

Now I get it. My problem is not knowing when to say When. So, just for a little while, I'm finally going to say it.

See you back here soon.

Weight Loss Wednesday: Just what I needed

I've drafted the subtitle to this entry about oh, eighty gazillion times since Friday night, the most popular one being "I can explain" because not only did I eat out THREE EFFING TIMES this weekend, Monday saw me eating Luke's famous corned beef and cabbage like a piggy at a trough. I did not have high hopes for the scale.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 146
CURRENT WEIGHT: 144.5
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 14.5

I usually hop on first thing in the morning, right before I shower, so the significance of the numbers didn't kick in until I was conditioning my hair, because the whole time I was focused on a new subtitle, "I'll take what I can get," forgetting I wasn't starting out at 145 like I did last week and thinking I'd only lost half a pound. But then it hit me: Was 146 last week! Was horse with feedbag! Lost a pound and a half this time!

I am so happy I swear I could shit rainbows.

And let me tell you, I worked my ass off for that pound and a half. When Luke and I went to Red Lobster on Friday night to finally redeem his birthday gift card from my sister and brother-in-law, I ordered grilled chicken and a baked potato instead of the fried strips I really wanted. On Saturday, when I met up with some Indianapolis-area bloggers at a restaurant right down the street from my apartment (who were fabulous, by the way), my eyes feasted hungrily on the choices at my disposal: baby-back ribs, steak, big fat juicy burger, even spinach dip! But I already knew I'd be going to Red Robin the next day (Samantha was in town and had not yet been introduced to their deliciousness) so I went for chicken once again, this time chicken fajitas, and what do you know, they were awesome. I had my big fat juicy burger the next night, even some cheesesticks and fries, so my hopes for recording a loss were slowly beginning to dwindle. And after Luke's St. Patrick's Day feast, I assumed all was lost, so much so that yesterday afternoon I even had a Snickers bar because really, when you're convinced that progress is no longer possible, what's one more guilty pleasure?

But all wasn't lost! The only thing lost was weight. I lost weight because I made some better food choices and even managed to take a couple of walks before the rainy weather returned. The size-twelve black pants I bought from Express have more give in the waist, and.... Well, that's about it, no other noticeable differences, but I don't care. Like I said earlier, I'll take what I can get. Especially since I'm still so down about returning to work. It was so heartening to see that I really can do this.

It's going to be a good day.

Brain Fest Friday: Killing two birds with one (tragic) stone

When I first brought up the idea of TLF part three, I'll admit, I was nervous. Without the charm and naiveté of 'lil Frema, how could this saga possibly continue? Is it worth it without the commentary? Did I have it in me? (Your mom has it in her!) And where on earth would I find the time to write pages of morally reprehensible fiction when I can barely manage to update my blogs?

Despite my concerns, I decided to go for it, and with the help of a stellar creative team, have pulled together some kick-ass storylines sure to keep both you and your mom on your toes. The first installment will be posted next Friday as planned, and I can't think of a better way to spend my (very little) free time than bringing these characters back to life. Literally, for some.

But first I want to pick your brain. Getting a feel for where you're at with these characters will add further direction to the group's ideas and give us all a refresher course in what makes this tale so darn tragic.

TLF fans, I'd be much obliged if you'd answer one or more of the following questions:

• Out of the entire series thus far, who is your favorite character? Why?
• Who's your least favorite?
• Which character would you define as the most tragic?
• Any loose ends you want tied up?
• What do you want more of in part three?
• What could you do without?
• Who is your favorite couple? (Answers can include dead characters and those of the non-romantic variety.)
• What you describe as the most defining moment in the series?

For those unfamiliar with the antics of the 90210 gang from hell, check out the reader recaps for parts one and two. If you're feeling really ambitious, read the entire archive. You won't be sorry.

Horrified, maybe. But not sorry.

Weight Loss Wednesday: At least I said "No" to KFC last night; that's like losing three pounds right there

It's my first official weigh-in since announcing my goal weight last week, but not even the pressure of sharing my numbers online was enough to change my ways.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 145
CURRENT WEIGHT: 146
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 16

The first half of the day continues to go well: Cheerios, sandwich, fresh fruit, raisins, yogurt, some 100-calorie Honey Maid crisps, and a mug of hot chocolate for a pick-me-up around ten. It's the after-work hours that slay me.

I know what the problem is. The problem is I go to bed at eleven-thirty, and by the time I come home I've been running around for almost twelve hours on less than six hours of sleep. I'm tired. I'm out of sorts after being gone from Kara all day. Luke's worn out from being WITH Kara all day. My only source of comfort is food. The burger and fries I had on Sunday night made me feel good. The spinach dip on Monday was like chicken soup for my soul.

But both times, after the first few bites, I felt guilty. Guilty for completely disregarding my weight-loss goals and not taking my high cholesterol more seriously. I want to be successful at this. I need to be successful. I just need better motivation.

I also need exercise, and with spring on the way, that will finally be possible. Luke and I are going stir-crazy in this apartment, biding our time until the snow melts permanently and the temperature's high enough to take Kara for a stroll. Indianapolis has some wonderful parks and walking trails; those paired with my early schedule and Daylight Savings Time should mean we'll have no problems becoming one with The Great Outdoors. I'd love to take advantage of the complimentary gym membership now offered by my company as well, but honestly, I don't think I could stand another two hours a week away from home, not when our "situation" is still so new.

I mean, could you hit the treadmill knowing this face was waiting for you?

I didn't think so.

For more health-related goodness, check out the conversation over at Parents regarding the controversial HPV vaccine. It's wicked fun.

Because MY Jerry Maguire moment includes buying my own damn goldfish

Since Kara was born, it's harder not to think about taking better care of our finances. Luke and I are doing OK so far; I've been depositing money into my company's 401(k) for the last three years (hooray for full vestment on company matches), so at least we've gotten started on retirement, and we finally have adequate life insurance, thus enabling us to buy a home, pay for Kara's education, and snag a hottie gold-digger in the event of the other's death instead of shacking up in a cardboard box on an Interstate exit ramp. We also paid off the Cobalt so that the only debt we owe is to dear old Sallie Mae and padded our savings account to cover my twelve-week maternity leave. An unexpected holiday bonus left us better off than we expected, and the majority of it still sits in the bank, earning a meager amount in interest, taunting us, practically begging us to hand it over to the nearest car dealer and finally put Luke's 1991 Chevy Lumina to rest.

And if we didn't have Kara, that's probably what we would do.

But now we are parents. Now we have more incentive to consider the long-term consequences of our decisions, and truth be told, we have a lot of financial ground to cover before we can invest in something as frivolous as a car.

Problem is, it's hard to know where to start.

The choices are numerous. We could save the money and put it towards a down payment on a house, except we're not sure if we want to lay down roots in Indianapolis just yet. We could funnel it into a Roth IRA for Luke, who still has no retirement account to speak of despite his ability to withdraw funds a good six years before me. We could begin a college savings plan for Kara, even though she'll have scholarships, loans, and work study at her disposal and the quality of our golden years will depend on what we had the good sense to sock away. We could add short-term disability to my life insurance policy so I can enjoy a lengthy PAID maternity leave with baby number two, but I still harbor wild dreams of becoming a stay-at-home mom before then and wonder if the added expense would be worth it. Then there's still the matter of creating our will, which doesn't affect our cash flow now but could if Luke and I both died tomorrow (the last thing I want is to see Kara's inheritance eaten up by court fees for years and years), and emergency cash fund? Ha! Where do you think the money for all this crap is coming from?

Each path is a worthy option. We just don't have the means to cover them all.

Right now, our gut's telling us to go for the Roth and take advantage of compounding interest while we're still young. Liken it to being in a plane crash and putting on your oxygen mask before tending to somebody else's--you're no good to anyone if you haven't taken care of yourself. Once we're on track with our retirement goals, we'll be in a better position to help our kids with school, weddings, down payments, and any other big-ticket items on their plates, though we have no plans to pay for any of those things in full. A couple of loans never hurt anyone, and while I don't want to see my children drown in six-figure debt, I also don't want to instill in them a lofty sense of entitlement held by the majority of our millenials these days. Most importantly, I want them to sleep easy as adults with the knowledge that their father and I worked hard to make sure they're not stuck with our Shady Pines membership.

It took some convincing, but Kara eventually came around.

I appreciate your reasoning, but all this money talk hurts my tiny fontanelle.

No Mustang for my sixteenth birthday? You bastards!

Who are you guys kidding? These chubby cheeks will have you eating crow all the way to the bank. I'll snag that car by kindergarten.

Brain Fest Friday: I would never actually say these things about Luke's mom

Here it is, folks. The BFF moment you've all been waiting for.

Time to share our greatest "your mom!" stories.

My fancy for humor of the maternal variety came about sometime in college, when my biggest problems were deciding which pair of pajama pants to wear to my 8:00 class and just how late I could stay up playing Phase 10 and still be coherent enough to make it to said class. Anyway, once my friends and I started, we couldn't stop. Not one of us could get through more than two or three sentences without somebody tacking on the now-famous "Your mom!" phrase in front of the last part of what they said, placing special emphasis on the "mom"; think loud and high-pitched--the verbal equivalent to all caps. If you've never tried it, you should. It's applicable to any conversation and fun for the whole family!

Exhibit A

Luke: God, it's hot in here. Did you turn up the heat?

Frema: Your mom turns up the heat!

(Classic mom humor often includes a critical "Bow chica bow wow" element.)

Exhibit B

Luke: What do you want for dinner? I was thinking about making chicken.

Frema: Your mom's a chicken!

(Notice what I did there? I left out the verb and actually turned Luke's mom into poultry. Genius!)

Exhibit C

Luke: I don't know what I did, but my face hurts.

Frema: Yeah? Well, it's killing me!

(OK, so that last one wasn't about "your mom" at all, but really, who could resist that?)

You get the idea.

Anyway, one of my new favorite mom moments took place when I was almost nine months pregnant, when Luke and I were on a fantastic dining-out streak because I just knew my water would break while Luke was cooking stir fry and we'd have to rush to the hospital that very minute and no way was I bringing my baby home to a messy kitchen. Anyway, we were pulling into the Champps parking lot and Luke was trying to let me off at the front entrance, only I kept going on and on about how happy I was to be there and how I couldn't wait to order me some baby-back ribs, and he said something like, "Wow, you're sure excited about eating out today," and I started to reply, "Your mom likes to...." Only I realized I couldn't finish my sentence, because, well, you know. Dirrty.

We had a good laugh and never spoke of it again.

So, have at it, people! For those of you who don't have a shining "mom" moment? Tell me your favorite mom joke. Or skip these shenanigans altogether and give me your best piece of parenting advice over at Parents. Or get the scoop on my first day back at work and the pretty flowers I received from my thoughtful husband. Or do all of the above and earn a pretty gold star.

I suppose you could also sit back and do nothing, but at least it won't be for lack of options.

Your mom's a lack of options!

(See? So easy!)

Weight Loss Wednesday: Game on!

But only for like eight minutes because my alarm is set for five o'clock in the morning, which means I should've gone to bed yesterday. I promised you a Weight Loss Wednesday, though, and a Weight Loss Wednesday is what you're gonna get.

Minus the actual weight loss.

CURRENT WEIGHT: 145
GOAL WEIGHT: 130

With numbers like those, a sane and rational person wouldn't let the clerk at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles assume she was still a hundred and twenty pounds when updating her driver's license last week. She wouldn't delude herself into thinking her weight gain wasn't that noticeable or that wearing a black tee shirt would totally camoflauge her bowl full of jelly.

God, would I love to meet HER.

And things were going so well, too. Remember back in January when I was all, "Look at me, I've lost all this baby weight, I'm gonna be the best me ever, blah blah blah"? I used to wonder how a new mother could possibly gain weight when she's on her feet for ninety percent of her day, feeding the baby, bouncing the baby, changing the baby, the baby, the baby, the baby. Now I know that stress and sleep deprivation bring on the mad munchies more powerful then even the strongest pot (I'm assuming, I seriously never took more than a drag, and even that I messed up). Somewhere between then and now I forgot what apples looked like and stuffed myself with potato chips. I've consumed Reese's Cups at 9:00 a.m. and Snickers ice cream bars at noon. I'm not proud of this. But I didn't care enough to do anything about it until I was crying in Eddie Bauer's dressing room because I couldn't squeeze my ass into a pair of jeans.

Life is already hella-emotional right now without throwing my body issues into the mix, but I actually think returning to work will play a key role in forming better eating habits, mostly because the lab doesn't stock their freezer with Ben and Jerry's and my fingers will be too busy pecking at the keyboard to open a candy wrapper. That alone should shave at least five pounds off my mid-section, but just in case, I'm also vowing to pack lighter lunches and increase my water intake. Today started strong; I began my morning with Honey Nut Cheerios and sliced banana, had two cups of hot chocolate for a little caffeine rush, and devoured a roast beef deli sandwich, handful of raisins, and one sorely missed apple for lunch. But Luke and I were both so disoriented from our very long day that come dinnertime we said "Screw nutrition" and grabbed a pizza from Papa Murphy's. At least it was vegetarian.

I originally planned to talk more about my fitness plan and how I decided on my goal weight, but seeing as it's already eleven o'clock and I have to get up at the butt crack of dawn, you'll have to make do with my not-entirely-cohesive ramblings and one adorable baby picture.

Friday can't come fast enough.

Brain Fest Friday: In which I lament missing the Felicity bandwagon

The topic for today's BFF was originally suggested by David last week and seconded by you all in the comments section of yesterday's post, and I'm all about giving the people what they want, so there you have it. Song lyrics! Specifically, ones you can't get out of your head.

Mine come from a tender little film called The Waitress, in which a pregnant Keri Russell serves one-of-a-kind pie creations in a diner down south and dreams of an existence far away from her small-town upbringing and pighead ass wipe of a husband. Luke and I rented this when I was just two weeks postpartum, and I was captivated the whole time, both by Keri Russell's raw portrayal of Jenna and her beautiful head of hair. Seriously. It's gorgeous.

Anyway, halfway through, while gettin' down and dirty with her ob/gyn in the kitchen (they're sleeping together; did I not mention that?), she sings a song she learned from her mother as a little girl, "The Pie Song," and I've been singing it to Kara ever since. Even Luke's taken a liking, and if you think there's anything sweeter than listening to your husband lull your daughter to sleep with this, you'd be DEAD WRONG. He only remembers the first couple of lines, but still, so sweet.

It's the chorus I keep coming back to:

Baby, don't you cry
Gonna make a pie
Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle
Baby, don't be blue
Gonna make for you
Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle

Gonna be a pie from Heaven above
Gonna be filled with strawberry love
Baby, don't you cry
Gonna make a pie
And hold you forever in the middle of my heart

Take a listen and see if you aren't on iTunes by the end of the day.

What've you been stuck on lately?

Not so much with the Weight Loss Wednesday this week. But you already knew that.

When you begin your morning with two slices of cake, it's safe to say your weight-loss efforts are probably shot for the day.

The cake incident happened a couple of hours ago; yesterday I hopped on the scale like a good little soldier, totally prepared to post an entry about the logistics required to whip my body into shape, but then I was struck with an uncontrollable urge to wrap up every single unfinished project I've ever started, ever, in these last few days of maternity leave, and I've been running like Forrest Gump ever since. So far, I've updated my license, sifted through digital files dating back to 2004 for one hell of a Snapfish order, sat with Luke to select wedding photos, pulled out the engagement book I've been meaning to complete for the last two years, and revived talks of creating a will. You might remember seeing some of these featured on my prenatal Project Freka list, and since we've (thankfully) gotten through my unpaid FMLA time with a positive balance in our savings account, it's time to make them happen.

I've also managed to put together a mighty fine back-to-work wardrobe. Behold, the fruits of my fashion labor:

You're looking at two bras, black dress pants, six tops, one to-DIE-for sweater, and one fabulous purse (with matching wallet inside!). I ended up returning the Limited pants I bought last week because I was no longer convinced I could live with the muffin top and the Limited doesn't carry size 14 in the particular cut I wanted, thanks so much for making me feel like a fat ass. I hit gold at Express, though, which is where I got the sweater and pants, pants that are a size 12, pants that still leave a tad of stomach overage, but I like them better then the ones I had before, don't ask me why. Also don't ask me how much I spent, because it was so worth it, trying on all those pretty things and liking what I saw in the mirror again. Luke and I are visiting family this weekend, and while my mother oohs and aahs over the baby, I will be in my favorite Chicago salon, with Brenda, my favorite stylist, and treat myself to a long-overdue cut and color. The only thing left is to get back to Sephora and exchange my new LORAC foundation for something that doesn't leave flakes on my shirt and skid marks on my face after application. This has never happened to me before, so I'm inclined to blame the SPF for the less-than-perfect finish. Have you guys ever dealt with this, or do I have to submit a question to the Smackdown?

Anyway, now that you're caught up good and proper, it's time for me to hit "Publish" so I can get Kara ready for a trip to my work so I can show her off to my colleagues. You're totally jealous, I know.

Also, if you're interested in leaving a suggestion for tomorrow's BFF in the comments, I won't hold it against you.

Also also, drop by the house of h to learn about Lizzy's virtual baby shower. Because who WOULDN'T love to send a cute girly thing to baby Alice?

On the bright side, my socks still fit

First off, last Friday's BFF was so awesome that Luke and I were actually inspired to rent Raising Arizona. My first choice was Good Will Hunting, since the burger bit Fraulein N posted reminded me I've yet to see this movie, but it was out. Out! What are the odds? So Luke called me from Blockbuster and asked for a runner-up, and I pulled up the entry and read through the comments until the glory that is 1987 Nicolas Cage sprang up from the monitor, and there you have it. I hadn't seen it since middle school, and if I were the one sporting a diaper instead of Kara, I'd have changed it more times than I have fingers. (You know, because of the laughing.)

Second, I'll be taking these here Huggies and any cash you got.

Third, did you know 1987 was 21 years ago? GOD.

Anyway, last Thursday was my big back-to-work shopping spree, and it went...okay. First stop? Indy's fancy schmancy Fashion Mall, home to the state's only Sephora. It opened just shy of three years ago, meriting a feature in the city's daily newspaper, and the only reason I knew what it was at the time was Amalah. I'd only really started wearing make-up the year before, thanks to my friend, Kendra, who dragged me to the Clinique counter at the now-defunct Parisian's and got me done up all nice and purty like. I've been a Clinique fan ever since. (Actually, I'm a fan of ALL make-up counters, simply for the fact that I'm horrible at determining things like whether or not my foundation should be Nude or Shell and I'd rather pay twenty dollars on one I've tested personally then three due through trial and error.)

ANYWAY, Sephora. I've been in Sephora a couple of times before to buy primer and lip gloss, but I mostly stick to Clinique because the girls at the counter are always uber-nice and I'm not overwhelmed by thirty-seven million products. However, Amalah's Advice Smackdown column gives testimony to a variety of life-changing beauty essentials, ninety-eight percent of them outside of the Clinique family, so I thought What the hell and decided to branch out. Plus, my skincare regimen, which until three days ago consisted of a horribly drying Clearasil face wash and Clinique's Dramatically Different Moisturizing Gel (the latter of which you'll have to pry from my cold, dead hands, it's that silky on my cheeks), was in desperate need of an upgrade.

Before embarking on my journey, I made a list of the items I planned to hunt down:

• "On A Clear Day" acne starter kit by Philosophy
• Sue Devitt 70% Seaweed Gel Foundation
• Foundation primer
• Eye cream
• Mascara

Originally I thought about investing in some new blush and eye shadow, but seeing as I barely take the time to wash my freaking face, I thought it best to focus on products that'll manage or at least camoflauge my skin problems. Plus, I was already worried about how badly this delightful little trip might dent my bank account. But am working mother! If I have to leave my kid, I'm going to look damn good doing it.

Walking in, I wasn't quite sure where to start, because the products are sorted by brand, not item category, so you can't just head to the foundation section, you have to find the foundation section of every product in the store. Since I was firm on the Philosophy kit, I found the acne gift set first and luckily was approached by a sales consultant who helped me take care of the rest. I told her about my oily complexion and frequent break-outs (which she could tell just by looking at me, how embarrassing), and she suggested Smashbox Photo Finish Light Foundation Primer and LORAC Breakthrough Performance Foundation, so I forgot about Sue Devitt and went with that, but not after frantically scouring through Clinique's partial display for appropriate substitutes, because oh my God, I never thought I'd pay thirty-six dollars for PRIMER, but Clinique doesn't make a primer, and while they do carry oil-free foundation, they don't include SPF, and SPF is a must for long-term skin care, according to Amalah and any dermatologist, and I'm not about to whip out my Banana Boat sunblock when I'm still wearing a winter coat.

After realizing I'd already spent a hundred and twenty bucks without yet buying a stitch of clothing, I almost flaked out on the eye cream, but then I remembered my new working-mother stance and thew in Clinique's All About Eyes because it was the cheapest one I could find. Apparently Clinique is to Sephora what CoverGirl is to Clinique. Fabulous.

End result: one hundred and fifty-seven dollars, but that's OK because I swear I'm already seeing a difference. Plus, I scored a free mascara for signing up for their rewards program, so I guess we know who came out on top there. Suckas.

On to mall number two, where my precious New York and Company awaited my return.

I had high hopes for New York and Company and thus felt no shame in throwing shirt after pant after sweater over my arm, wondering how much I could justify to Luke and also if tears would be necessary to earn financial absolution. But after an hour and a half of looking at myself in the dressing room mirror, sucking in my stomach as hard as I could, and seriously considering hauling ass to Motherhood Maternity, I ended up with three shirts and a sweater, and I returned the sweater and two of the shirts after a brief stint at the Limited, where I scored dress slacks and a collar shirt that gave my squishy mom bod more dependable support. It didn't help that I'd forgotten to wear my shaper from home, one I picked up last summer before Kara began to wreak havoc on my belly button (seriously. I don't think it'll ever look the same) and actually does what it's supposed to do (SHAPE) and not just serve as a cover-up layer for the season's latest boobie tops (hint, hint New York and Company). By the time I made it to Eddie Bauer, Luke called to see how I was doing, and I broke down a little bit right there in the dressing room. Oh, how I long for the days of size-ten pants and small-to-medium tees!

In other words, best shopping spree EVER.

When I got home, Luke gave me a pep talk about how my body was only nine weeks postpartum and still needed time to heal, and I read your comments on this entry and perked up even more. I thought a lot about Christina's Clinton-and-Stacy-inspired remark about how nobody looks inside your pants and wondered why we gals let ourselves get so worked up on the number aspect of our clothing, especially since all the stores follow completely different sizing guidelines. None of the twelves at NY&C fit quite right, but the twelves at the Limited were almost perfect; just a tad of muffin top, but nothing a baggy shirt couldn't conceal.

Then I went to Old Navy and surrendered to a pair of size-fourteen jeans because the twelves were just too effing tight. I would've cried if they didn't fit me so well. Not only was there NO muffin top, they were even a bit roomy.

So today I'm heading back to the mall to exchange my new dress slacks, because I'd rather admire myself in pants two sizes bigger than my pre-pregnancy clothes then settle for the next size up simply because I can lock the zipper. Hell, now I'm questioning whether I was ever a ten in the first place.

Despite my liberating epiphany, though, I'm thinking it's time to revive Weight Loss Wednesday, so be on the look-out for that in a couple of days. Because that won't be depressing at all!

In other news, I finally broke my no-work-talk-on-maternity-leave rule and met with my supervisor for lunch on Friday. It was a nice way to get acclimated on what's been happening in my absence and mentally prepare myself for my return. Plus, I brought up and was approved for a new work schedule, so starting next Wednesday, I'll be pulling seven to three-thirty shifts with half an hour for lunch. I'm beyond excited about this. I'll miss traffic both ways and totally make it home in time for Judge Judy.

Seeing Kara will be nice, too.

Brain Fest Friday: Another contender was the whole "really thin pancakes" bit. LOVE that.

OK, people, here it is, today's BFF: Favorite excerpt of dialogue from a movie.

I know, I know; so many! And I won't even TOUCH When Harry Met Sally because the whole damn film is quotable, but two immediately come to mind:

Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery
Scene: Las Vegas casino

Casino Dealer (to Number Two): Seventeen.
Number Two: Hit me.
Casino Dealer: You have 17, sir.
Number Two: I like to live dangerously.
Casino Dealer [Hit for four]: Twenty-one. Very good, sir.
Casino Dealer (to Austin): Five.
Austin Powers: I'll stay.
Casino Dealer: I suggest you hit, sir.
Austin Powers: I also like to live dangerously.

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby
Scene: Dinner at Applebee's

Ricky Bobby: Dear Lord baby Jesus, lyin' there in your ghost manger, just lookin' at your Baby Einstein developmental videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors. I would like to thank you for bringin' me and my mama together, and also that my kids no longer sound like retarded gang-bangers.

So, have at it! Together, we, too, can influence Netflix queues!

Dusting off the saddle

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm almost, ALMOST, ready to go back to work.

Luke's last day was Friday, and since then the Frema-Useless Clutter household has seen a flurry of activity, what with traveling and spring cleaning and catching up on laundry and discovering that Kara's already outgrowing some of her three-to-six-month sleepers. It's been great having the three of us together again, but sometimes it seems like we're stepping all over each other. I'll be glad for the time when we can establish a more permanent rhythm, one in which we're allowed to master our new roles instead of randomly trying to accomplish tasks in between bottles, diaper changes, and faulty W-2s.

That's right. After cursing out Turbo Tax for more than two hours over the bright red "Federal Taxes Owed" box taunting us from the top left corner of the computer screen, I found a discrepancy in my tax form big enough to bring on the more financially-friendly green box, which means now we can't file our return until my employer's payroll company produces a new W-2. Because taxes aren't fun enough!

Anyway, to banish that lovely experience from my memory, today I'm embarking on my "I'm a savvy working mom who despite her coolness is still too flabby for ninety percent of her pre-pregnancy wardrobe" shopping spree. Before I go, I'll try on some more of the stuff I packed away last summer, but seeing as I could barely lock the zipper on my once gut-friendly corduroys, I doubt I'll have much luck with the tailored dress slacks. I'm not looking to buy out the mall, but it's about time I passed along the rest of my maternity clothes to my sister Samantha, who, unlike me, is actually with child, and it's illegal to go to work naked. I also hope to step outside the confines of my traditional beauty regime (read: away from the Clinique counter) in search of new products for my lingering skincare issues. I have a filled-to-the-brim make-up bag with items that haven't been touched since 2006 and half-used bottles of cheap facial cleansers that aren't doing anything for my acne, and now that I'm a mother, it's time to step up to the plate and reclaim the womanhood I left behind back in my first trimester. After spending the last hour and a half combing through Amalah's Advice Smackdown archives, I think I have just enough information to be dangerous at Sephora. Hopefully the consultants won't notice I've been wearing the same gray lounge pants every day for the last five seven days. Also, that I'm still sporting a nursing bra because it's the only one I have that can support my now-ginormous boobs.

Don't worry, I'll be sure to share the fruits of my labor just as soon as I can; until then, behold my gorgeous baby, who I promise to take to the dermatologist at the first sign of trouble.

Samantha and Kara, who's wearing the too-tight sleeper mentioned in my latest Parents entry. Dear dryer, why must you be so cruel?