Thank you so much for all the wonderful responses to my publishing announcement earlier this week! I’m so frustrated that I wasn’t able to reply, especially to all the kind words on Twitter. (Man, you know your life is crazy when you can’t even find time to procrastinate on Twitter.)
Things have just been so, so, so, so, so overwhelming ever since the baby came home. I can barely keep up with anything. To give you an idea: Christy wrote a perfect summary of what my days are like right now in her first take here, and I have had a tab open in my browser for a week to remind myself to leave a comment saying, “Yes, that is my life!” but I cannot seem to get to it because…that is my life.
When Yaya calls you and tells you that she has found a “terrifying” bug in her yard, it’s time to call an evacuation helicopter. I mean, this is the woman who knocks down wasps’ nests and then just stands there and chills while the angry insects swarm around her, before eventually crushing them with her bare hands. She’s nonchalant about being stung by poisonous arachnids while she sleeps, she threatens gang members with violence, and she finds scorpions in cups to be charming kitchen accessories.
So when I answered the phone to hear her screaming about some “terrifying” but that the kids needed to come see, I should have known that it would be as awful as this:
These insane-o centipedes are venomous, and their stings are said to be far more painful than those of scorpions. Oh, and they can cut you with their dozens of creepy little legs and inject venom into you just by walking across your skin.
I have seen one of these things on my property once (and I shared my heart about that experience here), and now I shall live the rest of my days in terror at the thought of encountering one inside the house. Enough of this useless bug spray nonsense; I need a flamethrower.
I’m sorry. I don’t think you understand the full awfulness of this thing. You can’t really tell how big it is from that picture, so here it is with a common object next to it to give you a sense of scale:
Well, that’s how I perceive the scale, anyway. And I need to make sure that you didn’t miss THESE, the needle-sharp dual DAGGERS at the end of its tail:
I should really stop now before I get a cease and desist letter from the legal team at the Texas Tourism Department.
On a brighter note, I did a juice fast this week! It’s not exactly a Perfect Health Diet thing, but I figured that juice-only fasts might avoid the risk of metabolic endotoxemia from too much fructose since you’re drinking each serving when your liver’s glycogen stores are low (which is probably stupid and wrong, but anyway…) I just bought the Naked brand of juices that my grocery store carries, and I lived on those for a couple of days.
I did it because I felt like my body needed a rest from the work of digestion to help it fight this never-ending sinus infection, and it did seem to help. Amazingly, I wasn’t hungry! Also, I felt good: my energy level was strong, despite not getting much sleep at night, and I didn’t even miss eating. I won’t go into the weight loss side, since we’re all focused on healthful diets and not vain concerns like a number on the scale, but instead will simply say that it was a good experience and I’ll probably do it again soon.
(Ha ha! Just kidding about the weight thing. I lost four pounds in two days.)
Speaking of health and weight and whatnot, I’m trying to get into a good fitness routine. I’m jogging again (looking as glamorous as always), and I can’t decide whether I’ll go back to Body for Life or Lindsay Brin’s Postnatal Boot Camp DVD for strength training. What I love about Brin’s DVDs is that they’re targeted at moms who have recently had babies, and all the workout ladies (or whatever the term is for the people demonstrating the moves on the DVD) are mothers themselves. Also, for whatever reason, my kids love to do it with me, which always leads to a scene more ridiculous than you could possibly imagine.
Anyway, hit me with any thoughts you have about workout routines that don’t require monthly fees and can be done in or near one’s home. Do we like Jillian or is she too crazy? Do we think that buying books about jumping rope is the very definition of absurdity, or is that just Joe? I am all ears. After feeling so bad for so long, I am extremely motivated to get back into great health.
The other day I got all fired up about making the perfect Cosmo. It was going to be a special treat after another grueling week; in fact, I was so motivated to do it that I actually made a special trip to the store to get cranberry juice — and let me just tell you, getting out to the store when you have six kids under age nine is NO JOKE. From the time we left until the time we returned, the trip took the better part of the afternoon.The shopping experience was deeply traumatic, in large part because there seems to be something in the air in our grocery store that sends my two-year-old into Turbo Crazy mode. I barely kept her from jumping out of the cart, shattering everyone’s eardrums with her screaming, and sweeping clear all the shelves.
When I got home I looked over my haul with satisfaction. I got milk and cream, some spinach, stocked up on summer sunscreen, and even remembered that new can opener that I’d been meaning to pick up for months. And then I barely restrained myself from clawing at my eyes and screaming as I realized:
I FORGOT. THE FREAKING. CRANBERRY. JUICE.
After slumping into a chair and staring at a wall in abject despair for a few hours, I decided to improvise my own recipe. The only juice we had in the house was the kids’ juice boxes, so I went with that. The resulting momtini was surprisingly delicious.
Here’s the recipe, adapted from this one:
- 1 jigger vodka
- 1/2 oz. Cointreau
- 1 tsp fresh lime juice
- 1 1/2 oz from Capri Sun or Juicy Juice box
- Lime and sugar for garnish
Mix all ingredients together in a chilled glass (preferably a martini glass if you’re fancy enough to have one). Wipe lime wedge around rim then douse with sugar for garnish. Guaranteed to make you pick up on the hidden brilliance of Barney that you’d never noticed before.
Hurray for three-day weekends, and God bless the men and women who have died in the service of our country.
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