Just Call Me Dr. Ferber

In case you are wondering, I am doing fabulous, the pain is gone and I am sleeping much better.  Really, though, you guys rock.  Your comments made me laugh.

My new laptop arrived yesterday with all its, uh, refurbished glory.  It is speedy and oh-so-wonderful.  I think it will solve all my time problems.  Okay, maybe not all of them. Everything that the laptop does not solve will be resolved by three words: crying it out. There is a certain member in our household who keeps me up at night with his crazy sleep habits.  My husband.

When he is under duress, or just plain tired, he tends to sleep rather poorly.  This, in turn, means that I sleep even worse.  Take a few nights ago.  We went to bed at a decent hour (around 10),  talked for a few minutes, and fell asleep.  A few hours following, he was up and moving--first, he checked his e-mail, next he ate a snack, and finally he curled up on the couch, the position I found him in an hour later.  If that wasn't enough, when he was back in bed he was constantly moving and jumping up to check his alarm clock.  And then, when it was time, his alarm clock started buzzing.  And buzzing.  And buzzing.  Until he decides to get up an hour after his set time.

After struggling through this for most of our married life, I have decided to use Dr. Ferber's advice with a few of my own alterations.

First, I am going to lock Ben in our room and sleep on the couch.  Next, when starts to jiggle the door knob, I will turn on my mini iPod.  Finally, I will be persistent and continue with my vigil until he sleeps through the night.  See? Easy peasy.

Since I am so sure that this will be a success, I have already started my book.  I am debating between titling it Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Wife or The Happiest Wife On the Block. Any suggestions?

My (Non)Purse

Linda at Barmitzvahzilla tagged me in a fun meme in which I describe the state of my purse.  One problem though--I don't have a purse.  Ok, that's a bit of a lie.  I do own a purse but it has transferred ownership over to Emily.  At this moment, it is in a storage bin completely empty.  Since I really don't want to describe what is in my diaper bag, I thought I would make this into a game of What's Inside My Imaginary Purse!

What My Imaginary Purse Looks Like

If I were to buy a purse it would be conventional.  Something like this,

Notice the long straps?  I dislike how most handbags do not fit around my shoulders, so I prefer a purse that I can loop around my opposite neck.

The size is another issue.  I like lithe accessories.  I'd prefer that my bag not be bigger than I am.

Inside My Imaginary Purse

My imaginary purse would be stocked with many childproofless things.

I, of course, would have the toilette necessities--lip gloss, chapstick, basic manicure set, powder foundation, and blush.

As I am a germophobe, I would make sure to include hand sanitizer. Since this exacerbates my already-prone-to-excema hands, I would have a large bottle of Curel lotion. Yes, it must be Curel.

To fulfill my technology needs, I would pack my imaginary iPhone in its personal case.  I would probably include an extra set of car and house keys.

Finally, I would have a mini notebook and a few pens.  Who knows when inspiration might hit.

Fashion (Non)Sense

I really don't understand the rules of matching.  I am sure that my purse would not have accessories that match and would inevitably clash with whatever I was wearing at the time.  Still, it would fulfill its role--to carry everything I think I might need in case of an emergency.   An emergency of any kind.

The Next Victims

As I am  supposed to pass this on, I decided to terrorize choose

Kenzie at Unabridged Girl

Kristen at Enjoying Every Moment

and On A Silent Sea

You can choose to participate.  Just remember, it's only my feelings at stake here.

I'll Have A Guilt Sandwich, Please

I am feeling pretty full these days.  I have engorged myself frequently on a guilt sandwich.  Nothing like a guilt sandwich to make me feel deliciously bloated.  I don't normally share recipes but I think I'll make an exception for this case.

Start with two slices of household guilt.  This can be anything, like the dirty dishes, unfolded or dirty laundry, or a messy living room.  It makes it even tastier when you have extra thick slices.

Spread the household guilt with some tangy blog guilt--worries over unread e-mails from blog friends,  little to no time to comment on your favorite blogs, or not responding to comments.  Remember, the more the better.

Now for the best part: family guilt.  I usually double this.  You have many options to choose from--unmade phone calls to siblings, arguments with your parents, no time for you spouse, and doubts about your mothering capabilities.  I usually go for spousal and mothering guilt.  I like it hearty.

Top this with the condiments of your choice.  A slice of not keeping in touch with your friend here, a slice of unchecked tasks lists there, whatever suits your fancy.

Sprinkle this with some yummy self guilt.

Top all of this with the other half of your household guilt and you have yourself a delectable guilt sandwich.

I like to take humungous bites of this sandwich daily.  And, the best part is, unlike other sandwiches, the more bites I take the bigger it gets!

Yes.  I like me a big guilt sandwich.

Finishing the 10 Things List

Hi friends.  My little guy has  been doing better and I am now back to my usual perky and silly self.  Or maybe that's because it's Friday.  You all know what Friday means right? Date night!! Okay, here it really means going out to eat.  Our weekly ritual.  It is what keeps me cooking during the week.

Moving on.

About that 10 things list, let's see, I have 7 items left, right?  Anyone been counting?  Well, I say 7 items so 7 items it is.  I know I was going to do a day-to-day list, but my attention span is very slight.  Thus, I became rather bored with that idea. So, here's a nice, smooth bulleted list of my last 7 things.

• I often write comments and posts that are not completed thoughts.  Usually by the time I sit down to blog, I have only a few minutes so I am rushing through my comments before one of the kids wakes up.  Now you know why half my comments on your blog probably don't make sense.  And why I jump around from freakishly happy to mournfully sad posts.  Sorry about that.


• I am paranoid about hand washing.  I wash my hands AT LEAST 20 times a day.  If I know you don't wash your hands (after using the restroom or changing diapers, that is), I will most likely not ask you to watch my kids (lucky you),  won't eat at your house,  and will avoid letting you hold my babies.  Yes, it is that bad.


• Hand washing isn't my only tick.  If I find a piece of hair in my food, my appetite will vanish.  It will take me a few months to make that food again let alone eat it.


• We don't have a dishwasher so I am extremely anal about how my dishes are cleaned.  I don't let Mr. B (or anyone else for that matter) wash the dishes because I know I will wash them again and I don't want to hurt his feelings.  Hey, at least I have a heart, right?


• We furnished our whole apartment with $300.   We went to hundreds of garage sales within a 2-month period, searching for the right furniture--kitchen table, queen sized bed and mattress, couches, end tables, bookshelves, desks, and dressers.  Obviously, our furniture does not match but, by golly, they are comfortable and make our apartment look cozy.


• I will do laundry all week long and pile it up on our big couch.  By the end of the week,  there is no where to sit on said couch.  Classy, huh?


• Mr. B's real name is......Ben. I know, I know, we all have really plain names.  I am getting used to it now.

Now that I have virtually unclothed myself I am going to hide in my closet, er, I mean bedroom (I can't fit in my closet).

Can I Change My Name?

Like Melanie J, I am having an identity crisis.  It's true.  Ok, hers involves her blog and mine involves my name.  Still.

Amber.

So original.  So plain.  I know like thousands of Ambers.  Frankly, I'm ticked off at my parents.  Why couldn't they have named me something cool?  Something like Ambrosia? How many people do you know named Ambrosia?  None?  That's right.  Sure there is that band named Ambrosia, but I would much rather be named after a band than a beer.

If I really want to make my mark on the blogging world and become famous and all that jazz, I'm pretty sure a change of name is needed.

I know, I know I talked about going to Amber because I'm a survivor of depression, but seriously people.  You know you liked Ambrosia so much more.  Doesn't that name sound like a clever person?  An exotic person?  Let me tell you all about the differences between Amber and Ambrosia.

Amber

-doesn't like crafts

-hates seafood

-thinks all animals (except for fish) are disgusting to keep as pets

-tries to be funny

Ambrosia

-loves crafts!

-cooks fabulous meals (a la The Kitchen Witch)

-has a couple dogs for the Queen to play with (but no cats, sorry)

-is witty, wise, and wonderful!! (3 w's people!!)

Amber is like the plain bagel without cream cheese while Ambrosia is the really awesome bagel with lots of cream cheese.  (I think cream cheese is the best part of the bagel.)

Sigh.

I guess I need to accept my name and move on.  I can at least warn all the future parents out there.

To All Future Parents:

Please be considerate when naming your child.  They may grow up to resent the name, and you, and legally change their name to something cooler.  Like Chad Javon Johnson changing his name to Chad Ocho Cinco.  Just keep that in mind.

Signed,

Someone who wishes her name was Ambrosia and not Amber.

At least my name has a really cool 311 song attached to it.



Please tell me that you struggle with your name too.  It would make me feel better.

I Am In Time Out

Dear Readers,

I have been placed under time out for the following grievances.

Failure to wash, fold, and put away new clothes causing an intermingling in dirty and clean laundry,  a huge pile on the couch, and no where for the Queen to play or Mr. B to work on homework.

Failure to consistently wash, dry, and put the dishes away.

Failure to comment on friend's blogs, making them feel ill used.

Failure to write on (in?) my own blog.

Failure to keep sickness at bay and allow the babies to catch colds.

For penintence,  I have been forced to close all comments,  turn on a Jane Austen movie, and hold my little Manly tight.

Be warned.  This could happen to you.

Love your favorite crazy head,

Amber

P.S.  I have read all your wonderful blogs.  Just pretend that I submitted the wittiest, wisest, and greatest comment of all.  (Because, hello! that would totally be me.)

P.P.S.  The kiddos and I are going to take a nap.  Shhhhh don't tell the grievance committee!!

P.P.P.S.  I think my kids are the greatest.

Hold Your Tongue!

A few weeks ago,  I was excitedly announcing how well Manly sleeps.  8 hours every night.  So what if he goes to bed at midnight?

That was a few weeks ago.  Now I wish that I had held my tongue.   It seems that when I pridefully broadcast  my child's excellent sleep habits,  he  reminds me who is in charge.

After that conversation,  Manly began waking up at night.  Now, he wakes up every 2 hours. Every two hours.  It's pretty draining.

Rest assured, this post is not about sleeplessness.  It is about biting my tongue.

At the beginning of this year, I was facing life with two children and practically no other responsibilities.  I wasn't working, I didn't have a calling, and I was relatively new in my congregation.  To sum it all up, I was lonely and not engaged.

I flounder when I'm not busy.  I pity myself and complain too much.  So,  I began to look for opportunities to become busy.  First, I began contributing to MMB monthly.  Then,  I began contributing to Mormon Women.  After that,  I was called to serve as secretary in my congregation's Relief Society.

My schedule is once again cluttered.  I am almost to the point of looking back and wishing I had held my tongue.  Almost.

These new responsibilities are keeping me occupied.  I am learning to prioritize my obligations.  Yes, this can be rough.  On the other hand,  I love it.  Keeping my mind and spirit actively engaged in good causes helps remind me to treasure my life as a stay-at-home mom.  It also keeps me focused on other people rather than partake in my usual bemoaning, self-centered attitude.

I am glad that I took that leap.  I have met some wonderful people,  made some new friends,  and explored different blogs than what I am accustomed to.

Still, I will bite my tongue against any inclination to praise my child's sleeping habits.  And, if I don't,  would you mind giving me a slap on the hand as a reminder?  I'd sure appreciate that more than sleepless nights.

In Honor of Doppelganger Week (So What If It Has Already Passed!)

Manly

Jabba the Hut

The similarities are striking, no?

What famous person(s) do your children resemble?

Please Be Mine, Dear Swing

Dear Swing,

I wasn't sure of you at first.  Your bulk seemed too much for our little living space,  your utility not yet discovered.  I thought you would be gone before the end of the week.

I was wrong.

Too soon,  Manly developed colic.  I rocked and rocked but could not console.  I passed him off to Mr. B.  His patience worn thin,  he placed Manly inside your welcoming arms.

He was asleep within seconds.

This seemed a minor fluke, so we tried again the next night.  You succeeded in proving us wrong.

From that time forward, you rocked Manly.  He slept without interruption for hours at a time.  You became our beacon of sleep.

All too soon you showed your weakness: batteries.  With your life slowly dwindling, I slept on the couch, manually pushing the swing.  The batteries needed to bring electric juices in your weary body were put at the top of our grocery list.  With life restored, you resumed your place as Manly's bed.

When Manly's colic diminished, I took over, thinking I could do better.  Now, my tired eyes look over your shiny, metallic skin.  I think pleasureful thoughts of sleep filled nights.

I know I have neglected you, but I promise to do better.  If I buy you batteries, will you be mine again?

Love,

Amber

This letter is part of Momalom's Love It Up challenge.

Conversations About Death

"Do you ever think about how you are going to die?"  Mr. B asked one night.

I rolled my eyes.  "No. I prefer to dwell on less morbid topics,  things pertaining to living."

"Well,  if you could choose which way to die,  what would you choose?"  Mr. B. continued.

"Um,  I think that I'd rather not answer that seeing that I really have no choice in the matter,"  I quipped.

"I think I'm going to die of a heart attack or in a car accident,"  he calmly stated. "I'd prefer something that would immortalize me."

*****************

"Would you go back to school if I died?"  Mr. B inquired during a drive home one night.

"Probably,"  I nonchalantly responded.

"For a Master's?"  he asked.

"Well, I would start with a Master's in therapy then  continue on with my Ph.D.  Since you'd be dead and all, I guess I'd have nothing to hold me back,"  I slyly answered.

"Good choice.  Remember,  you have some good money coming your way when I die,"  he stated.

"True.  What are you waiting for?"

"Great question."

******************

"I would love to develop cancer,"  B longingly stated one afternoon.  "If I did,  would you support medicinal marijuana?"

"Um, no."  I exclaimed.  "Why would I want you to develop cancer?  Just for marijuana?"

"Yes.  I'd smoke chronic and go to IHOP with you guys!  Sure,  I'd be in pain but at least I'd be laughing!" he explained.

"Yeah,  and I would be sad because I'd miss you if you died,"  I responded.

"No.  I wouldn't die,  I would miraculously recover and live another 20 years!" he proclaimed.

*****************

Does your husband enjoy tormenting you with questions about death?  Because this topic is a favorite of my husband's.

No, my husband is not suicidal.  He's just weird.  I guess we all have our idiosyncracies, right?