If you don't have anything nice to say

Doesn't it feel good when someone gives you a compliment?

And not, like, from your mom. Or your husband. Or a good friend. Because while those are also great, they're not super stellar great.

Try to remember the last time a random stranger said something kind to you or complimented you on something as simple as your shirt. Feels pretty damn good, right? While it doesn't happen often, I find myself tucking those compliments away and pulling them out on a particular crappy day to make me feel a tidgy better.

"Okay, so I may have sounded like a douche in that meeting, but remember the time Stranger in Grocery Store told me that I looked like one of the most stylish pregnant women ever? Sigh. That was a good day."

Little nuggets of niceness.

I often think nice things of strangers ("Nice skirt!" "Your baby is so cute!"

"A-hole!" Oops. That last one is often thought while driving.) but rarely share them. And I've decided to change that; to now share the nuggets of niceness.

Am going to make a concerted effort to give at least one stranger each day a compliment. Thinking of all the strangers I come across in a day, this will totally be easy.

So that you can follow along at home, I've posted a new feature on the side.

"Feel free to compliment my red socks."

Extra saucy

Tonight, in our living room:

T: "I don't feel so well."

Me: "Hmm. What's that about?"

T: "I don't know. Sleepy, achy, scratch throat."

Me: "Hey! Maybe you have A1N1!"

T: "Woman, you mean H1N1. I don't really think I'm infected with steak sauce."

Me: "Important distinction."

For real?

Why is my office so cold that my nose and hands are frigid?

Why are the Weight Watchers frozen calzones so marvelously tasty?

Why is Kelly Bensimon such a train wreck?

Why is my son so edible that I can't help but nibble on his fingers and cheeks and tiny chin?

Why is my husband so ridiculous that this morning he volunteered kick someone's ass for me?

Why did I send this card to a co-worker and then cackle to myself all morning?





Why must this day take so long to get to 5:00pm?

Why must E have yet another cough after only being cold free for 42 and some odd days?

Why don't I have unlimited funds for personal grooming appointments like nails, facials, hair trims, waxing, buffing and tanning?

Why is the weather in Michigan so jenked up that one day it's 75 at 8:00am and two days later its 37 at 8:00am?

Why did a friend give me a box of Thin Mints mere hours before needing to weigh in and destroy hope for an even lighter K?

Why must certain co-workers be so clueless all the time?


And, so, I push on.

For the love of Pete

I have become that mom who just spent her entire lunch hour Googling "first birthday t-shirts."

Yikes.

I didn't even know such a thing existed until browsing through some jenky catalog last night and discovering, that yes!, not only do they recommend spending $104.99 on the Sesame Beginnings Ultimate Party Pack--but Hey! They might call CPS if your child isn't attired in a 1st birthday t-shirt.

Not good.

I'm taking as many efforts at possible to keep E's first birthday party low key (read as: no unicorns, cotton candy or clowns shot out of cannons). Just a few people at fun location.

But I'm not going to lie--there may be a t-shirt involved. These are only a few of the 22,400 (not lying at all) available at Cafe Press.

Any preferences?

Sunday Conversations: Parent Edition

Me (in the kitchen): "Heeyyy!"

T (from the living room): "Yeah?"

"You can have your choice: empty the dishwasher or change a poopy diaper. Both need to be done now."

"Those options suck."

"I know."

"I'll empty the dishwasher."

"Okay."

I then scooped up Little Man and took him upstairs. Let me just say that T choose wisely.

Tubing nonsense

So a co-worker and I basically watched this a million times.

"But I am le tired."

"So take a nap. AND FIRE THE MISSILES!"

All me, all the time: Part V

loveball asks, "If you were on Death Row - what would you select for your last meal?"

I feel this is an appropriate question because I am having a Hungry Day.

This alleged last meal would more of a hodge podge of foods I adore and less of a meat-potato-vegetable-dessert kind of set-up.

And...I would milk the courses for what they're worth. Starters! Soup! Salad! Entree! Side dish! Vegetable! Bread basket! Dessert! Fruit and cheese plate! Beverage! Wine!

Hors d'oeuvre:
I waffle between the lettuce wraps at P.F. Changs and simply having a plate full of bacon wrapped water chestnuts. It's a tough call. Ach. Okay, I go with the bacon wrapped water chestnuts. A mound of them.

Soup:
Lobster bisque. Nice and creamy and full of fat. And no skimping on the lobster.

Salad:
Full on cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, bacon, croutons, cucumbers and a crapload of ranch dressing.

Entree:
A Big Mac. Oh, special sauce (*cough* Thousand Island dressing *cough*) you have a special place in my heart. What with your rogue middle bun and two slices of cheese. I (heart) you.

Side dish:
Mashed potatoes and gravy.

Vegetable:
Corn

Bread basket:
These ridiculously lovely yeast rolls that glisten with butter from a local steakhouse here in town.

Dessert:
I think I would choose a nice, fatty slice of New York cheesecake with cherries on top. (Side bar: Why do they always put whipped cream on cheesecake? I am all for going balls to the wall with dessert, but I'm sorry that just seems excessive.)

Fruit and cheese plate:
Oh, man. I would just ask for a bevy of cheeses and tasty fruits here. And I would plow through it. Heart burn and gut rot be damned! This is my last meal we're talking about.

Beverage:
Sweet tea. With a straw.

Wine:
A nice, cold Moscato d' Asti. So bubbly. So fruity.

So there you have it--my last meal.

Incidentally, not at all helping the current state of things on Hungry Day.

Random useless tidbits

It is finally acting like spring around here. Temps warming up and even a bit sunny.

As a result of the rain and the current sun, our grass is growing out of control. The smell of fresh cut grass is one of favorite smells evah.

****

I heard the word "seamen" while listening to NPR yesterday and giggled in my car. And then wondered if I was really 12 years old instead of 33.

****

T and I are having a daydate on Saturday. We've yet to plan anything since he's been out of town for work, but our daydates usually involve food of some kind, so I'm thinking that's a safe bet.

****

Speaking of eating out, in the past month we've taken E out to a restaurant twice. Both times went amazingly well. The key is a careful combination of bringing along toys that can be washed, a sippy cup, puffs to act as an hors d'oeuvre, a bib, a plastic bag for the bib to hold it when it's gooey, wipes and a go-with-the-flow attitude. That last one because I'm pretty sure babies are like dogs in that they can smell anxiety.

****

This coming Saturday I have my second 5K of the season. It's one of my favorites and I'll be running it with my dad. It's also supposed to be marvelously sunny and warm.

I can get behind that. Which I guess is appropriate, given that I will be running behind many people.

****

I have dropped two pant sizes and 11 pounds.

****

E loves lasagna and roast beef and pancakes and corn. He hates peas.

Hates. them.

****

Our trip to D.C. this summer was scaled down to a party of 1. Me. We thought it might be too disruptive to E's schedule to be gone for a week on family vacation and then gone for another five days in D.C. So, he and T will be staying behind. I adjusted my travel time for the conference to just be Sunday through Tuesday.

In other news, my ticket cost $420. Heavens. That just seems like a lot. Was able to score a direct flight on the way home, though. Thought direct flights were a thing of yesteryear.

Like davenports and pocketbooks.

****

Websites (other than my Gmail and Google Reader) that I check each morning before starting work:

New York Times
CNN
Washington Post
People
US Weekly
Local news station

****

I have a project at work that I've been procrastinating on for over a year, almost two. Granted part of that time I was out for three months on maternity leave, so you know--it's cool.

The thing is, the project is drafting a disaster plan for our library. So if there's some of kind mega crapstorm and all our books are destroyed what do we do? (Other than perhaps anticipate some vacation days.)

T asked me, "So what happens if you don't have the plan written and there is indeed a disaster?"

Me: "I don't know."

That may be the kind of proactive thinking that got me stuck writing the plan in the first place.

****

Last night I enjoyed a lovely Morningstar corn dog. I am a corn dog fiend and these bad boys are pretty darn good.

I recommend.

Stuff it

While grocery shopping on Sunday, I came across this...




...and I am not afraid to admit that I gasped in the aisles. Because, hello!, is there anything more glorious than stuffing? I think not.

I do have a friend, loveball, who loathes the stuff. But she has "wet bread issues" so many things (most pancakes and french toast, stuffing, etc.) are out for her. Strangely, though, she likes dumplings. Hmmm.

Anyway, after pulling myself together I put a container of the stuffing in my cart. But then, thought, "What if this stuff is heaven and I want more but don't have more? Agony!" So I threw another one in my cart. Stopped at two because alternately what if it tastes like ass? Well then you've got two extra stuffings on your hands and are just looking silly.

Last night we were having chicken and told T, "Wait! We have stuffing too!" T then inquired if it was organic. I was then forced to ask if him if his adult cocktail was organic. Thought so.

So, water in container up to "Fill here" and microwaved for 1 minute 45 seconds. And taste!

Crikey! It tasted horrible! Nothing like the usual stuffing I love and adore.

T was knee deep in stuffing and loving it, so I shoved the rest of mine on his plate and he had at it.

So disappointed. But in retrospect this will probably be more in line with trying to lose the L Bs.

C'est la vie.

Ain't no party like a West coat party

This weekend E's friend B turned 1. Kind of a big deal. Throw in some cake, bacon wrapped water chestnuts and 70 degree weather--well, you can't top that for a Saturday afternoon.

It doesn't seem so long ago that Red Door was stopping by the house after work to pick something up and mentioning that she'd been having contractions all day; some of which were no joke. Wellp, that next day B appeared! Super cute and super loved.

Six weeks and 10 days later, E popped out.

End of May. E one day old. B six weeks old.

Middle of October. E about five months old. B over six months old.

Middle of April. B a year old. E almost 11 months.

Incidentally, B is on. the. go. Which is why 1) I was only able to get him partly in the shot, and 2) Why E is looking envious.

B was kind enough to share his Radio Flyer walker with E. Who loved it minus the small detail of allowing his lower half to keep up with his upper half. Coordination, it's no laughing matter.

"Here. Let me show you how it's done."

Riding Rody and loving it.

Initially, B was not a fan of the cake portion of the party. I think it had to do with more of an aversion to the highchair/containment system, but...

...he eventually got into it.

Three little boys in orange shirts. E and another little boy, W, showed up in orange polo shirts. Post-frosting hose down, B joined the ranks.

Playing outside with the rockin' sand/water box that B received from his grandparents. Splashing and sand-eating galore

All me, all the time: Part IV

Michelle asks, "How do you stay motivated to work-out? What is your normal work-out routine?

First of all, I would use the word "motivated" loosely. Very. loosely. I think "compelled" would probably be a better word.

I never want to work out. I can think of a million different things I would rather be doing than being at the gym. I hate working hard. I hate sweating. I hate comparing myself to the other bodies. I hate flailing around.

You get the picture.

The only reason I work out is so that I fit into my clothes. Plain and simple. My energy level, better health, stronger muscles...pfft. I want my clothes to fit the way I'm used to them fitting. As in, no muffin top. Not tight in the thighs. Flat stomach.

So, I've just sort of accepted that unless I move (and as I get older I have to move a lot and fast), that's not going to happen.

Suck.

Right now I'm lifting weights four times a week to try and get my muscle tone back to where it was before I was pregnant and to help pick up my metabolism. I've found that my body does the best when I lift often and match it with cardio.

When I was using a trainer this winter, I would do whatever combination of weights she outlined, but I no longer am so instead I'm using the Muscle and Fitness routine from this challenge. It may seem kind meathead-y, but that magazine puts together some really good weight lifting workouts that can give great results.

I then usually run 30-45 minutes on the treadmill for my cardio.

Again, I'd rather be sitting on my couch watching the Real Housewives of New York City (umm...Ramona?...for real?) and eating Bugles--but then I remind myself that the pants I put on yesterday were ones I haven't worn in two years and then I get crack a' lackin.

How do you all stay motivated?

All me, all the time: Part III

*fish asks, "If you could pick one designer to outfit you on a regular basis, who would it be and why."

Good question, and one I've been mulling over.

When I read this question, I instantly thought of Michael Kors. Am not sure why. I have a few things of his that I got on crazy sale at Macy's and I like that they're all-American but still stylish and not boring. But I'm not sure he's "girly" enough for me. I need a little bit more sass. I appreciate crisp and classic, but need some pink.

So, I went with Tory Burch. Whenever I see her things in a magazine, I like what I'm seeing. Am a fan of the tunic. Am a fan of the dresses. I like a pattern, but a little goes a long way with me. I'm also so not very edgy. And like clothes that are realistically cut for my body. No odd angles or hems for me.

A sampling below from the Saks Fifth Avenue website:

All me, all the time: Part II

Live a Colorful Life asks, "What is it exactly that you do? Just check books in and out? Because I'm pretty sure it's more complicated than that!"

I'm not sure "complicated" is the right word, but it is more interesting.

Since I was in high school I've known I wanted to be a librarian. I worked in the public library in our small town all through high school. In college, I worked at college library and volunteered occasionally at the public library across the street. Now I work at law school library and still volunteer at a public library in town a few hours a week.

If you couldn't tell, I love libraries.

But, back to the question.

My basic title is Reference Librarian and that means I do Reference, which is helping people use the resources we have in our library to get their research done. Librarians aren't usually the ones who check books out. That's usually handled by Circulation staff.

Being at a school, I help mainly law students. But we also get attorneys, usually from solo practices who don't have access to many print resources (because they're freakin' expensive). We also get the occasional pro se patron (an individual representing themselves in court).

Some of the questions I've fielded this week:

"Where would I find the House and Senate Reports for the Reinvestment Act?"
"How do I use the Index to the CFR (Code of Federal Regulations)?"
"Who wrote the Michigan book on Real Property?"
"What's the difference between the Michigan Reports and the Michigan Appeals Reports?"

Unless you're interested in the law, it's not exactly riveting stuff.

So, Reference. I also do collection development--buying books for the library. We get "blurbs" from various publishing houses describing a title and then we individually and then in committee decide if it that title is a good fit for our collection. Again, legal materials not as interesting as popular fiction, but still fun to buy books with someone else's budget.

I also teach. The librarians all teach a variety of classes for the law students. In the past, I've taught Research & Writing, Advanced Writing, Estate Planning and Pretrial Skills. Usually the classes are based around doing research using either print or online sources. The class sizes aren't large, but I'm not a huge fan of lecturing for three hours. I get tired of hearing myself talk--can't imagine what they're feeling.

Those are kind of the biggies that take up most of my time. Other things get thrown in like being involved in professional organizations and committees, writing articles for journals, giving tours to prospective students, etc.

Overall, I dig it. I'm able to work 9am-5pm most of the time (with an evening and weekend thrown in here and there), work with some smarty boots women who also make me laugh and get the freedom to explore what I'm interested in. It's a good job.

Along those lines, Red Door asks, "If you were not a librarian, what would you be?"

I would love to work for Allure magazine and write reviews on makeup products.

I love trying out new things, and if they suck--telling my friends about it (although, this is usually relegated to my search for the Holy Grail of Mascaras. A search that is considered "ongoing.").

I think if there's any way I could finagle someone to pay me for trying new makeup and writing about it, well, I'd be an even happier camper.

All me, all the time: Part I

Jenn asks, "How did you meet your husband? I see on the side that it was at a bar, but is there anything interesting beyond that sentence? Where are you both from?"

Before I get into the meat of the story, T is from Uganda and Kenya and I'm from Michigan.

T and I met in 1999--the weekend after Thanksgiving. My friend, A, from college was visiting me for the holiday so we decided to go out that Saturday night to a bar/club here in town.

A and I were cutting the rug and probably drinking too much when T sort of half-walks, half-dances over. I thought he looked friendly and had a nice shirt on but was not really interested. Because, you know, guys in clubs are usually douches.

He introduced himself and asked if we wanted a drink. I think we both said "no." Although, maybe we said "yes." ??? Hmmm. Anyway, after awhile we lost track of him and decided to leave.

As we're getting our things from the coat check, T walks on over. He gives me his business card (for real) and asks if he can call me sometime. Since I didn't know him from Adam and was not about to become a Lifetime movie about a nice Midwestern girl who suddenly has a stalker, I gave him my work number. What's impressive here is that I didn't write it down; I just told him. And the club was loud, so I thought at the time he would hardly have been able to hear it, area code and extension and all that.

And we left. I kept his card and the next day showed my roommate, but then tossed it.

Well, Tuesday or Wednesday of that next week T called me at work and asked me out for dinner that following weekend. (Later I asked him if he'd remembered the number exactly. T did admit that he'd had one number mixed up and called the wrong number before getting it right.) Rather romantically, I thought, "A girl has to eat." and said I would. I made up a lie that I would be coming from a baby shower and could I just meet him at the restaurant? Again, stranger danger. What if he was crazy and chopped me up into little bits once I got in his car?

Here's the other thing: I didn't remember what he looked liked. Ugh. So, I figured I could get to the restaurant a bit early and wait for him to come up to me. Otherwise I would have no idea who I was meeting. Awk.ward.

Lest you think I'm completely callous and hardened by dating, I did buy a new skirt for the occasion. I did want to look my best. Just sayin'.

Dinner was marvelous and easy and full of lovely chatting. T had jokes and was interesting. We went and listened to jazz after dinner and he was easy to be around and he liked to laugh. And eat dessert. And he smelled like cologne and clean laundry. A good combination.

As we were saying goodbye to go to our respective cars, there was no awkward shuffling of feet and dodgy eye contact. He simply kissed me on the cheek and said he would call me. I wanted him to.

We were married three and a half years after that.

The moral of the story...nice boys do go to bars.

Getting to know you, getting to know all about you

Because I feel like death on stick, I am copying Amy's move and asking my four faithful readers to write in with any questions they would like me to answer about moi.

Put them in the Comments field and I will answer away.

Until then, I am going to try and not cough on my co-workers.

Happy Easter!

An Easter story (not that Easter story) for you:

The drive to church takes literally six minutes. Maybe not even that. In the six minutes that we were in the car, horrors occurred.

Sitting in the front with T, we hear E cough a little along with some sputtering. T calls back, "You okay, buddy?" E is quiet and then there is resumed babbling. Hmmm. We continue chatting.

We get to church and I come around to the back seat to pull him out.

Oh sweet Jesus.

E is covered in hork. And banana chunks. And smells of Yo(!)Baby.

I gasp. T shouts, "Dude!"

I yell, "Wipes!" T fumbles for the pack while staring at E. E stares back at us smiling.

Turns out that sputtering should have warranted a peek over the shoulder. Noted.

Anyway, the corduroys, button down and miniature tie were saved. The coat took one for the team.

Hope your Easter was less dramatic.

Huh

Something I'd never thought I'd say,

"Baby, please don't lick the dishwasher. Yucky."

It can only be a downward spiral after that.

Love/hate Friday

a la Love is Blonde


Love: The office is pleasantly quiet today.

Hate: Except for the sound of my hacking cough.

Love: This morning I mailed off the reimbursement form to my insurance carrier for the thousands of dollars we spent on infertility meds. Word out on the street is that these are actually covered. Under a veil of secrecy it would seem.

Hate: If this reimbursement is denied, I have a name to toss around. Don't make me use it, Blue Care Network.

Love: I have been crazy productive today.

Hate: T is home sick. Perhaps on his death bed, according to his most recent phone call.

Love: The lawn guy (I was about to say "lawn boy" but that sounded kind of demeaning) came today and removed the remaining leaves and twigs and whatnot leftover from fall. Am expecting a very neat and tidy yard upon my return home.

Hate: Am worried he trampled all over my burgeoning tulips. Hmmm.

Love: The K household has some majuh expenditures coming up in the next few months, but my well-prepared self developed a plan of attack for each one.

Hate: My forehead appears to be greasier than normal today.

Love: It is supposed to be rather nice this weekend. As in sun. And no rain. Go figure.

Hate: Last night T and I watched a bit of the Kevin Bacon movie Death Sentence. Holy crap on a stick. It made me so tense I had to watch some Family Guy before falling asleep. I don't even really like Family Guy.

Love: E is finally healthier after a week of runny nose, cough, front teeth coming out and double ear infections.

Hate: Would those front teeth come through already or what. Geesh.

Love: Last night after work I realized that I had 8 WW points left. A veritable jackpot, if you will. I blew it all on bacon and chocolate milk (made with skim milk). It was lovely and well worth it.

Hate: The craving for bacon has been reawakened. Much like Nosferatu.

Love: Despite having one foot in the grave, T has volunteered to make his mucho tasty baked chicken for dinner.

Hate: I just tried to read this book. It was not good at all.

Love: That it is Friday afternoon.



Anything in particular that you're loving and hating?

CTJ

Two weeks ago I had a bit of a ComeToJesus with myself about food and pants.

I realized that the incessant internal moaning I was doing about trying to lose the last twenty pounds of wafflecoffeecakepregnancy weight was doing nothing to help matters. Nor was the, "Why can't I commit to just doing what I know I need to do?" Nothing was working. Nothing was happening.

I'd been digging around in my brain and self trying to figure what the hell was up. I knew the reason behind this nonsense was in there. Why was I continuously spinning my wheels?

It was truly confounding. It's like hearing a riddle. You know the riddle's not hard to figure out but you rack your brain for the answer yet trying to articulate the riddle's solution is tricky. Same thing here.

And then it hit me: I give food power; too much power.

The power to call the shots. The power to give into eating something fatty and heavy instead of something healthy and filling. The power to return to the same habits over and over again. The power to make excuses for not doing what I know I should be doing.

Well, no more. I should be calling the shots on what fuels my body.

And I am.

I joined Weight Watchers last week Wednesday and when I stepped on the scale last night saw that I've lost 7 pounds.

I've gone to two meetings and find them slightly eau de cult and yet marvelously motivating.

I'm running and doing the lifting my trainer outlined for me.

My pants are less squeezy.

I wore a skirt yesterday that I haven't worn since before being pregnant.

I feel like I no longer give food power over my day or wishes, but instead use it to make my stomach feel full.

I still know I have it in me to eat a crapload of food and that kind of scares me. I love food and I love to eat. A lot. But, I can't. My 33 year old body holds onto that food like my 23 year old body didn't and I need to realize that.

I'm determined to lose these last pounds before trying to get pregnant again because I refuse to let them continue to accumulate. It's not as if this is going to get any easier as I get older and have more children.

So there.

Business up front, party in the back

So, I am on the prowl. For a new bathing suit that is.


There has been a change in the body; not unlike the plate tectonics discussion in junior high geography wherein things that used to fit together well have shifted in a new and strange fashion.


In my dresser (taking up part of T's drawer which he occasionally complains about and I callously brush off) there is a spectrum of swimsuits. Those from vacations past, those from when I was pregnant, a suit when I was newly not pregnant and still had a ginormous chest (I miss you! Call me!) and the suit from our venture into Tiny Tadpoles.


Technically speaking, I am moving in a healthy fashion towards being able to fit into the thinner/sassier versions, but am afraid that the post-pregnancy body will still scream I Shouldn't Be Wearing This--particularly in the midsection. Or the thigh section. Or the butt section.

Whatever.


Also technically speaking, I could probably sport my maternity suit since it really just looks like a normal swimming suit.


The Ginormous Chest swimming suit is no longer an option as I am just not shaped that way (I miss you! Call me!) and the Tiny Tadpoles suit is kind of boring and utilitarian.


So, this leads me to needing a new suit. One that:

1. Is colorful and fun but not gaudy
2. Covers my bits but isn't a shroud
3. Keeps things in place even as I'm bending over E at the pool or wrangling sun screen on his tiny bod
4. Will allow me to eat a soft pretzel with processed cheese on the side and not instantly feel too pinchy.

Oh the joy that is shopping for a suit. Have decided to do all ordering online so that I can try them on in my own special lighting and mirror I am comfortable with. And feeling brave. And less pasty. And not so hairy.

Winter. It ain't a cute time of year. Although, I did recently discover that the crazy/angry stretch marks on my thighs have faded. Somewhat.

Anyway, I've found a few swimsuit contenders.

Do you have any particular swimsuit needs?

(Or special needs as my husband would call it.)

Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?

We are a family of linguists.

I minored in Spanish and German in undergrad (although, I remember not of it much now. Yea for that liberals arts education!).

T speaks French and Swahili. (Sidebar: "taco" means ass in Swahili. Heh.)

E has joined the ranks.

That is, he officially said his first word.

"Uh-oh."

But wait! There's more!

We thought he was just waving to us while eating in his highchair, but really he was doing the sign language sign (?) for "all done." It took a rather unpleasant meal and his furrowed brow for us to get the message. Before getting hip to what E was trying to tell us, we just kept waving back at him.

Cripe. That must have been frustrating.

Please hold

Not too long ago I made the unfortunate self-discovery that I am crap when it comes to returning phone calls.

In early times of E's arrival I blamed this on the whole "I just had a baby and don't know what the hell I'm doing" phenomenon.

Well, I may still not know what the hell I'm doing, but I have 10 months under my belt and there's really no excuse for not calling people regularly to see how they're doing and, at the very, least returning their call.

Pre-baby I will admit that I was someone who thought this was very rude and could not understand how someone could not find the few minutes to return a call.

Karma.

Anyway, if there's any place I can justify something, it's here; so, this is the thing. I am sleepy in the evening. Slee.py. Days start early and once I get home I don't usually sit down until 8ish. Then T and I eat dinner, watch the Daily Show, I debate whether or not to fold laundry from four nights ago and I shuffle to bed at 9:30pm, usually not bothering to take out my contacts. Lather, rinse, repeat. This schedule doesn't change on the weekends mainly because E's start time for the day doesn't change. It's cool, I like routine.

Anyway, the thing is--I want to call people. I want to chat and catch up, but I'm tired and don't feel like I want to spend precious time on the phone when I'd rather spend precious time catching up with T.

Perhaps this is a weak argument.

Whatever, it is--I've decided to start being better about reaching out to people to see how they're doing. Below is a running list of individuals I need to call (in no particular order):

1. CurlyGurl. She has a toddler. I have a baby. We both work full-time. Between the two of us we have exactly three and 1/2 minutes available for phone use. Worse than an in-mate.
2. My friend, A. I haven't heard from her in few months and I feel a bit worried. Am not sure I have her current number as she was in transition.
3. loveball. She and I are planning a "clothes swap" party for our friends. Have been talking about this since December. Time to get crack a lackin' and send out those evites.
4. The city inspector. Apparently, he needs to eyeball our "new" furnace and AC. Talk about being bad with phone calls. He was supposed to call us last May when it was initially installed.
5. My other friend A. Fabulous friend from college who is ridiculously busy and lives a time zone away. Damn you, Central Time, your hour difference confounds me.
6. Other fabulous friend from college/college roommate, B. She's on Spring Break this week so I need to seize the moment.
7. My friend J. She called two months ago and while I think of her often, have not been good about giving her a call back.
8. "New" dentist. You know the one whose hygienist put her boobs on my shoulder? Need to cancel the appointment I have in a few months as I am not interested in her in that way.
9. Salesman at VW dealership. This is actually T's bailiwick as he's been carting around the post-it note with this guy's number on it for three weeks.
10. My cousin then my grandma. Grandma recently had surgery and moved into an assisted living home, but I need to get her new number from my cousin.
11. My dad. He and I are carpooling somewhere on Friday and I need to figure out what time to meet him.
12. A travel agent. The K family is flying to D.C. at the end of July and I need to figure out my seat options for E (on lap? own seat? full-fare?).

I'm sure there are others. Time to start giving people a jingle-jangle.

He has his own phone.