T.M.I.?!?

Against my husbands wishes, I am about to share some information...perhaps a little too much, but we're all adults here.
One centimeter and twenty percent. I'll leave it at that.
Now hear my plea. I am a fat, hot(and not in the sassy sense) pregnant lady and I'm in need of your suggestions. However, don't share unless it has actually worked...I can't handle the disappointment.
As I said, I am fat...no really, not just pregnant...I'm fat. My doctor assured me that I was not carrying a ten pound baby as I thought, but that, in fact, I was measuring on the smaller side if anything. Great!!! So the five pounds I put on in the last two weeks is not baby growth, but more likely buttock cellulite.
Due to my girthy state, I am finding myself all sorts of hot. It doesn't help that it's getting warmer everyday and we don't have A/C.
Anywho, back to my plea. What can I do to get this baby out of my bellee? I need your tried and true suggestions. I will forever be grateful to you...and so will my family.

Yours truly,

The fat lady (who is too freakin' hot to sing right now)

Mouscapades: Update

Our demon cat caught another mouse last night and brought it home. Actually, I'm not sure where she caught the mouse this time...she could have brought it home from the field, worse yet, she could have caught it in the garage, or heaved forbid the house. Either way, looks like I have two carcasses to look forward to finding now.
'Scuse me whilst I have a panic attack.

Inturder Alert: Mousecapades Part Deux

My sancturary has been infiltrated yet again. This time however, it was an act of treason. Yes, one of our own has betrayed us. I knew that cat was pure evil from the moment I laid eyes on her.
During the night our kitty went off galavanting around the fields and came home with a VERY UNWANTED visitor.
Chad and I were resting in our room with the balcony door open...something that goes against all my principles for the exact reason of which I am about to share.
Sometime during the evenig the traitor came in through the open door, though I don't recall when as both Chad and I had dozed off.
Later that night Chad woke up to shut the door at which time both he and I were startled by the sound of our normally lazy cat, scurrying about the house like a kitty on crack.
Chad offered to go see what she was up to and I happily accepted his offer. What ensued was the sound of hissing, not by the cat but rather by Chad, and some stomping and jumping about, again not by the cat.
Eventually, I heard the garage door open and slam shut and Chad climb back into bed. When I inquired about the raucous I'd heard he ignored me and feigned sleep. That's how I knew something was up. I asked again and he delicately broke the news that our devil cat had brought a mouse into the house...but it was dead...he added, as if that might make me feel any better.
I dry heaved, then rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
In my drousy condition I forgot to ask Chad how he had disposed of the wretched pest. But this morning when I remembered he said he put it out in the garage with the cat...okay wait, hold the freakin' phone. Did he just tell me that he didn't get rid of the mouse.
Needless to say, I was not happy about this news. And before leaving for work I made the buster do a thorough sweep of the garage, and emore importantly of my car.
There was no mouse to be found.
Now, I am forced to wonder...did my traitor cat eat Mickey, or did she hide it somewhere out in the mounds and masses of boxes that clutter my garage? I guess we'll never know...at least not until Chad or I goes to move/open one of our boxes and finds the decayed carcus staring right back at us. Or perhaps, the potent, stench of death might be the clue we need to determine the fate of our mousy friend.
What if I'm driving and take a sharp turn only to spot the dead mouse torpedoing towards my head. Worse yet, what if Satan, I mean Salem, did in fact hide the mouse in the car and we don't realize it until the dead of summer and I go to get in and am overcome with the stanky, rancid stench of post-mordem rodent...a new car is what that means...looking at the bright side of things.
Regardless, my mind will continue to play out all the scenarios until some sort of remains are found...not that I am looking forward to it...but for my mental well-being.
And I can assure you, when...if, the time does come you know you'll all be the first to hear about it.

Deflated.

So, I got a new mixer for Mother's Day and in my efforts to be more provident and frugal I thought I should start making homemeade bread.
It was pretty much a disaster.
My first batch of dough turned out dry so I chucked it in the garbage...which I was promptly scolded for by my daughter-mother (not very provident of me I guess).
So, I gave'er another go and the dough appeared significantly moister (ugh, I hate that word)...not as dry as the first batch.
I followed all the directions...put it in a warm place to rise, check; punch it down and split the dough into two loaves and let rise again, check; bake at 300 degrees for 30 minutes, check.
Here's the part where I should be posting pictures of the perfectly formed, golden loaves...problem is, my loaves turned out neither perfectly formed or golden brown...more like shriveled, white mounds of...poo.
Frankly, I am too embarrassed to post pics of the catastrophe, so I'll just let you all imagine the sorry excuse for bread in your own minds.
Now, because I like to think that I am a fairly competent person...capapble of following directions...I will chock this little incident up to, uh-hum, a faulty recipe.
My plea now, bloggy peeps, is for a good, tried and true, super yeasty (sometimes this word grosses me out, but not when referring to bread) bread recipe.
So please, if you have a recipe you don't mind sharing, I will be forever grateful...and so will my family.

To worship or not to worship: that is the question. Otherwise called Sunday Shenanigans: Part ?.

So, today was a particularly trying day at church. In between quiet scoldings and "try that again, and I'll..." glances I found myself questioning the importance of church attendance. And, like any logical person trying to answer a difficult query I made a pros and cons list. Here it is:

Pros of attending church:

1- Spiritual upliftment and edification (okay, not always, but I'll take whatever bits and pieces I can get).

2- Getting to meet and know members of the still new ward.

3- Listening to my sweeties sing (applies to Mother's Day, Father's Day and program day only).

4- Having the sweeties teachers come up to me and tell me how smart they are.

5- Teaching the dearies that going to church is just what we do on Sunday.


Cons of attending church:

1- Having to listen to my two year old yell "nipples, nipples" during the passing of the sacrament. (Don't ask me where he learned this...cause I don't know).

2- Trying to get my two year old to stop crooning the Imperial March at the top of his lungs during the sacrament.

3- Trying to explain to a two year that I am, in fact, his brother and sister's mother as well as his (today this was a particularly touchy subject...again, I have know idea where this came from).

4- Trying to coax at least three of the four children to please go to class.

5- Sitting out in the hall with at least one or two children who ignored their mother's plea to please go to class.

6- Sitting in the hallway with an over-tired two year old who keeps screaming "I don't want to go to stupid nursery".

7- Reminding every. one. of. my. children. to. please. be. reverant.

8- Realizing that in a month and a half I will have another child to attend to at church...anyone have a valium?

Normally, when the cons far outweigh the pros a decision would be easy. But this situation is obviously different, as I can't just stop going to church because my list tells me to. Therefore, I will heed the counsel I've been taught, ironically from attending church, that is "a person will not be tried more than they can handle". And I will remember this counsel next week when I am tempted to walk out during the sacrament with a "nipple screaming", "Imperial March singing" two year old in tow. Wish me luck.

Sanctuary

So, I know it's been awhile, but I haven't had a lot to report...I still don't, but for the sake of posterity I thought I should record my first ever facial experience.
Even though it isn't technically Mother's Day yet, my dear hubb-a-lub surprised me with a facial today (how to take that gesture?...what are you saying dear hubby? That my face looks less than glowing in my current state? Nah, you you were just being thoughtful, though I do look less than glowing...a more appropriate adjective might be blimpy, chunky and/or FAT).
No matter, I was more than happy to accept the gift, for I knew that it meant at least an hours worth of peace and quiet and pampering.
I was a little leary, as I wasn't sure what to expect, but again it was an hour of time to myself, so I set aside my concerns and embraced the new frontier that was the facial.
I got to the spa and was led to a changing room where I was asked to don a robe and orthapedic slippers. I was then led to a dimly lit room with big, over stuffed couches where I waited (frankly, the experience could have stopped there and I would have been happy...non restrictive attire, self-massaging footwear and silence).
Anywho, I sat there enjoying the soothing atomosphere and was promptly greeted by "my lady". She proceeded to place my feet in a bucket full of hot water where she scrubbed...and scrubbed and massaged and rubbed and...oops sorry, lost my train of thought for a moment...she attended to my neglected (and unreachable) tootsies.
I was then led to yet another, even more, dimly lit room where upon I was asked to disrobe (PARDON? the room was dark but not THAT dark). I was then told that after disrobing I could climb upon the "throne of utter delight" and get all cozy underneath the covers. "My lady" then excused herself so that I might enjoy some privacy (THANK GOODNESS!...I did not want to be responsible for traumatizing my cute, young "lady" with my beached whale look). I must say, initially the notion of lying partially nude whilst a complete stranged rubbed my face and upper body was a little uncomfortable...I quickly got over it.
I heaved my over-sized body onto the "throne" (not an easy task I might add) and quickly covered myself so as not to get caught in any compromising positions. My "lady" shortly returned and began my pampering by breaking out scented oils which she massaged all over my face, neck and upper body. Sadly, I could not enjoy the aromatherapy as my sense of smell disappears the moment I lie down on my back...so instead I just imagined it smelled like my current favorite scent...kung pau chicken.
By this time, my mind had gone completely blank...well almost, the only thought I had at that point was whether or not I was sportin' unsightly nose boogies...thankfully, the room was very dimly lit thus making the sight of any stragglers quite unnoticeable...at least I hoped anyway.
I turned my attention to the sound of twanging Chinese folk music softly playing in the background and imagined myself eating a delicious, crispy spring roll (with a side of sweet and sour sauce, of course)and quickly found myself dozing.
What seemed like only moments later I heard the dreaded words, "okay, you're all done" and knew my retreat had met it's end.
My "lady" left so that I could re-robe and waited for me outside the door. Hesitantly, I heaved my ginormous self off the hallowed throne and dressed. I took a moment to savour the sight...and finally the smell (cause I was now upright) of the room which had temporarily served as my personal sanctuary and readied myself for real life.
I returned to the dressing room and exchanged the comfy, roomy robe for my restrictive, street clothes and headed towards the light...don't worry, I wasn't dying, although I could have and been very happy. I headed towards the light...of the outside world, feeling relaxed, refreshed, and re-energized.
Even though my dear hubby doesn't read my blog I feel it necessary to publicly thank him for a wonderful day. He could tell that I needed a moment of peace and pampering...it was apparently written all over my dry and neglected face.
So, dear hubby, thank you, thank you, thank you for recognizing a weary and withered woman when you see one. I had a wonderfully blissful day.