Crazy Texas Mommy

Sometimes While NJ Talks With His Out Loud Voice, I Have Conversations With Him in My Head. By "Sometimes" I Mean Usually

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 14:15:00 +0000

NJ has started preparing me for the things I need to make sure to do around the house when he goes back to work in a few weeks. A lot of times when he says those things, I give the appropriate response out loud, but in my head I'm having an entirely different conversation. It's generally mocking. For example, here's a re-enactment of a conversation we had yesterday:

NJ: This spring when you're mowing the yard, you need to make sure to check for baby squirrels and bunnies before you mow so you don't accidentally hit them.

Me (in my head): Mow the yard this spring? That's precious? Have you met me? I've mowed once and, while I did pretty good, I'm hardly qualified to mow often. But I'll make sure to share this with the lawn service I hire. Oh, wait, we can't afford a lawn service because I don't have a full-time job. OMG, we're poor!! We're going to have the ugliest yard on the block. Maybe I'll have the kids do it. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? They won't even do it right and now I have to check the yard for livestock BEFORE I mow?!?!? Stupid Rick Perry.

Me (out loud): What do I do in the event I find a baby squirrel or bunny? Scoop it up? Because, as you know, I don't touch livestock.

NJ: You mean wildlife? Before you move it out of the way, look around first and make sure you don't see the mama anywhere. A mama squirrel will make this barking sound like a dog and attack you if you touch one of her babies and they are impossible to get off once they start. You should watch the videos of squirrels attacking on Youtube. But, if you do find a baby squirrel and don't get attacked by the mama, we could bring it in the house and raise it as a pet. Wouldn't that be cute?

Me (in my head): I MIGHT GET ATTACKED BY A SQUIRREL?!?! Are you effing crazy?!?! How do I even deal with that? Dammit, Rick Perry, because cutting education jobs was part of your big plan for balancing the budget in Texas, I might get attacked by a mother effing mama squirrel?!?! Your hair looks like a mother effing squirrel is living in it. Did he just say we could raise a baby squirrel in the house as a pet? Is he high?

Me (out loud): Did you just say we could raise a baby squirrel in the house? Are you high?

I have a good feeling about this marriage lasting.

And I'm not raising a baby squirrel in this house. (Yes, Bill, I know you did and it was the best pet y'all ever had. We'd get a crazy one. There's no way around it in this family.)

The One Good Thing This Week

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 16:49:00 +0000

This week my pride took quite a beating and I've been a little blue and a little angry (or a lot) which has impacted my dedication to getting skinny a bit. Not so much food wise-I wasn't really all that hungry due to stress and when I did eat it I couldn't eat much without wanting to puke. It was with the working out. I was busy and unmotivated and my workouts were sporadic at best.

But I noticed two things before today's weigh in that brightened me a little and made me realize I was making progress:

1) My clothes fit differently. They're looser in my thighs and across my belly. Those are the two places I've really been freaking over because no one wants to look like Santa Claus, especially a chick and I think had I put on some red pants, kids would've been wanting to set in my lap and tell me what they want for Christmas.

2) As shitty as I've felt all week about the beating my pride is taking, I feel even shittier when I don't workout. I miss it. I feel blah and sluggish without it. I feel gross, like when I really need a shower. And when I do workout? I feel a thousand times better and can think more clearly. Yesterday, I even ran a little. Granted, I was mad at NJ and was pretending to play whack-a-mole with his head every time my foot hit the pavement, but still, I ran and no one was chasing me. Yes, I know I how annoying I sound.

All of that was the long way to say the scale showed I lost TWO pounds. Even though that's not much, the bonus is that I know my body is changing. (Thanks to everyone for your sweet words of encouragement last week! Y'all ROCK!! I haven't measured yet, but that's mostly due to just right now finding the measuring tape.)

So, I guess really there were three good things this week.

Which makes me cautiously optimistic...

The Generation Gap Rears its Ugly Head

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 23:51:00 +0000

The following is a re-enactment of the conversation that went down between Gracie and me just a few minutes ago while watching the Oikos greek yogurt commercial:

Gracie: Here's that guy you like?

Me (walking into the living room): He's a beautiful, beautiful man.

(I happened to rub my stomach at this particular point.)

Gracie: Uh, are you planning on eating him?What's his name? Johnny Santos?

Me: You mean John Stamos?

I swear to God, the older he gets, the more beautiful he gets.
Beautiful enough I can almost forget that whole Uncle Jessie
thing. This beautiful hunk of pic is courtesy of WikiCommons.

Johnny Santos? Really? This from the girl who owns every season of Full House on DVD?

How rude!!

I Blame Friday the Thirteenth

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 15:42:00 +0000

I found the scale. Wish I hadn't because I'm right back where I started. The same exact place to the ounce. I kind of want to cry because I've been working my ass off-or so I thought but I guess I've been working it back on. Even those days I was hobbled by my kitchen acrobatics I watched what I ate since working out was, well, out.

This week not only have been eating right, but I've worked out so hard I limp for a second when I first stand up because my inner and outer thighs (and hips and abs and arms) are so sore. Yoga meltdown is hard, people. Grace tried to do it with me and barely made it through the warm-up. You would think with all that sweat, pain and cussing, the scale would at least reflect something. You know, like a loss.

I wonder if I psyched myself into a weight gain because I was stressing about not getting to sign up for the class I planned to take? Or just stressing in general about moving, money, finding a job and my financial aid ever making it here? Whatever the case, I'm not giving up.

As a matter of fact, I'm amping up the workout.

I'm dusting off the P90X.

If you see a chubby blonde in one of those motorized carts at the grocery store, make sure to stop and say hi, cause if Yoga Meltdown makes me this sore, I'm thinking moving won't be an option at all once I do the P90X.

And hopefully next week will be negative as a result.

Hope all the rest of y'all are having better luck than me!!

If I Were in Charge of How People Got Their License to Drive...

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 02:09:00 +0000

Today, I had the pleasure of spending a couple of hours at the the local DPS waiting on NJ to take care of some business. Talk about a mixed bag of people brought together in one very small, intimate setting. I could've sat there all day since I was merely a bystander and not actually having business to which to tend. Many of those who had business were pissed the hell off. I just sat there crocheting and people watching and wishing I got to make the rules regarding getting your license to drive because I have good ones. Oh, you want to know what they are. Well, since you asked...

For teenagers: In addition to taking driver's ed, all teenagers seeking a driver's license must also have letters of recommendation (or a fill-in-the-blank form since teacher's are already so overwhelmed with forms and junk) from teachers addressing their ability to pay attention to class, turn in work on time, impulse control and whether or not they can make it through an entire class period without once attempting to check their phones. If they do not receive a certain score on the teacher portion of the driver's test requirements (I don't know WHAT score; I teach English, not math), no drivey for them until they get that score up. Seriously, y'all, I had several students that sent me into a panic attack every time they pulled out a set of car keys based soley on their performance (or lack of) in my class. If you can't sit through 90 minutes of class without either a) nodding off, b) interrupting instruction to tell the girl across the classroom you're in love with her-AGAIN-after she's told you everyday for an entire semester it ain't gonna happen and/or c) thinking you are fooling your teacher by hiding your cell phone between your legs, asking to go to the bathroom or putting your huge purse on your desk and ducking behind it because you can't not constantly text your friends and check Facebook, you don't need to drive a car. And, if you can't wait in the DPS office without giggling and constantly saying, "OMGI'mgonnapeemypants," so often and loud people are staring, that should be an automatic FAIL. Only because it's annoying.

For Adults: Put a screaming toddler and snarky teenager in the backseat and then make them concentrate on driving while making the kids stop fighting and bitching and having to do it all over the strains of Yo Gabba Gabba. Or Justin Beiber. Because that, folks? Is real life.

For Everyone: Since the DPS has all contact information on file, someone should have the sole responsibility of calling or texting the cell phone of the person taking their test to see what they do instinctively. I'm willing to bet a whole bunch of people are gonna be swerving all over the road because they're gonna be reaching for the cell phone because that's what they always do.

For My Entertainment: If I was the tester person, I would do crap just to freak the test takers out, like scream, "OMG, look out for that puppy!" or wear a pregnant belly and act like I was in labor. Maybe I would hold signs up to the window that say things like, "Kidnapped. Call 911." Insane road rage stuff, like honking the horn and yelling at other drivers and seeing how the driver reacts would be hi-larious, too!

That kind of fun would be made into a Texas DPS reality show and I'd be the star. It would be the highest rated show on cable.

Or else I'd get fired and go to jail.

I Know How it Looks, But I'm Not Going Back on My Word

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 01:39:00 +0000

I know I said last week I was going to weigh in every Friday and record the weight, even if it was ugly. I didn't take in to account that I might lose the scale when I said all that. But, guess what? I can't find the damn scale. I know it's around here somewhere. However, at the end of the move we were so over getting shit out of the apartment, we quit labeling boxes and started shoving stuff into whatever box or bag we could find and vowed to sort it when we got here. Yeah, worst. idea. ever.

I am guessing I probably dropped some weight due to the manual labor of moving boxes and furniture (because I'm sooo handy we didn't have to call in help at the very end of the move when NJ realized just how good I am at moving sofas and junk) but I could be wrong. It's happened before. Rarely, but it's happened. If I find the scale tonight, after the Cotton Bowl game (Wooo, pig sooie!!) I'll post tomorrow. If not, I'll do it next Friday because I figure it won't surface before then since I'm still half gimpy from my acrobatics yesterday and no one else around here is capable of finding the damn thing.

I hope all the peeps also doing the weight loss thing right now saw that number on the scale get a little smaller today!!

NJ Said He Turned Around Because He Heard "A Lot of Meat Hit the Ground". I'll Kill Him When I Can Use the Left Side of My Body Again.

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 03:09:00 +0000

It's my first post back since the move and the reconnection of our interwebs and this is not what I planned to write about. Yet, karma seems to hate my ass and is leaving me with few options.

NJ has fallen twice in the bathroom floor in the past three weeks-once at the old house and once at the current house. Both of those falls have involved him doing the splits. While I haven't witnessed these two falls, the image they have created in my head have led to much laughing and snorting on my part.

Until tonight.

See, tonight he asked me where the colander now lives and, being a smart ass, I decided to point to it with my socked foot since he was on my last effing nerve. The sock foot that remained on the ground caught the edge of the kitchen rug which proceeded to launch me into the air. I didn't stay airborne long, though. Nope. I came down rather quickly and my elbow decided to come my aid and break my fall (insert joke about the funny bone NOT being funny here) and upon realizing it couldn't hold all my weight, it quickly gave, leaving me flat on my back in the kitchen floor.

NJ was wise and made sure I was okay before busting out laughing. Later, he said he was worried I'd broken my arm because he heard a loud noise when I fell. Actually, he said he turned around because he heard a lot of meat hit the ground and was worried, based on the loudness of the thump and the fact I don't drink milk, that I'd broken something. Probably an arm or hip.

He better be glad my elbow, pinky and foot are a tad swollen on the left side. And that I can't put any weight on that foot and that my hip hurts like a mofo. Because, if I weren't gimpy I'd break his nose that "a lot of meat" comment.

This? Is God getting me back for laughing at the image of a garden gnome doing the splits in the bathroom floor.

I'm totally getting one of those non-slippy things for that rug.

Just as soon as I can walk again.

Karma really is a bitch.

Today's Post is Brought to You by the Number Three

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 16:39:00 +0000

That should actually be a negative three.

As in minus.

Three.

Because the number on the scale was three pounds smaller than it was when I weighed Monday.

Which means I only have 24 pounds before I won't look like a moose in the wedding dress I don't have yet.

I think this turn of events is because I sweet talked the scale right before I got on it.

Seriously.

Or it could be because I'm a calorie counting, exercising bad ass. The packing of boxes and then moving said boxes to where we can still walk around the apartment has probably also helped. I bet if I was a mover, I'd have a rocking body. I'd be angry all the time, though.

Speaking of boxes, it's time to get back to packing.

And also stalking the lady dragging her feet getting out of our house. We drive by at least twice a day and give her the stink eye.

Here's to hoping next Friday is negative, too. You know, negative in a good way! And I hope all the people who have decided to jump on board with me also have a very negative day!!

I'm Fat, I'm Fat. You Know it.

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 00:07:00 +0000

I've blogged in the past about the stress my expanding waist line causes me. Then I lose some of it or it at least stops for awhile, so I stop really complaining for a little bit and only complain the normal amount. Well, y'all, it's gotten ugly up in here. By ugly, I mean I currently weigh what I weighed when entering my third trimester of pregnancy. That? Is not hot. Not hot at all. And it scares me shitless. Remember when I said I didn't want to be a fat bride (but my phone thought I said Zac Effron)? I will be a bride in four and a half months. I have that amount of time to lose approximately 27 pounds. We may as well call it 30. I would try to break that down into how many pounds per week I need to lose, but I hate math and I'm scared I'll panic when I realize how very large the tonnage dropped to week ratio is.

I'm not being one of those assholes whining about being fat while I sit at my computer with a bag of chips in one hand and a bag of Hershey kisses in the other (I do love the chips and Hershey's kisses, though). Nope. I'm counting calories using he MyFitness Pal app on my phone, limiting my sugar and meat intake, eating lots of fruits and veggies and trying to workout twice a day. I've been doing pretty good with that because it means I get to lock myself in my bedroom for 30 minutes everyday. I'm also chugging a shit ton of water which is interesting when working out, just so you know. Sometimes, mid jumping jack I have to run to the potty before I have an accident. If I cough while jumping jacking (is that the correct form of that word), well, game over, y'all. Graphic, but true. Mostly.

But, I'm not stopping there. Oh hell no, because I have a wedding dress to look hot in. Fine, I don't have he wedding dress because it makes me sad to try them on with my current lumpiness, but I will have one. Soon. Ish. I'm starting a three day a week, six week long, kick your butt workout class here in town on Jan 2nd. I'm saving my dollars for the registration fee and I'm going to every class, even though the thought of doing Zumba in public makes me want to cry. Mostly for the onlookers.

I want a dress like this and I will get in it and look gorgeous if it kills me. I'm beginning to think
it very well might.
Not this dress per se, because it's a lot of dinero. You can find lots of pretty
brides in this dress here, which I think is where I got the pic.

Tanning is also about to commence again. I need to be tan for my wedding dress anyway, but I also realized today it's difficult to tell where my cankles end and my socks begin due to my pastiness. Maybe it'll make the train wreck that is me doing Zumba less scary, too. I doubt it, though. There's nothing that can make that less scary, even though I do rock it on the Wii. Alone. In my living room.

So, essentially I'm a pasty, fat bride to be. Yeah, I don't know how NJ got so lucky either.

Maybe it's because my nails look damn good.

Oh yeah, on Fridays I'm posting the number I lost (or gained assuming I haven't harpooned myself) on this here blog to make myself accountable. Not the number on the scale-a lady never tells her real weight anyway. Just the number being deducted from the number on the scale.

Yes, you do care and you are cheering for me, dammit!

Thank God That's Over

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 18:18:00 +0000

We survived Christmas! Thank you Baby Jesus! Of course, today I feel like I've been hit by a bus and there's about a thousand things to do this week in preparation for...drum roll, please....

MOVING INTO A HOUSE!!

That's right, Peeps, we're moving into the house I mentioned last week. We knew we were moving when I wrote that post, but wanted to surprise the kids and now that I know for sure Grace reads this blog, I had to keep it to myself. Knowing Grace reads this blog also has benefits, though-like the fact she'll know I'm humiliating her on the interwebs when she acts a fool, therefore she will modify her behavior accordingly. Being a mean mom rocks!!

So, yeah, I scheduled a move during the season I hate the most and stresses me out more than anything else. Well, anything other than moving. Because I hate moving. A LOT. Therefore, we will be staying in the house we're moving into until Grace graduates from high school. That's three more years until I'm free!! I mean, until we move into a house that we will own. Not free. That's mean. Plus Max will still be home, so I won't be free yet (he's reading over my shoulder).

Due to his reading over my shoulder, breathing down my neck for my computer, I can't concentrate. Dammit. Oh well, here's what Santa brought me. Obviously, I was a very good girl this year (Max said that was a lie. He's mean.).

We Made it in the Top 25 and I'm Grateful to All Y'all, Even the Ones Who Make My Blog Part of Their Morning "Routine".

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 20:36:00 +0000

We came in third place, but we're still in the top 25 southern mama blogs over at Circle of Moms! All of y'all-even the guy I found out makes me part of his morning "routine"-made this possible!! By routine, I mean during his private alone time in the bathroom each morning.

Yep, his baby mama ratted him out about an hour and a half ago. I won't name any names (although, my child is babysitting your child RIGHT NOW, so you know who you are), but I am told each morning he disappears into the restroom where his baby mama noticed she was hearing laughter and other noises that don't really go along with potty time. When she asked, he said he uses that time to catch up on CTM. Turns out, I make his day start off better.

Okay, probably not tomorrow when he finds out I'm writing about his potty routine.

But I am writing about him, so he should feel special and not angry about what his baby mama and I talk about in the Garden Ridge parking lot.

Toot-els!! (Oh hell, I crack myself up!)

And thanks for being the best readers ever!!

I Used to Laugh at My Mom for Going to My Nieces Wedding with a Black Eye. Until Today

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 21:11:00 +0000

About eightish years ago when my niece got married, my mom got new bifocals so she'd be a stylish nana-of-the-bride. She decided to wear said glasses all the time in order to get used to them before the wedding to prevent falling. Well, all the time included outside and, while watering the yard, she looked down, missed her step and, according to her, lay on the ground waiting to die. She came out unscathed minus a black eye. The black eye I have not let her live down yet.

Fast forward to today. NJ was getting on my nerves really bad (as usual) and, while holding a roll brush, I snatched something out of his hand, subsequently hitting myself in the mouth with said roll brush. Guess who's going to have a fat lip in all this year Christmas' pictures.

Karma is a bitch.

P.S. The lady who was in third place over at Circle of Moms is in second place now by like 100 votes. Voting ends in like two hours (5:00 PST, whatever the hell that means). Please, in the name of all that is good and holy, vote, vote and vote some more cause this new development is very upsetting. Please and thank you.

When Pancho, Santa's Mexican Elf, Came to Visit-A Multi-Cultural Christmas Story

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 23:25:00 +0000

Once upon a time there was a beautiful, way smart soon-to-not-be-single southern mama who was very busy with grad school, student teaching and raising two children. This super hot babe was exhausted and found that getting around to decorating the house for Christmas was more than she had the time, energy or desire for. Her fiance and children wanted the house to be decorated, but due to the way-too-hot-to-be-thirty-six year old woman's need for things to be done right and the right just so happening to be her way, her family was discouraged from touching stuff without her supervision.

But, her fiance saw the children were sad and wanted a festive home, so he threw caution to the wind, summoned all his courage and set out on his own to decorate the outside of their home while his MILF bride-to-be made gloves, his smart son-to-be played in his room and his very blonde (bless her heart) daughter-to-be was at her other step-dad's house hating the super awesome mom.

Oh, the fabulous job he did and even the hottest grinch ever of a mom started to feel a little bit of Christmas spirit creep into her cold dead heart when her son exclaimed with joy how cool the house looked. However, she found herself really filled with the spirit (holiday, not holy) when her snarky daughter finally saw the lights and Max' Mom Whose Got it Going On was able to say, "Look, Gracie, Santa's Mexican Elf Pancho came and decorated our house for Christmas! Feliz Navidad!!"

The End

Disclaimer: NJ, a.k.a. Pancho Santa's Mexican Elf, didn't take offense to being called Pancho or Mexican. He didn't appreciate the elf thing very much, though.

P.S. Voting ends tomorrow over at Circle of Moms. Unlike Ricky Bobby, I'm cool with second place. It's due to being a realist. So, don't take offense to me calling my fiance Pancho the Mexican Elf and vote like your life depends on it. Please and thank you.

At Least She's Pretty

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 04:28:00 +0000

The following is a re-enactment of a conversation that just happened in my house:

Grace: Have y'all seen "Schneider's List"?

Me: Like the super?

NJ: From One Day at a Time?

(He and I both fell into hysterical laughter at this point!)

Me: Do you mean Schindler's List?

NJ: Because Schneider's List is way different. But he's hell on toilets.

We are still laughing.

Grace?

Does not see the humor.

Bless her heart.

This is not the guy's list Grace was speaking of. But I think it's
more on her level. Bless her little blonde heart. If you wanna check out
some hot Duane Schneider, you can find the pic here, on Google, just like
me.

When I Learn New Information, I Pass it On. That's Why I'm a Good Teacher. You and Your Children are Welcome.

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 01:29:00 +0000

Today NJ and I went and looked at a house we hope to rent and while there the precious man who is NJ in about 35 years was telling us about the teacher the school across the street from said house was named after. She just so happened to be his teacher and a family friend.

She was also an animal hoarder.

And didn't find underwear a necessary part of every outfit.

Nor did she see the point in wearing two of the same socks at the same time (much like Grace).

And was a firm believer in not sparing the rod, therefore avoiding any chance of spoiling the child.

But, she donated every bit of money she made the entire time she was teaching to the school district and now a school is named in her honor.

The lesson here?

You can be a little off kilter. You can be a little unconventional. Hell, you can be Mrs. Nelson after she became the witch. But, if you leave the school district enough money, they will still name a school after you.

Guess who's fixing to open a savings account?

Crazy Texas High School has quite the ring to it, no?

I Could be Nice, But Where' s the Fun in That?

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 21:23:00 +0000

Right now I'm in the truck going on a little day trip with NJ. I'm going against my will because he needs me more than I need him and therefore he begged me to come along. With three hours ahead of me and one power nap behind I am faced with two options: quietly work on the Christmas present I brought with me to finish or get all jacked up on Monsters and spend the rest of the trip telling him stories, correcting his grammar and stopping to pee every 10 mins. Can you guess what I'm going with?

A Small Part of Me Knew This Would Happen

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 05:39:00 +0000

Remember a long time ago when I said I was able to forgive someone who did something not so nice to me for a longer than I should've allowed it to go on? Remember when I said, "I hope he'll get help and that he doesn't put his current girlfriend through the things he put me through. I hope that he can get fixed before he does end up in jail. Or worse." Guess what I found on the interwebs tonight:

ASSAULT CAUSES BODILY INJURY FAMILY VIOLENCE

Bond Posted

5,000.00

Surety Bond

I'd be lying if I said part of me wasn't happy he finally got thrown in jail because now he knows he's not untouchable and he can't deny he hits chicks. I also want to high five karma because he's finally paying for his actions. Part of me is sad for his girlfriend, but maybe now the lunatic will stop calling me in the middle of the night accusing me of trying to steal her man and saying she's going to have sexual relations with mine for revenge. I don't want her man for obvious reasons and if she does have relations with NJ, she's also getting his laundry, cooking for him and listening to him yammer on about guns. That's just how I roll.

I hope he gets help. I hope this stops the cycle. And I hope I don't have to unleash the crazy on his chick int he middle of the night again.

I won't try to make y'all vote on this post because it's not really THAT kind of post. However, there is a button right up in the left corner of the page if you want to click on it.

Just sayin'.

I Was Going to be Hollier and Jollier This Year. Notice I Said "Was".

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 17:49:00 +0000

As we have learned in the four years I've had this blog, I hate the Christmas. Mostly due to the stress. And all the assholes at the store wanting to fight me over the last damn Ultimate Optimus Prime on the crowded Wal-Mart toy aisle. Do people not know I have a knife and Mace and I'm not scared to use it? Not due to the toy, but due to them getting on my last damn nerve.

But this year, I was going to be kinder and gentler because NJ was raised Jehovah's Witness and has only celebrated Christmas a handful of times in 37 years on the planet. He tries not to act like it's a big deal or get all excited, but I can tell he does. I owe it to him and the kids to put my distaste for the mistletoe, garland and damn Christmas songs aside and be holly f-ing jolly. And I was doing good.

Until I got the letter regarding the class Christmas party. Actually, I never got the original letter. I got an e-mail reminder forwarded to me by the ex-hubs regarding the Christmas party and the 21 wrapped gifts I was supposed to bring to class. 21? Wrapped? Gifts? There was no explanation. Just a note saying not to forget "you 21 wrapped inexpensive wrapped gifts" (that's the teacher's error, not mine).

I take issue with this for several reasons. One, we are a Title One school. There are parents who can't afford to put one gift under the Christmas tree for their own kid, much less buy 21 for an entire class of kids. So, yeah, way to stress a whole bunch of people out, Lady. Second, it takes me longer than the average bear to wrap one gift. Wrapping 21? I should start now if I want to be done my night fall. And, had I known I had to purchase and wrap 21 gifts I never would've agreed to make biscuits-homemade biscuits-for the class party when Max begged me. Nor would've I decided to make the teachers pies in a jar and let Grace pick her fave teachers to take one to. She picked five of the eight. I'm upping that number to six, though, because she forgot one she adores. That's nine pies in a jar.

This is not my pie. I found it on Photobucket. Mine may not be
so cute. But it'll be delicious, dammit.

Plus 36 biscuits. Plus 21 wrapped gifts. Plus trying to remember where I hid gifts around here and wrapping them. Plus, we're doing some handmade gifts. By we, I mean me. Cause, you know, we're all about giving the gift of handmade and supporting local businesses and recycling and junk.

That's a lot of shit.

But I can't elaborate too much because I have to go start making pie crusts.

And finish gloves.

And house shoes (which are precious).

And buy 21 damn gifts.

Ever heard of a book exchange, Lady?

Damn you, Christmas.

P.S. There are five days left in the voting over at Circle of Moms. Thanks to y'all being super, we are firmly in second place. That lady in first place? She's a crafting, couponing bad ass and she doesn't bitch about hating Christmas. Damn her. So, please keep voting, y'all!! Please and thank you!!

I Spared You Wedding Details for a Long Time. Now it's Time to Pay the Piper.

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 17:02:00 +0000

I've been really nice and haven't turned this into an oh-my-God-I'm-getting-married-and-all-y'all-should-give-a-shit blog. And no, it has nothing to do with the fact I got so busy with work and school that I had to put wedding planning on hold. I did it because I'm nice, dammit. You're welcome. However, now I must update you. Mostly because I know you're dying to know what I've done so far.

The very first thing we did within 24 hours of getting engaged was to book the minister. It's the fourth grade teacher who took us on the trip to San Antonio that got me in so much trouble. Yes, I know that's so cute it makes you want to vomit.

We have also finally booked a venue. The nuptials will be taking place in a barn. Fitting, no?

Not this particular barn. I found it on Photobucket.

And because I have super fab friends, the centerpieces on the tables will be made with tin cans ( I can't spell the word that starts with "a" and I jack it up bad enough spellcheck has no suggestions. That makes me angry.) being saved by a variety of people (Rosa, Erin, you know who you are) who probably look like can hoarders by now. I'm also going to have mason jars, loaned to me by my SGG sista Michelle. I originally planned to put tea lights in them and hang down the rows of chairs, but NJ talked me down. He was not very nice about it either. His words? "Glass jars, fire, wooden chairs and flowers. In a barn. Really, Babe? Are you trying to get married or burn the place down?" I don't like his attitude sometimes.

Our one and only SGG in training (Our female children cannot enter those ranks until they are of legal drinking age.), Miss Katie Scarlett is doing the pics. The gal is super talented, y'all. Seriously. You don't even know. You should, though.

Thanks to my super wonderful crafty friend Rosa (you need a blog to show off your crafts), Pinterest and NJ reading over my shoulder, the save-the-dates will say something along the lines of: Beautiful bride, handsome groom, booze, food and bad dance moves. You in or what? We are getting married in a barn, so you know.

The one big essential that is still not taken care of is the wedding dress. See, I had this big plan not to try on dresses until I lost 10 pounds because my ass is about 1/4 of an inch from needing a wide load sign. I've gained two pounds since deciding to work things that particular way. Now, I'm one pair of fat pants I can't button from just buying one in the size I hope (should) to be and making myself get there. Not being able to zip your wedding dress should be motivation enough, right?

Right?

P.S. Not that making you endure all that isn't asking enough of you, I'm asking one more thing. VOTE and VOTE often (yes, Leiah and LBJ, I stole that) for your fave Texas Mommy (I am too your fave, dammit) over at Circle of Moms. We're in third place right now. THIRD. Wth. Please and thank you. If you vote, I won't bore you with anymore wedding stuff until 2012. Promise.

Yet Another Proud Mommy Moment

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 04:39:00 +0000

Max had his Christmas program tonight at school. Thankfully it was short. And a kid fell and then shot across the stage on his knees (I gotta get my amusement wherever I can so don't you judge me). As the children sang "Feliz Navidad", I noticed my child was not singing, "from the bottom of my heart" like the others. Apparently, so did NJ. The following is a re-enactment of our conversation:

NJ: Max isn't saying heart.

Me: Yeah, I noticed.

NJ: Do you know what he's saying.

Me: Yes.

NJ: What?

Me: From the bottom of my fart.

Then the two men in my life started giggling at Max's cleverness, one from the stage and the other right next to me in the audience.

Morons.

P.S. You can still vote for me over at Circle of Moms to be in the Top 25 Southern Mamas. You can vote everyday until the 20th. You should because two chicks who write about coupons are kicking my ass right now. I mean, what would you rather read about? Coupons or farts, almost shooting kids and weddings which will be held in a barn? That's what I thought. But vote for me anyway, dammit. I don't have a job and it's Christmas, so throw me a damned bone. Please and thank you.

All I Need is a Miracle. And Some Votes. Which May Also Fall Into the Miracle Category.

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 02:04:00 +0000

One more week and my student teaching is done. The only reason I'm a little pleased about this is because I'm exhausted. Other than that, I'm a wreck because I have to leave my babies (I don't care if they are in high school, they're still my babies, dammit) and I'm not sure what I'm going to do without them. You know, other than miss them and worry about them and make them all friend me on Facebook so I can harass them about doing their schoolwork and updating their status in the middle of the day, probably from the bathroom because I'm not stupid and I know that's why they ask to go every single day. Which is why I make them leave their phones with me when they ask to relieve themselves.

Of course, the end of the student teaching is kind of when that whole needing a miracle thing kicks in. In case you are unfamiliar with the school year, it starts in August and ends in late May/early June. That means teachers start work in August Actually, I've learned teachers never really stop working. Ever. We work at home. We work during holiday breaks. Sometimes we work in our sleep when we dream we're Hester and the entire town in which we live is making us wear a scarlet A due to an indiscretion with one of our child's friend's father to whom we've never actually spoken, must less known in the Biblical sense. But, mostly usually, teacher's contracts don't end in December, so school districts aren't generally hiring English teachers in January. If you live in Texas, they aren't much hiring any other time of the year either. They are laying off, though, which is handy if you're interested in losing your job. Not so much if you're interested in procuring one.

And, as we've established, I'm interested in procuring one. I'm applying to sub at every school district in a 40 mile radius. I'm also certified for English/Language Arts and Reading 8-12 should anyone need a long-term sub. If I show up at your school and you recognize me, you can tell me. It would be nice to have a friend. If you could also tell me the children who are likely to re-enact a scene from Lord of the Flies and cast me as Ralph that would be greatly appreciated.

You know, if anyone even hires me to sub.

Remember that whole miracle thing? Yeah.

Also, the vote thing. Some sweet and wonderful person nominated me for the Top 25 Southern Mama Blogs on Circle of Moms. To you, sweet wonderful person, THANK YOU, PRECIOUS!! You made my day! In order for me to get to be part of the top 25 (much like when I graduated from high school and was part of the top 25% of my class), I need some votes (unlike the graduation thing), which means I need all y'all (more than I normally do) to get involved. By voting. For me. Once a day. Until December 20th. You can either click on the little button right up there at the top of the page. Or here:

http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/top-southern-mom-blogs-2011

I will be forever grateful and love you forever.

Not that I won't anyway.

But still...

Now, off to grade papers.

I am a wild woman.

If This Didn't Make NJ Leave, Nothing Will

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 03:26:00 +0000

The following went down in my bedroom at 1:00 AM (No it's not dirty, so get your filthy mind out of the gutter. I say "mind" singular since I probably only have one reader left at this point. Anywho, here's a re-enactment of what went down:

(My bedroom door creaks open very slowly)

(From the darkness comes a whisper)

Grace: It's me, Grace. Don't shoot.

NJ (Confused, as he so often is): Did she just say don't shoot?

Me (half asleep): Yeah. I almost shot her a few weeks ago.

And then I rolled over and went back to sleep.

NJ lay there thinking, "WTF?" for a few minutes because a) I told him I almost shot Grace and offered no explanation and b) didn't seem to think it was much of a big deal.

Only three weeks til I'm back full-ish time, y'all!! I. Am. So. Ready!

Best Conversation of the Day

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 01:28:00 +0000

Yes, I'm alive. Sorry I've been AWOL for like a million years and haven't responded to any comments, either. Being an English teacher requires lots of paper grading. And lesson planning. Then there's that whole wedding planning thing which I haven't been able to do much of due to the paper grading. And lesson planning. Oh yeah and the child raising junk. So, thanks for all the comments and congrats. Sorry for being lame. Come mid-Decemeber things should return to normal (or the closest thing we have to normal) around here. Until then, here's a re-enactment of mine and NJ's conversation from this morning:

NJ: Hey Babe, what're you doing?

Me: I just pulled up at school.

NJ: YOU JUST GOT PISTOL WHIPPED?!?!

Me: Yep. That's why I sound totally calm and uninjured.

I'm not marrying him for his good hearing, bless his heart.

This isn't Going to Turn into a "Ohhh, Watch Me Plan My Wedding" Thing, But...

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 01:51:00 +0000

I haven't blogged in forever and when I finally do return it's two posts back-to-back, and they're both wedding related. I'm not gonna be that chick, y'all. I promise. I have two wonderful friends locally who are helping me plan this bad boy plus lots of input from my gals in the SGG, so I won't have to bore y'all to death with details. However, tonight my sounding board has been my 14-year-old, whose response has been, "Enough with the songs about love. Y'all are old and gross." My groom just keeps asking how much this is going to cost, especially since we've (I've) decided my parents help really isn't needed because my mother's opinion about who should and shouldn't be on my guest list based on her feelings towards them isn't wanted. He seems nervous. It's cute.

Anyway, that's the long way to say tonight, you get stuck with wedding crap. Just act like you care, okay? NJ and I aren't going to have a traditional wedding. How can we? This is our second trip down the aisle, we loved each other when we were little kids and he looks likes he could murder you and I look like, well, not a murderer even though if one of us was going to shank you, it's more than likely to be me than him.

We're having a retro, kind of 1950's/60's themed wedding with cute things like aluminum cans for center pieces and Gerber daisies and wild flowers for the flowers. I also don't want to walk down the aisle to the "Wedding March". It's not me and it's not NJ and I at all. Nope, y'all, I want to walk down the aisle to this:

This will either tickle my mother to death. Or just lead to her death. Not sure which. Guess we'll find out...

The Rest of the Story

noreply@blogger.com (Candance) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 16:45:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, when I announced my engagement, I was overwhelmed by super sweet comments that I tried to reply to but may have missed a couple-so if I missed you, thank you so much! I've said it before, but I'll say it again, I have he the best readers on the planet!! I just love y'all!! A lot of y'all also wanted to know the rest of the story about our engagement. It's not remarkable or even highly romantic, but it's very NJ and I and I did love how he went about popping the question.

We had already decided that we wanted to get married and that we'd do it in the spring. Okay, fine, I decided the thing about the spring, but we both decided we wanted to get married. He wanted to surprise me with my ring and formal request for my hand in marriage, though, so I tried to be patient. NJ also wanted to go on a hunting trip when he got off work in November. Because it had been many years since he'd been hunting, things were going to be purchased. I don't know what those things are because I don't hunt nor do I actually listen when he starts speaking of hunting because it doesn't involve anything pink, sparkly or high heels. I did, however, hear him when he said we needed to start putting back money in order to purchase those not cute items.

And I was NOT happy. Anything he purchased for that trip would cut into being able to purchase my ring and if I didn't have it by Christmas, I was probably going to stab him. But, I put back the money and held my tongue (to the best of my limited tongue holding ability) and held out hope he'd also figure out a way to get my ring.

He ended up working it out that he could come home the Saturday of Max's birthday party and help me with the cute little bodies that would be sleeping over. Friday, I texted Grace from work and asked her to put some towels in the washer. In the midst of our conversation that involved my child telling me she didn't know how to turn the water on for the washer, she mentioned she wished NJ could come see her perform at the football game. I found that to be random since I thought they were performing some song from Pocahontas and I knew NJ would rather take a sharp stick to the eye than sit through all that. So, I started t suspect he was home. The teacher I'm working with said maybe he came home early to surprise me with a ring. I told her that was a nice thought, but NJ was incapable of putting that much thought into anything.

Sure as shit, when I got home, he was here. There's just something about seeing that man's face that still makes me get butterflies in my tummy almost two years after finally getting my man. The next morning, we were on birthday party prep overdrive and he decided he also wanted to run a few errands on our way to get the cake. Suddenly, his face was causing me to have a reaction in my tummy, but it wasn't butterflies. It was more like indigestion.

We ran his errands and, although he didn't actually buy anything, once he did everything we'd saved would be spent. I could see any hope of my ring and a spring wedding disappearing. I was not so pleased with my man as we drove home with Max's birthday cake.

He talked about his prospective purchases almost the whole way home and then, with a mischievous grin on his face, he said, "You know what I really want to buy today? I want to get your ring."

Shut. The. Front. Door.

He totally succeeding in surprising me and he was so proud of himself for completely throwing me off the trail.

That very afternoon, when kids starting arriving for Max's birthday party, I was sporting my beautiful engagement ring from the first and last boy I'll ever love!

I couldn't have asked for a better proposal from that boy!