I was so sad that we weren’t able to be there in time to meet his plane, but we are all together this weekend!

Items of note:
1. I love the fact that my nephew is humping Dan’s leg; and
2. My other brother KNEW that news cameras would be there, so he spent ALL DAY practicing what he was going to say.

Excerpt from my brother’s Facebook post on December 30:

“I am happy to announce that I am home safely from Afghanistan!!!!!!!!! As part of a troop withdrawal my unit was chosen to send some soldiers home and I was one of them.”

I’m coming home
I’m coming home
Tell the World I’m coming home
Back where I belong, yeah I never felt so strong…

We are so excited to see him this weekend.

There are sooo many instances in a day where I think, “What the hell? ”

Here’s some examples:

This car magnet I recently spotted on a car in front of me:

Ok, this means that somebody was in a store, picked that magnet up, PAID ACTUAL MONEY FOR IT, and then consciously stuck it on their car.

What the?  Even if I were a rabid dog lover, I’m not quite sure I would admit this.

What’s next?  A car magnet that says, “I EAT MY BOOGERS”??

And then there’s this tag I spied in Ann Taylor Loft:

Really??  Someone’s a size DOUBLE ZERO PETITE (I don’t even know her, but I hate her), yet Ann Taylor thinks she might need the CURVY FIT with STRETCH?

What the?  Just how (oxy)moronic can you get?

Got any ”What the?” examples for me?

You know how when you have your first child and you are a total wreck about everything?  (I’m sure that wasn’t just me, was it?!) 

I lived and died by what The Books said.  If there was a parenting book on the market, I owned it.

Thus, I was very rigid with my firstborn child.  He didn’t start solid foods until he was probably about 6 months.  (I’m not sure of the exact month because, duh,  I didn’t have a BLOG way back then.  Heh.)  Plus, every food item I served to him was bland and lukewarm, lest the Preshus burn his sweet lil’ mouth.

And you know what?

I broke the kid.

TO THIS DAY, poor Eldest eats every.single.thing PLAIN.  As in–no sauces, no condiments, no friggin’ MOISTURE to his food. 

Meanwhile?  Middle was introduced to solids earlier.  With condiments.  And dips.  And flavor.

And Baby?  Hahahaha.  Baby was most likely gnawing and gumming on potato chips (off the floor, naturally) at 10 months.  Because that’s just what happens when you have three and are totally overwhelmed.  Ask any other mother of three or more.  Swearsies.

Recently Hubby challenged Eldest to eat one lone french fry dipped in ketchup for $5.  I mean, c’mon, WHAT CHILD DOESN”T LIKE KETCHUP?!

This picture, obvs, was taken “Before”.  That is, before he GAGGED, almost PUKED, and spit out the entire ketchup-coated fry right there in the restaurant.

I told you–he’s broken and it’s all my fault.

Do any of your children have weird eating habits that you KNOW are your fault?!

Physically:

To get back in shape.  To run.  To 30-day Shred.  To eat healthy.  To sign up for a half marathon in 2012.  To stop biting my nails.  To try to give up caffeine…yet again.

Mentally:

To speak up more, to bottle it up less.  To be less hurtful and more kind, both to myself and others.  To not get fired up about people and things I cannot control. 

Professionally:

To get a new legal entity database system in place and up and running.  To always take the stairs and never the elevator.

Family:

To spend more one-on-one time with each boy.  To switch (what is now) the playroom into an office.  To transfer the playroom into the basement, formerly known as Mantown.

Bloggily:

To get switched back to Blogger and to get sarahviz.com back up and running on a regular basis.  To push myself to do more.

Here’s to 2012!

So remember when I took a blogging break and switched over to WordPress?

 Yeah, that.

 I learned something about myself.

 I am not technical.  And more importantly, I’m not great at learning new things.  I procrastinate.  I dread.  I complain.  I ignore.

 As a painful result, this here blog has started collecting cobwebs and dust.  All while my brain is filled to the brim with blog posts.

 All because WordPress was is so intimidating to me. 

So I’m going back.  Going back to what I know.  And to what (I now realize) that I love. 

Writing.  Not caring about stats, SEO, pageviews, etc.

I can’t wait.

(I miss you and your lovely comments.)

I have been in a bit of a huge running/exercise funk lately.  Feeling myself get slothier and slower, heavier and flabbier.  Yet I can’t break free. 

The Thanksgiving morning turkey trot (5 miles) was my WORST run ever.  I ran alone, thus I was all in my head.  With no accountability.  I completely shot my wad on Mile 1, running 8:23.  (That’s pretty much a damn near sprint, for me.)  Mile 2 I had to pee.  Like really pee.  So I veered into a Dunkin Donuts and peed.

When I came back out, I was hot.  Like really hot.  So I tried to peel off my top layer.  But I had pinned my race number through 2 layers.  So I was stuck.  Tangled in my clothing and my earphones.  So I had to stop to straighten myself out.

Tick tock tick tock.

Then I dropped a glove.  Realized it about 5 steps in.  Had to backtrack to fetch it.

Mile 3 I was tired.  Like really tired.  So I walked a bit.

Mile 4 I was spent.  Like really spent.  Because the day before?  I had eaten uh…McDonalds and then homemade mac and cheese.  Great race fuel, huh?  So I walked a bit.

On Mile 5, I was pretty much hating myself.  I call myself a runner?  NOTSOMUCH MISS SARAH.  Ugh.  All the walking I had done never really allowed me to get into a running rhythm.  I just couldn’t do it.  Blah.

My time was decent:  50 minutes (10 minute mile pace), but that’s not a race I am remotely proud of.

There’s something quite curious happening in our Trenches…

You see, I have a LOT of snowmen as decorations.  They’re so cute when they’re bald, don’t you think?  And snowman families?  I collect them–especially when there’s 5.  LOVE.

But there’s a problem.

My poor snowmen?

Keep losing their cute little carrot noses!  And are being tortured in other, much more painful ways.  (Think beheading.)  (Ouch.)  (Not that I’ve ever been beheaded, but I’m imagining it stings a bit.)

Exhibit A:

 Poor little Frosty here is missing his schnozz. 

Perhaps Santa was driving a bit too fast for this poor little guy who is clearly not wearing a seatbelt?  That’s one possibility.  But not what I’m suspecting is going on.

Exhibit B:
 

Yet another obvious olfactory omission!  What the heck is going on?

And here we have Exhibit C, the most heinous crime of all:

A seemingly innocent snowman family.  Dad, Mom and 3 cute little snowman tykes.  But wait!  What has happened to Daddy Snowman?

Oh my!  He’s been beheaded!

So is all this snowman vandalism the work of an overtired mom who is too exhausted to pack away her Christmas decorations properly year after year, thus leading to breakage and wreckage?

BITE YOUR TONGUE!

Or could it be the work of a sneaky, psychopath elf?

Most likely, though, there’s a certain someone else to blame:

You be the judge.