Whoops!

Sorry gang, it's been a madhouse around here. It's nearing the end of the year at the office, which means that the bookkeeping is getting atrocious (and my adding machine is about to be kicked against the wall repeatedly), tensions are running high, and in the middle of all this I'm supposed to be panicking about Christmas shopping as well as what in the world I'm supposed to take to my mother's house for Thanksgiving.

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I'm fairly certain my Thanksgiving contribution will be mashed potatoes. Again. Because nobody else is fool enough to volunteer for that job, as these aren't just any mashed potatoes, but a certain kind known as "refrigerator mashed potatoes" which are so-named not because they're served cold (they're not -- they're heated) but because they can be stored in the fridge for a number of days prior to the actual event for which they've been prepared.

I think it's something to do with the cream cheese, sour cream, and butter in them, but I wouldn't put money on it. Five pounds of potatoes to boil then smash into an unrecognizable pulp with the potato ricer prior to mixing in all the other goodies. Oish. It's a wonder I can lift my arms the next day, but they're good. Worth it.

I'll post the recipe sometime. It's around... uhm... somewhere. I'm quite sure of it.

(Note to self: call Mom and get the recipe AGAIN... just like every other year)

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In other news, the Chantix and I have reached an uneasy truce wherein I eat before taking it so it doesn't make me want to throw up, and in return it sucks all the joy out of smoking for me.

Yes, kids, I'm nicotine-free. Grudgingly, and with much whining, but I'm there.

Why quit when I'm whiny about it? Well, to be quite honest, I never will NOT be whiny about giving up my vices. I'll do it, but I will bitch and moan, dammit.

I love my Diet Coke and y'all should have heard me when I was pregnant with the boys. My midwife with the younger child especially was concerned about all the chemicals in Diet Coke. She'd have preferred I drink an entire pot of coffee twice a day than suck down even one of my wonderful, refreshing, chemically-altered-beyond-all-recognition carbonated beverages.

Problem is, a sure sign of gestation for me is that I develop an incredible loathing for coffee. The smell of it in bean form, ground form, or brewing is still fine (stuff's like potpourri for me, seriously). But the taste of it? Oh man, just kill me now. Simply Does. Not. Work. Not when I'm pregnant, anyway.

Needless to say, for a few months there? Amanda equaled Whiny.

And now that I'm done reproducing they will have to pry my Diet Coke out of my cold, dead fingers before I give it up. I don't require much in life, but I would like to hang on to at least one little vice. Just one.

But anyway, why quit smoking? Because I'm kind of fond of this whole living thing, and smoking has a bad habit of shortening that experience. Also, it interferes with my breathing hobby. And it's a craptastic example for the kids (well, that and they've been lecturing me about it mercilessly).

The yellow stains have almost faded completely from my fingers. Awesome.

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So anyway, that's what I've been up to for the past almost-two-weeks. That and doing the Halloween stuff with the boys. The elder was Anakin Skywalker and the younger was a knight. He looked alot like a gladiator, but believe me, that child was a KNIGHT.

Just ask him.