45-year-old mother of two human boys, ages 16 and 12; pet-mom to three rather yappy canines and two cats; keeper of the zoo; and wife to one incredibly tolerant man. Alternately babbles and rants.
Read on at your own risk.
Amanda - Me Choreboy/ Brent - The Husband The Elder Offspring - what it sounds like The Gum Zombie - the younger offspring The Nephew - see above, re: Elder The Divine Miss M - my niece Teddy, a/k/a Hound, f/k/a Toad - small hyperactive chihuahua/ yorkie mix Charlie - baby dog! chihuahua/ pug mix, or "chug" Daniel - large sedate male of the feline persuasion Emily - rounded homicidal female of the feline persuasion Bob, a/k/a Blob - interdimensional traveler masquerading as Felis silvestris catus The rest of the critters can be found over here.
*Former subtitle "We're not hosting some sort of intergalactic kegger down here..." courtesy of Chief Zed, Men in Black
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Out of my Cold, Dead Fingers
There it is: my lone remaining vice. I've always sworn that you'd be prying it out of my cold, dead fingers. I quit smoking years ago, I rarely drink, I track every calorie that goes into my mouth, and I figure we're all permitted one excess, right?
Wrong -- or at least my body didn't get that memo. Because I've developed a marvelous case of reflux (thanks, Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs!) and one of the things that seems to trigger mine the most is carbonation.
I've gone from an-amount-that-shall-not-be-confessed, to 4 per day, to 2 per day, and yesterday I had only one. I'm toying with allowing myself to stay at that number but I'll admit that there's now part of me that says to just dump it entirely.
On the plus side, my water intake (already in excess of 64 oz./ day) has skyrocketed. At this point I'm so well-hydrated I could survive a drought.
Oh well. I'll figure it out. Probably over a nice, steaming hot cup of coffee. Because you will pry my caffeine out of my cold...