Triple Scoop

Three delectable bite-sized posts.  Well, kind of bite-sized.  If you have a big appetite.

1. I may be solely responsible for the superbacteria phenomenon.

Many of you think I am organized.  After all, I have all those charts and schedules and semi-compulsive planning habits.  I don’t know how to break this softly, but they are an illusion.  A mirage.  I have and do all those things BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE A BRAIN.  I’m forgetful, scatterbrained, often unfocused and usually off-schedule.

SO. I am entirely incapable of following the instructions on the prescription bottles.  When the paperwork says, “Administer this antibiotic twice a day for ten days and MAKE SURE YOU FINISH THE WHOLE TEN DAYS or you shall be thrown into a pit of lions who have communicable diseases,”  it might as well say, “Every time you give this medicine, make sure you catch two electric eels and harvest their organs.”  It’s THAT hard.  I forget at least one dose a day.  Then after about 4 or 5 days, when the kid is better, I forget they’re even supposed to take it.  Then I remember a couple days later and give them one or two doses that should hold them over until I remember again.  (Just last week, I took all but 5 Amoxicillan pills for my own strep throat.  Then I forgot to pack them for my Disney trip. So about 10 days later when I could feel a sinus infection coming on, I started retaking my last five pills.  Now they’re gone.)  I KNOW.  I totally agree there’s something wrong with me, and that is why I’m apologizing for making the world unresponsive to antibiotics by using them incorrectly.  (As a side note to calm any rage you might be feeling –especially if you have a medical background– I looked up some multi-alarm timers online yesterday that old people use to help them remember to take their pills.  Yes, it’s come to that.)

2. What did you call me?

I have never been a terms-of-endearment girl.  Even as a wide-eyed single adult, I hated hearing couples calling each other “sweetie” and “honey” and don’t even get me started on names like “peaches” or things that end in “-poo”.  Seriously?  I’ve softened up over the years and use some of these with my children, especially the -poo ones if I really want to get their eyes rolling.  But Matt has always been Matt.  And I’ve always been Steph.  And I’m TOTALLY fine with that.  However, lately –and I don’t know if this has to do with his new light-hearted look on life since he graduated from law school– he’s started calling me “Momma,” or “Mama,” but really does the spelling matter?  Um, what?  Since most of my readers are women, I don’t really need to get into why this might be an unwanted nickname.  So, I gently broke him the news the other night when he said something like, “Hey, Momma, you wanna bring up my cell phone charger when you come upstairs?”

I tried to make him understand that his little pet name made me feel like this:


So he wants to know what he should call me.  I guess Steph is getting old.  I told him I’d blog about it and ask my wise readers.  If you suggest anything with -poo in it, you’re henceforth banned from my blog.

3. P90X and the family effect

After 3 1/2 years of work by day and law school by night, Matt put on a few pounds.  Now he’s determined to get them off and bought that P90X system, which is an intense 90-day workout plan accompanied by nutritional advice.  So in an effort to be supportive, I went and bought all the ridiculous groceries on his list (soy sausage patties?  Really?) and we’re all trying to eat more healthy.  One night we had chicken breast with honey chile sauce and mixed vegetables.  Last night was island pork tenderloin with baked asparagus.  Well, I think the whole program will have quite a transformation in our family since our children won’t eat ANY of it.  I think P90X should use this picture on their next before-and-after ad.  What do you think?