Props to you if you sang the title of this blog post.  Mad props to you, 90’s child…

I’m back at work.  Day 3.  Numerous emails and voice mails done and accounted for.  Numerous head smacks on the desk as I tried to remember my logins and passwords to various networks and work sites.  Numerous times I had to go sit in an unfinished office in our work building with no electricity or heat and pump breastmilk as if it’s a totally normal thing to do in the middle of a workday.  In a silk blouse and suit pants.  Totes normal, you guys.

TMI?  Don’t mind if I do!


I might have failed to mention in my last couple posts that I actually got a promotion while on maternity leave.  Seriously, who goes and pops out a baby and then gets a raise?  Me.  That’s who.  Yeah buddy.

I will no longer be the Circulation Manager of the magazine.  Oh no.  No more exciting Excel documents and audits.  No more irate older customers who were offended by the lingerie ad on page 5 so they’re calling to cancel their subscription and “by the way, have you found God, young lady?”  No more of it!  Imagine me, “Office Space”-style, out in a field with a baseball bat.  We’re moving on up!

I will now be in charge of the promotions.  Which is…pretty cool.  It’ll be a challenge for me, but one that I’m welcoming with open arms because I’ll get to use more of my creativity.  And writing skills.  Not the snarky writing skills, though.  One day I’ll put those to use besides this blog, no worries.

I’m glad to be back at work and interacting with real live adults, but I also miss my little pickle during the day and find myself extra tired every night after a long day of work.  It doesn’t help that we’re still not on a sleep schedule and my nights consistently revolve around an 11 o’clock feeding, a 3 o’clock feeding and a 5 o’clock feeding.  And, oh hey, Mom, make sure you’re awake at 7 o’clock, too, because that’s when I’ve decided I’d like to wake up for the day and have a diaper leak in your bed.  Love, Fox.

It WILL get easier, I know this.  I keep reminding myself that he will sleep through the night when he’s 16.  So I have that to look forward to.  Unless he has that wild streak like  his father and I and constantly tries to sneak out of the house.  Good thing we have squeaky wood floors.

There’s really not much else new to report so let me throw a few pictures your way.  Please do not eat my delicious-looking child, though.

The Before Photo:

Oh hey, Mom and Dad, you guys takin’ pictures?

Aaaaand, The After:

Well let me just pose for you real quick here…vvvvlurp…


Dear Fox,

Today is my last day of maternity leave and as I’m sitting here typing this, you’re on the floor playing under your play-gym toy with all the fun dangley things for you to grab at.  And you keep coo-ing really loud and batting at the orange monkey because he’s your favorite.  Sometimes I think you two hold some pretty intense conversations.  You both are over there talking about the state of the economy and then my big head butts in and says “Poop?  Did you poop, my little punkin?  Ooooh, yes, yes, yes, mumma’s little baby pooped.”

No wonder you look at me like, “Woman!  Stop talking about my bodily functions in front of my new monkey friend, here.  Isn’t it bad enough you gave me the name Fox?  I’m already going to get beat up on the playground, I don’t need extra help from you.”

As you can see, this maternity leave might have given me a little too much time on my hands, as I’m now making up entire imaginary conversations with my 2-month-old in my head.

What was I saying?

Oh right.  Last day.

And while I tend to take the humorous approach to most things in my life on this blog, today I’m not feeling so lighthearted.  As evident by my far-from-comical introduction above.  I mean, really.  Poop humor?  It’s totally not even funny.

Nope.  Today I feel this sick pit in my stomach.  Like sadness.  And worry.

Sadness because this has been the most incredible two months.  They’ve been challenging, as living with most newborns can be.  But they’ve  been so full of joyous moments, it makes me tear up when I write about it.  I was the first to hold you in my arms and feel you curl up on my chest.  How strange to feel you on the outside instead of the inside after 9 months.  I witnessed your first smile.  I watched your thought process as you learned (and are still learning) to reach for things.  I laughed with the doctor when you rolled over on the exam table and started flirting with the nurse.  I’ve even watched your daddy fall madly, deeply in love with you.

And starting tomorrow I won’t get to be a part of that for 8 hours each day.

And here’s where the worry (albeit irrational) sets in.  What if you don’t get the same attention every day?  What if you’re stuck in your swing for hours and everyone just keeps popping a Nuk back in your mouth when you cry?  What if you forget who your mom is?

Holy irrational Toledo, yeah?

I know you will be well-loved and well-cared for when I’m not around during the day.  But is it wrong that I wish it could be me continuing the love and caring for?  Is it wrong that I don’t look forward to going back to the daily grind of a 40 hour work week?

I know things might have an extra level of difficulty as we struggle to work out a schedule from here.  There might be later evenings and earlier mornings.  But.  I’m so thankful for the time I was able to spend with you every day during leave.  On days when I didn’t think I could pull myself out of sleep after a particularly rough night, I’d look over at you sharing our bed and you’d give me that signature Fox smile and I’d bust out laughing.  You’ve been a little light in our lives.

I’m going to miss you during the day, Bud, but it will make it so much sweeter at 4 o’clock when I’ll look forward to returning home to you.


Your Mom




Oh my bebes.  I’ve been such a neglectful blogger.  It’s been forever since my last post, and for that I apologize.  But rest assured, I have not forgotten about you.  I’ll be back.  Sometime when I stop the cycle of work, gym, sleep, repeat.  How many years ’til retirement?

I’ve been getting out a little bit more lately, which is a good thing since around this time of the year you’d be hard-pressed to identify where the couch ends and my big ole’ butt begins.  It’s like mitosis.  There’s your science lesson of the day.  And you can’t say I’m lazy when I’m being intellectual.

It’s also been nice getting out because I’ve gotten a chance to hang out with my girlfriends more.  I recently went out and  grabbed a beer with my dear friend Maggie who just had a beautiful, beautiful baby and is feeling a little couped up like I am.  I also went to the art museum tonight with my bbff Allie-boo.  We looked at “art.”  And I say “art” because the majority of it was like the piece we saw that had silver trash cans and tea kettles on a shelf and was accompanied by a mumbo jumbo explanation about how it challenged the viewer’s psychological feelings about consumer goods.  Wait…what? 

When we walked over a few tiles that weren’t glued down we commented on how it must be representative of how life is unstable and can change at any minute.  Although, my interpretation was more like – “whoa, this artist is into plate tectonics!”  Again with the science.  Sorry.

Anyway, it was nice seeing my girls, because as a newlywed in the winter I’ve been pretty much either holed up in the house with my husband (who I’m starting to treat more and more like a girlfriend when I ask him if my hips look wide in these jeans…) or hanging out with his guy friends and laughing at dirty jokes.

Tough decision, I know…

Although I am partial to dirty jokes.

Anyway, I’ll be around more, I promise.  As soon as I have more to report on than what’s up with the creepy guy contestants on American Idol.

I’ve been feeling really down about something at work lately.  It’s too complicated to explain, and because this is the big, bad internet and its little internet-y fingers reach long and far, I should probably refrain from bitching about work on the blog, anyway.  But just know I’m thinking bitchy thoughts.  Just know that.

So what’s a girl to do to turn that frown upside down?  Why, take pictures of her shoe collection, of course.


So in no particular order (because, really now, how do you choose a favorite?  These are like my children and you wouldn’t pick favorites with your children, right?  Right, Mom?  Mom?) here are just a few of my favorite little pretties.  (And I can call them “pretties” without it being weird because I’m running this ship.  If I refer to them as that outside of the blog, though, it’s fair game for you to smack me and demand I stop being a such a moron.)

The new kids on the block

These are my newest bad boys.  And they’re so rocker chic.  And it’s alright to be jealous.  But try to play it cool, next time.  Drooling isn’t very lady-like.

Let me preface these by saying – oh how I love thee, leopard print.  I have walked these shoes into the ground.  Correction – I have run these into the ground.  Because I most often wear these to places of the speakeasy persuasion, I get on this kick of proving to people how fast my leopard shoes are.  So if you ever saw a girl running awkwardly down the sidewalk in leopard heels, while a bunch of people laugh behind her, that may or may not have been me.  I myself am proud of my heel-running skills.  It’s an art skill.  One I will one day prove when I run a marathon in heels (my ankles just perked up and said, “wait, what’s up?”)

But, I digress.  These shoes don’t really need an explanation beyond that, though.  Just a sound effect.  Like “purrr.”  Also, you might hear a “hoofing” noise, because sometimes I pretend I’m stomping them like a horse about to take off full-speed.  (And I get that a horse is a whole different species of animal than a leopard, but the Captain has a tendency to blur my knowledge of biology).  It’s when the “hoofing” starts, that Tony usually turns to me in the bar and takes the drink out of my hand.  These shoes are like a red dress.  They can sometimes get you into trouble.

I have a boo-boo. Please tell Katie to stop running in me.



Someone said more leopard print, yeah?

These shoes have a french accent.  Oh, oui, they do.

Are giraffes fast runners too? 

In keeping with the animal theme, I shall dub thee, “The Rhino.”

All these animal print shoes are starting to make me feel a little Cruela Deville.  I promise, no animal was hurt in the making of these shoes.  None of the fuzzy-variety at least.

My wallet was hurt in the buying of all these shoes, though.  But how can a girl with such cute shoes throw a pity party, c’mon?!

Could it be?  More animal print?  Jesus, woman!  You’re not a zookeeper!

Every respectable woman needs at least 1 pair of red pumps in her closet.  That’s why I have 2.

And if I could figure out an animal that is such an unnatural shade of red, like above, I would give these their animal counterpart as well.  But, alas, the animal kingdom wasn’t constructed like a rainbow.

These are foolish, foolish shoes.  My feet hate me after these.  And my feet are pretty used to being contorted into different animal shapes, let me tell ya’. 

But they’re so pretty.  And what I wouldn’t do for pretty “pretties.”

Do we need a break?  Come up for air?  Have you been wondering how my feet aren’t completely squished into little balls at the end of my legs? 

Want to know a secret?  I usually wear these with wool socks.  So when you see me in these next, don’t pull up my pant leg.  Unless you want to admire my fashionista new-trend attempts.

Pay no attention to the dirt on the heel.  Trekking to the bars in Wisconsin can bring you across such natural elements as rain, snow and mud.  Things no glorious shoe should have to encounter. 

Uh oh.  The bully’s in town.  Trying to mess up the flow with its practical soles and tedious laces.

It’s cool, though.  We know who’s boss around here still.

Wow, so I reread my last post and realized what a total brat I’ve become.

I had the moxy to actually complain that I have to work a full time job and be all “woe-is-me” when there are so many others out there who can’t find a job or are worried about the one they have.

I need to stop this pessimism train from continuing to roll down this negative track.  If you know me, you probably know I’m not terribly pessimistic in real life, but it’s easy to get carried away after a long day of work and an empty blog post box staring back at me.  So here’s my new mantra:  I am thankful for having a job…2 at that.  I’m also thankful for having 2 great bosses and many great coworkers.  And for a paycheck at the end of the week. 

And for shoes.

I had to sneak that in there.

I know my math skills are rusty, if existent at all, but here’s how I figure.

45 seconds goes so quick when you play the time game with your hotdog in the microwave.  Not familiar with the game?  It goes something like this: put hotdog in microwave, scramble to get out bun, mustard and ketchup, then get everything back where it goes before hotdog is done.  You don’t play this game?  You think I’m weird?  Where are you going?

45 seconds seems more like 2 days when you’re watching your time clock click away and your finger itches to press it already…but your boss is in the next room and you know you should just wait the extra 45 seconds until the clock strikes exactly 4:30.

And yeah, I’m eating a hotdog right now.  After I just got back from Sendik’s and picked up all kinds of good, healthy eats. 

The hotdog was calling my name, what can I say?  Mmmm…salty mystery meat in weird, chewy casings.*

Anyhow – my full time status has officially started and I’m wondering how people do this every day.  Mondays and Tuesdays used to be my full day, with Wednesday being my half day a.k.a easy peezy lemon breezy day.  So by Tuesdays I used to feel that feeling.  The one where I thought “thank god I only have a half day tomorrow.”  Today I thought about how I had 3 full days left.  I can’t do this, people.  This normal schedule is killing me. 

Maybe once I see a paycheck I’ll rethink my “I hate everybody because I’m going on 5 1/2 hours of sleep” attitude.

*I’m going to let you in on a little secret because, if you know me well, you know I love hotdogs.  But, really…it’s not the hotdog I like.  It’s ketchup and mustard.  Oh sweet condiments!  If I could eat ketchup and mustard on a bun withouth the hotdog, I totally would.  I think the hotdog just makes it more “socially acceptable.”  Because I don’t want to be that weird girl sitting alone at a picnic.

Because global warming is alive and kicking (sorry Republicans, but I’m a believer), Wisconsin has been having some mighty fine weather this March.  In fact, today my car showed 78 and I did a little inside happy dance (because I can’t let the driver next to me see me doing the real thing.  That’s as bad as getting caught belting out Journey at the top of your lungs at a traffic light.  We all do it…cough.)  Anyhow, this surprising weather has made me seriously happy.  Like the kind of happy that makes me want to approach random strangers and just hug them.  And then we’d nod at each other and give a mutual “I know” look, because…well…Wisconsin can be a little rough.  And we know.

This weather has really taken the stress out of a stressful situation right now.  I’m due to go full time next week, but this week I’ve been working partly from home and partly from a temporary office set up on the 2nd floor of a building that will house our company’s brand new office.  Which is still under construction.  Have any of you ever had to move and live out of suitcases for a couple weeks?  Try doing that with files and computers and important documents.  Because it’s like your toothbrush.  You don’t realize you packed it in the suitcase on the moving truck until it’s too late.  Same goes for that one damn document you need.  Figures.

Anyhow, I’m a little nervous because part of the deal of going full time was that I’d take on reception-type duties as well because our office manager is leaving.  And she’s been with the company forever.  That person you go to when you have no idea who else to talk to about some minor problem or another.  And now I’ll be in that role.  And I’m starting to wheeze just thinking about it.  Because a couple hours in one week is not enough time to train.  I feel like I’m being thrown into the deep end without passing swimming lessons. 

I know I’ll pick everything up eventually.  I hate to toot my own horn but I taught myself everything about my current position because my original boss left just months after I started and nobody else knew a damn thing about circulation.  So…toot toot.  Anyway…it’s more that overwhelming feeling of something new.  The whole “I know I’ll get this, but I just want to get this NOW” feeling.

Anyway – the weather is helping to curb my anxiety and I’m just enjoying knowing I’ll have my last Friday off in…well, ever.  Because once full time hits next week, it’ll feel like a big ole’ slap to my inner fun machine.  It’s like karma for enjoying myself too much in college.  I have to pay in 9 to 5’s for another 40 years.  And karma cashes in on Monday.