Sweater weather.

I look at this, and I just want to sit down on the floor and cry.


I don't want to cry because the humidity is 83% (my hair looks awesome, btw) or because it's going to storm all day today (don't mind that a bit, actually). I want to cry because I am so. sick. of. summer.

Upper eighties and sun every day for the foreseeable future? Waaaaaaaaaaaah!

I hate being hot. The only thing I hate more is the thought of being stuck in an elevator or constricted in some way (just a tad claustrophobic over here). Being hot is gross. Frizzy (or, in my case, frizzier) hair, sweaty skin, sticky clothes...blegh. Unless I am parked in a chair next to the ocean or a pool, I don't want anything to do with heat.

So, I think we can all agree it's a good thing I live in Minnesota. Although — you may want to sit down for this — Minnesota summers get hot. And really, really humid. Contrary to popular belief, we do not spend our summers wearing snow pants and scraping ice off our car windshields. We spend it sweating in shorts, just like the rest of you.

Minnesotans — They're Just Like Us!

Between hot and cold, I prefer cold. When you're cold, you don't sweat. Your hair might be dried out, but it doesn't look like you just put your hand on one of those electricity ball things. Your (okay, my) pasty white skin remains covered at all times. And when the cold becomes unbearable, you simply add another layer. Whereas with heat...well, you can only get so naked.

I enjoy the early months of summer. June is lovely here, early July is tolerable. But by the time mid to late July rolls around, I'm over it. I'm dreaming about fall — crisp leaves, pumpkin scented candles, brisk air. I'm ready to go shopping for new jeans and sweaters. I'm ready to light a fire in the fireplace I wish we had. I'm ready for — dare I say it? — a little bit of snow.

Yeah, no. I shouldn't have said that. Because before I know it, the forecast is going to look a lot like this again.

Oh, Minnesota. I have such a love/hate relationship with you.

Is there a state where it's always fall?

S is for sharing.

And E is for "ew...please don't put that in your mouth!" Which, when it comes to these two, is kind of a waste of breath.

Copay.

Most years I have a hard time using up the money in my health savings account. This year we've already used it all up, and it's only March 1.

Three weeks ago, Nate went to the doctor on a Friday afternoon with back pain, was told it was muscular, and was sent home with a mild muscle relaxer. By Saturday night he was in severe pain and unable to get up. We took him to the ER at 5am on Sunday morning where he was diagnosed with a bulging disk and sciatica. He was pumped full of morphine and sent home with muscle relaxers, steroids, and pain pills.

That same weekend, Calvin and I both came down with colds. After a week of dealing with constant snot flow and a very irritable baby, we took Calvin to the doctor. She said he was fine, just teething and crabby from the cold. He seemed to get better, but then this weekend he came down with a cough, and yesterday he woke up with a very high fever and was wheezing. So again, we headed for the ER at 5am on a Sunday morning. He has a sinus infection, which antibiotics have helped greatly in the last 24 hours. And he finally cut that tooth this morning, thank heavens. Poor baby was so sick, but so sweet in his little hospital gown. The nurse said he was her first patient in a 12-hour shift, and she was certain he'd be her cutest patient all day. :)

I've been sick off and on since I had The Swine in October. I get better, I get worse. I got much worse this weekend, and ended up going to urgent care yesterday after Nate convinced me I might have pneumonia. The doctor took one quick listen to my lungs and thought the same. Two chest x-rays later, I was diagnosed with a sinus infection, a respiratory infection, and asthma. (ASTHMA? I'm almost 31! I thought that was a diagnosis most people got in elementary school.) So now I'm on antibiotics and steroids, and have my very first inhaler.

So...yeah. Good times at the Breyer household. Here's hoping that two visits to the emergency room, two visits to the doctor, a trip to urgent care, and seven prescriptions are all it takes for us to be a healthy family again.

Give peas a chance.

I think peas are disgusting. They are the only vegetable I cannot, will not, eat. I was forced to eat them as kid, as was every kid, and I've tried them numerous ways as an adult. I'm an adventurous eater, but it doesn't matter how they are prepared. Hate them. HATE THEM. Gag.

Nate, of course, loves them. So we were curious to see how Calvin would like them. I was certain he'd think they were disgusting. Mushed up baby food peas? Couldn't be anything worse (except maybe those Gerber stage 2 meats).

He scarfed that container down. And every subsequent one, too. Nate gloated, visions of father/son bonding over heaping plates of hot peas dancing in his head.

I was a little put out, as I was hoping for an ally in my fight against the nasty green buggers. Just as Nate swore he'd never make his kids eat beets, I swore I'd never make them eat peas. I wasn't counting on them wanting to eat peas.

So, imagine my delight when I gave Calvin regular old steamed peas on Saturday night, and got this reaction:



And moments later, he tried this old trick:














Which, when it comes to peas, I will totally let him get away with.

I sure would love it if...

...I had all of my couch cushions on the couch instead of in the washing machine at some point this week.

On Tuesday Calvin had a blowout that left three couch cushions, a throw pillow, my shorts, his outfit and his changing pad covered in poop. I washed everything.

On Wednesday, my seemingly incontinent dog leaked pee on the couch while she slept. (As of Wednesday, she is on medication for this problem.) I washed the couch cushions.

Today, as my dog was barking manically at something outside and I was trying to shut her up while breastfeeding Calvin on the couch, my child had yet another blowout that got my arm, his outfit, the blanket I covered the couch with to prevent further cushion washing, and two couch cushions, which were left uncovered by the blanket in my mad attempt to grab my barking dog before she woke up my sleeping husband, who had just come off a night shift at the hospital.

Two more couch cushions and the blanket are washing now. The dog is outside barking at whatever it was that caught her attention. Calvin is cleaned up, redressed and fed. Nate is sleeping soundly.

But I still have traces of poop on my arm.

The Roll.

Probably the hardest thing for me to deal with over the past two months has been my body.

It's not good. My hips are wider, I'm flabbier from months of decreased activity, and my stomach...oh, my stomach.

While I haven't been skinny in years, I still try my darndest to keep from having a fat roll hanging over the top of my pants. At least while standing up.

Mind you, this is tricky. When you don't work out and have a penchant for french fries, there's bound to be some flab around the middle. Which means you have to dress for it. Either by wearing jeans that hit at a good spot, or wearing shirts that are a little flowier, or dressing in layers. I haven't quite mastered this skill, but I've been trying really hard. Which is why one of the highlights of wearing maternity clothes was the waistband of my pants. It lays flat — no rolls. Plus my belly was hard and smooth and cute...not something to hide.

But now, post-baby, I feel like one big fat roll. It didn't matter that I lost all 30 pounds of my baby weight within two weeks. I still couldn't get into a single pair of my pants until four weeks, and those were my fat pants. At nearly eight weeks I am now wearing my regular pre-pregnancy clothes. However, I cannot avoid the roll.

My stomach is like a separate entity, a striped blob just stuck on my front. (Striped because I suffered what is quite possibly the most extreme case of stretch marks ever in the last few weeks of my pregnancy. I thought I escaped them, but then at 30 weeks one popped up...then at 32 weeks about 40 more popped up. It's not pretty.) And dressing for it is not as easy as I'd hoped.

When I went to my six-week checkup, my midwife asked if I'd started exercising yet (yes, I try to get an hour-long workout in daily, what with all the time I have these days) and then advised me to tie something like a towel around my waist before doing my "ab work" to help bring those muscles back together.

My question is this: Who said I planned to fix this roll situation with ab work?

My only plan is to begin searching for new pants. Maybe some with a stretchy waist...

Poo.

The day started out with cuddling between father and son. And it ended with a change of clothing — for both of them.

I haven't laughed that hard in...well, maybe ever.

Crimes of fashion.

Five reasons I dislike high fashion, courtesy of Alexander McQueen via Jezebel:



















































































I'm sorry, WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?

Ew.