“Schtuff” was the name of a zine a long time ago. And now I wonder whatever happened to Jason…

I am still keeping silent on the thing that’s going on here in Janet Land. Some of you have asked me outright what the exciting news is and now I feel kinda badly since it’s not anything huge, just something that has the potential to bring even more nastiness to the land of single motherhood. Suffice it to say, the process has begun and it looks good so far. But it ain’t over, yet.

And now on with the updates…

Snickerdoodle is turning out to be a real pest of a pet. There is something about her meow that sounds distinctly like crying. I would think that it was just me and that I hear so much crying in a day that nearly every other sound mimics it, but Don noticed it, too. Her meows are long and drawn out and they sound almost human. And yes, she’s a real pest, which, according to some of the furry loving people I know, means she loves us. And she has a few Kevin the fish characteristics which makes me wonder about her recent arrival…She might not bang her head against the side of a bowl, but she does head bunt our legs and look at me and meow in that “hey! I’m here! Wanna feed me? Huh? Wanna feed me? I’m right here. Mommy! MOMMY! I’m here! I’m here! I’m here!” way that is reminiscent of Kevin’s fish head bashing.

I can’t believe I like a cat.

Emma wants to change the cat’s name from Snickerdoodle to Amy. I said no. Because first of all, it’s wrong when pets have human names (I realize that’s contradictory of me to say since the fish was named Kevin but I never condoned it and it was only because of Emma’s love of all things Wonder Years that the fish was ever named that) and second of all, I know too many Amys. Which makes me wonder what happened to our Amy here on MyBloggers and in Blogsterville.

Mona is here which makes my attempts at dieting a little more tricky than usual. It was AJ who got me on the diet train when he posted that he was back on his for the next twelve weeks. Now, at the time, twelve weeks didn’t seem like such a long time. And I was inspired. And it’s always easier when you know someone else is doing the same thing. So I said I would do the twelve weeks with him.

Right. That didn’t work out so well.

But I am back to eating sensibly and I can already see the results as I go back to my pre-Christmas shape and the cookies and candies are slowly dislodged from my abdomen. I’m not as strict as a lot of people, AJ included, but I am staying clear away from sweets which are my downfall (I’m not much for salty treats like potato chips or such) and am doing my best to think before I put anything in my mouth. So far, so good.

Except for Mona. She can make things especially difficult.

And Don, who is due here in Janet Land on Friday. I’m scared of what will happen when he and I are actually together full time, without the 528 miles separating us. I anticipate weighing in somewhere around the three hundred pound mark. Because whenever we’re together, any hopes of “eating sensibly” tend to fly out the window. We even have elaborate brunch plans this weekend. There goes the diet right there! Hopefully some day our time together won’t feel like a vacation. Hopefully. Some day. I don’t want to be three hundred pounds…

And speaking of brunch plans…

Know what next weekend is? Go ahead. Guess. For once in your lives would you please guess at something?!

No?

Fine. Fuck you. I’ll just tell you then.

Next weekend will mark a full year since Don and I first met in person.

Wild, eh?

Even if I sat here all day, I couldn’t list all of the changes he and I have experienced in the past year. Likewise, even if I sat here all day, I couldn’t list all the ways we have grown as individual people in the past year. And we still have so far to go and so much to look forward to as the next year unfolds and the Universe keeps shifting and the growth keeps us moving.

Sheesh. Now brunch seems a little insufficient.

Ha.

Kate has started sleeping in my bed again. She gets up around the ten thirty or eleven o’clock mark and climbs into my bed. She curls up against me, sometimes face to face and snuggles me and hugs “Moose-y”, her stuffed, you guessed it, moose. He wears a scarf. Don’t ask.

I’ve finally figured out what seems to trigger these late night dates with my daughter and her reluctance to sleep in her own bed and give me mine.

It always seems to happen when she is about to go and visit her Dad AND it’s been a long time since she was there. Rock skipped last weekend and hasn’t had them to his place since one night during Christmas holidays so it’s been a while and the kids are going to see him this weekend coming. So she’s sleeping with me.

I don’t fight it. I know how it comforts her and I also know that it isn’t her regular habit and now that I know what triggers it, I’m even more inclined to let the little monster cuddle up with me in my bed. To be quite honest, I like the company some nights.

The things on my to-do list are slowly but surely being ticked off. Today is the Weirdo’s visit. M told me last week that he and she exchanged words about Michael, so today might be interesting.

The best way to explain it is this:

Everyone, from Infant Development to the speech pathologist to (now) occupational therapy to the children’s hospital to the family doctor in the Prior, agree on what Michael’s needs are.

Except for Mark (AKA the Weirdo), the physiotherapist. He stands alone. And it’s taking me a while to figure out what his deal is. Maybe it’s laziness. Maybe it’s a power trip. Maybe it’s…But that’s the thing. I don’t actually care. Because at the end of the day, his job is to give Michael his undivided attention while Michael is in his care. He is employed by the province and the county, which makes every taxpayer, including me, his boss. Unfortunately, my job seems to be getting what * everyone * needs out of him.

My fourth cup of coffee is almost done which means that this post should be, too.

But before I go, one last thing, for Mel…

The Daily Bitch for today says…

“Feel free to kiss my ass on the way out.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.