The one day every year that I want to skip.  The one day every year that reminds me how time is passing me by.  Yup, it’s the dreaded B day (man, I can’t even say it).  It’s here again…my birthday.

But this year, it’s going to be different.  Not only will I be a year older…I will be a decade older.  Yes, ladies and gentleman…(deep breath)…I am turning the BIG 4 - 0 this year.  There, I said it.  For years, I’ve been in my 30’s (and still am for another 2 days).  I’ve never really admitted my true age, only to say I’m thirty-something.  I mean, why be specific when you don’t have to.  But now the time has come to face the truth.  For those of you who know me and know my age, I am ready to embrace it.  Really.  For those of you who know me and don’t know my real age….hah, I had you guys fooled, didn’t I? 

I am turning 40.  I am really turning 40.  Ugh, saying it doesn’t make it any easier.  But this year, I told myself I am going to embrace it.  Age is only a number, right?  Look at all those gorgeous women in their 40’s out there that still look great…Cindy Crawford, Sandra Bullock, Julia Roberts, and the list goes on.  Okay, so maybe they’re rich and have people catering to them and they can afford the best wrinkle creams.  So what?  I’m still going to embrace my age…damnit.

What is more important are the things that I’ve accomplished in the past 4 decades.  I graduated college, had a pretty successful career, bought my own place, found “Mr. Right” and got married, moved to CT, bought a house, and am now a mom to a wonderful little boy.    Ummmm, on second thought…I got married, but am still on the hunt for Mr. Right.  Honey, if you’re reading this…I’m just kidding.  

Sure, there are more things I wished I had accomplished.  Like…have another baby, start my own business, travel the world, maybe write a book, win the lotto, be on Dancing with the Stars.  But there’s still time, right?  Okay, maybe not for Dancing with the Stars.  But there’s always time to dream.

But now that I’ll be turning 40 (keep repeating it, it will get easier), I really have to start taking care of myself.  Watch what I eat, exercise, and try to stay healthy.  No more bingeing on Doritos, chocolate, and ice cream at night.  Okay, maybe a few here and there won’t hurt.  Start an exercise regimen.  Does parking farther away from the store entrance count as exercise?  It’s more walking, right?  And shopping, that’s vigorous exercise. 

I still want to be around when my son graduates from college, you know.  Hey, I might be grandma’s age then but I’ll be damned if I’m going to look like one. 

Fabulous Forties….here I come!!!

It’s been a hot, grueling week weather-wise and he has managed to get the area dugged up, filled with draining gravel, leveled, filled again with sand, leveled again, and pavers down.  Pretty hard work.  And he hasn’t slacked at all, which I am extremely proud of him for.  So the plan is that he will be done with it today.  Actually, he has no choice but to have it completed today because rain is on the way.  We’ve lucked out with 8 straight days of sunny weather, but rain is in the forecast for tomorrow.  Not just rain.  But possible torrential storms due to Hurricane Earl.  I guess that will help test the strength of the patio too, hopefully it won’t buckle.

So with my husband’s endurance and a little help from Mother Nature, we hope to have a new patio by the end of today.  Hmmmm on second thought, make that a new patio slab by the end of today.  He still has to work on the surrounding areas, but that will be another project.

So Mr. DIY (a.k.a. my husband Papa in Suburbia) decided to tackle on a new project himself this week in hopes to save us some money.  Which I think is great.  But, I am a little worried.

So what is it that he’s doing? 

Are you ready for this?  Drumroll, please…

A NEW PATIO.  Papa in Suburbia is building us a new patio.  Uh huh, see why I’m a tad worried?

Not that I don’t have faith in my husband.  Not that I don’t appreciate his hard work and effort.  But I know my husband.  He thinks he can complete this project in 6 days ( a weekend combined with some days he took off from work). 

But past experiences have proven that his “an hour” equals a day, his “2 days” easily turns into a week…catch my drift?  Do you see where I’m going with this?  So in Papa in Suburbian time, 6 days might be equivalent to a month.  Or more.  Which I guess, in the long run, if it saves us money…its okay.  Heck, we can still enjoy our patio well into the winter, right?

My worry is not just about how long it will take or that my yard looks like a construction dump site.  I’m worried that it might cost us more money in the long run, if it’s not done right. **Sigh**  

Home Depot, Lowes, HGTV…why do you put false hope in men’s heads?  Why do you let them believe they can do it themselves? 

But I have to have faith.  Faith in Papa in Suburbia.  Faith in the weather.  Faith in that stupid Landscaping book he borrowed from the library.  And faith in HGTV. 

And I guess if all else fails, I’ll at least have some good blogging material.  And some I told you so’s to last me a lifetime. 

I’ll keep you posted.

So how was it possible to live a whole year without using a microwave, you ask?  Difficult.  Not at first because I never realized how much we actually used our microwave.  Until we didn’t have one. 

Reheat leftovers?  Let’s do it the old-fashioned way.  Boil water, put leftovers in dish, steam in pot.  (a.k.a.  jing in Chinese)

In a mood for popcorn?  Errr, sorry. 

TV dinners?  Frozen foods?  Ummm, use the oven and wait 40 minutes as opposed to 5 minutes.  STARVING!!!

Yes, I never realized how handy it is to have a microwave. 

But, finally.  After a year of procrastination and shopping around for the “best” one.  I finally bought a microwave.  No more steaming leftovers, no more bagged popcorn, no more having to wait an eternity for a quick, over-processed meal.  No siree.  I can now get all that in less than 10 minutes…thanks to a wonderful magnetronic tube, high frequency electromagnetic energy converter. 

Now if only I can get this thing to create a menu, prep, cook and serve the food…that would be awesome.  Oh yea, doing the dishes after would be nice too.

Yes, my 3 year old still naps in the afternoon.  Sometimes for an hour.  Sometimes for 2 plus hours (muahahaah).  But don’t be hating on me.  I’m sure one of these days he will eventually give up his nap.  And my “me-time” will forever be gone.  Those wonderful one or two hours of the day that I can do anything or nothing at all.  My Facebook time, my blogging time, my stuff-ice-cream-in-my-face-without-having-to-hide-it time.  **Sigh**  Forever gone.

I know I shouldn’t be complaining, since most 3 year olds have given up their naps already.  I feel for their moms.  I mean, that’s like hardcore withdrawal.  To have that blissful, alone time for 3 years all of a sudden taken away from me…I think I’d have to go to rehab.  I mean seriously.  That’s what they should have, rehab for moms with napless kids.  I, for one, would definitely go.  Hey, don’t laugh.  You’d be surprised. 

Note to self:  look into this idea.

But thank goodness, my napless run-in was a one time thing.  Because happily, I am writing this blog while my zany, spirited child naps upstairs.  Do you hear that?  Of course you don’t, it’s nice and quiet here.  Pure bliss.

Maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones.  Hey, if he takes after his dad…he’ll be napping way into adulthood.

Having grown up with a bilingual background, I thought it would be easy for my son to be bilingual as well.  Not the case.  You see, I married a true ABC.  My husband doesn’t speak Chinese at all.  His Chinese is beyond caveman-like, although he would beg to differ.  So we speak English all the time.  After my son was born, I swore I would go back to using my native language around him.  Of course, that wasn’t at all feasible.  It was difficult enough to get my husband to listen to me when I spoke English, can you imagine trying to speak Chinese to him?  So English it was.

Now my son is 3.  I have to say his language skills are way advanced for a three year old.  English, that is.  His Chinese?  He knows his name.  He can say “milk”.  He can say “rice”.  That’s about it.  Oh, he can say “one, two, three” also.   Pretty pathetic.  And now that his English is so advanced, it’s hard to teach him Chinese.  When I teach him a word, he’ll try to repeat it back to me.  But with an American accent.  YIKES! 

So now my mission is to teach him Chinese.  My family tells me I should just speak it to him all day.  At least get him exposed to it and hopefully, he’ll pick up on some words and the correct accent.  But it’s hard.  It’s hard enough to get him to listen to me when I’m screaming at him in English.  Can you imagine the blank stare he’ll give me when I’m screaming to him in Chinese?!?!  All I’ll get from him is, “huh, what that mean?”.   

I guess Mom was right about this one.  I should’ve exposed him to the language when he was a baby.  She said he’ll never have a problem learning English because that’s all they’ll teach in school.  But Chinese, you gotta start them young.  She was right. 

Well, he’s still young.  There’s still time.  He may not ever speak it as well as I do, but he’ll speak it one way or another.  Even if it’s with that awful American accent…ugh.

I mean think about it.  Every day is full of excitement and fun.  You get to say what you want, when you want without people thinking badly of you.  Even when you innocently say, “ewwww Mommy, that man stinky”, people just smile and think awwww, how cute.  When you feel happy and giddy inside, you can break into a jiggly dance and sing at the top of your lungs, “Rah, rah, ah-ah-ah….gaga, ooh-la-la”, Lady Gaga-style and all you’ll get is soooo adorable. 

Yup, I’m envious of that innocence.  When your only worries are…hey, when can I have that lollipop…or…are we going to the park today???  The joys of a 3 year-old.

Thank goodness I have my son to remind me of these simple things in life.  When I’m having a bad day and all I want to do is scream and yell, I’ll see him do his jiggly dance, shaking his butt and wiggling his head and I start to smile.  He’ll break into song…apple bottom jean, boot and fur, low-low-low-low, and I can’t help but shake my head and chuckle.  (Yes, my son is all pop and hip-hop down to his bones.) 

Yes, I may be the one who teaches him right from wrong and left from right.  But he’s definitely the one who teaches me to not take life so seriously all the time.  Sometimes you just have to let loose and dance when you want to dance, and sing when you want to sing.  Just have fun today, because there’s always tomorrow to worry.

Thank you Lil T.

On my recent grocery shopping trip to Stop & Shop, I had the pleasure of interacting with one of these people.  I had to buy some sparkling water and saw that they had the Poland Spring ones on sale for $1.  Woohooo.  And on the shelf there was a sign that read, “Buy 3 Poland Spring sparkling waters 1 ltr./0.5 ltr 6-packs and get a checkout coupon for $2 good on your next visit”.  What a great deal!!!  And so I grabbed three 1 liter bottles and finished my shopping.  After paying for my groceries, I noticed that I didn’t get the $2 coupon (as mentioned).  So since I had already paid for my purchases, I was told to go to the Customer Service desk. 

So I waited on line at Customer Service.  When it was finally my turn, I explained to the lady my predicament.  She didn’t even bother to let me finish.  “No, that can’t be right”, she said.  I told her there were several signs on the shelf that stated the fact.  “Well, that wouldn’t make sense.  You only paid $1 for each bottle.  That means you’ll be getting 3 bottles for $1.  It’s wrong,”  she frustratingly said, all the while shaking her head.  So I offered to go get the sign to show her.  Mind you, I had my son with me sitting in the carriage who was getting impatient and starting to fuss.  You would think she could offer to radio someone to check.  But no.  So I went and pulled off the sign to show her.  Went back to Customer Service and again, stood on line. 

Finally, my turn.  I showed her the sign.  She looks at it and says, “You got the wrong one.  It says you need to buy 3 six packs.”  “No, it says 3 one liters or 3 half liter, six packs”, I tried to explain.  And again she argued that I would practically be getting them for free, so it was wrong. 

C’mon lady, read the damn sign!!!  I’m not the one making it up.  Is it my fault that your store chooses to practically give it away. 

I even read it to her.  “No, they come in six packs”, she argued.  So at this point, I’m steaming.  My son is whining.  The lady apparently can’t read or needs better glasses.  So again, I get off the line to pull the 6 packs (which are in 0.5 liters) to show her.  As I’m approaching the line again, I see the lady was getting ready to go on her break.  Okay, time for the NY attitude to kick in.  I stop her as she’s leaving the desk and basically yell, “Look, it only comes in half liters in a six pack.  I’m sick of this.  Let me speak to the manager.”  Another worker was nearby and came running to see what the problem was.  She was ready to get the manager.  At the mention of the manager, the lady panics.  She goes back to her station and says, “okay, fine.  I’ll give you the $2.  You sure got a great deal” 

WTF?????  You mean all I had to do was mention getting a manager and I could’ve resolved this from the beginning?  And the thing that irked me even more was the fact that she thought I was trying to pull a fast one on her because she kept mentioning that I was now getting 3 bottles for $1.  Seriously lady, if you can’t stand that I got a good deal….go get your own damn bottles too!

All this to get a $2 checkout coupon for next time.  When I told Papa in Suburbia, he couldn’t stop laughing.  He’s like why did you go through all that just for $2.  It’s not for the $2, I explained.   It’s for the principal.  Why shouldn’t I fight for something that is supposed to be mine?  Why should I let others undermine me?  Right???

And besides, she was lucky it was only for $2.  If it was for a $5 coupon, I would’ve gotten downright nasty from the get-go.

As for me getting back into the blogging saddle, it’s rough.  Call it blogger’s block.  Call it my-brain-is-literally-fried-in-this-100-degree-weather. 

Seriously, we are eyebrows deep in a heat wave.  We hit 100 degrees today.  100 degrees..wtf????   I, of course, was not brave enough to venture outside.  I stayed nice and cool in my air-conditioned house.  The brief 5 minutes that I had to step outside to water my plants, I almost got a heat stroke.  For real.  The minute I opened the door, I felt a hot smack in the face.  The overbearing, excruciating heat just knocks the air out of your lungs.  I couldn’t take more than 5 minutes.  Sorry plants.  I promise I’ll water you tomorrow. 

Hmmmm….see?  Bloggers block.  Blame it on the heat. 

But as I promised my plants, I will deliver tomorrow.

I dread going for blood tests because it’s always a big production.  One look at my arms and I can see the disappointment, the worry, the anxiety in the phlebotomist’s face.  It’s always the same.  They tap my veins, both arms, shake their head, and let out a deep sigh.  Geez, thanks for making me feel comfortable.  But then there are times when I get a really good phlebotomist.  One who knows what they’re doing.  One tap, in goes the needle, and done. 

On a recent trip to get my blood drawn, it took 3 nurses and 3 pokes in my arms for them to draw a teeny, tiny vial of blood.  Nurse A, a very nice lady, took a look at my arms and said, “Oh my, you have tiny veins.”  Yes, I know.  Then came the sigh and the furrowed brows.  She takes out a butterfly needle (one of the smaller needles).  Bless you.   And starts to tap my veins.  She locates one, but I advise her that I don’t think she’ll get any out of that one.  They’ve tried in the past to no avail.  She tries anyways.  Sigh.  In goes the needle.  Nothing.  She starts digging around.  Uh, ouch!  Nothing.  “You okay, sweetie?”  I nod my head.  Uh huh, but stop digging around.  She pulls the needle out, finally realizing there’s nothing there.  And the search goes on for a viable vein. 

She moves on to the next arm.  Taps around.  Then calls in Nurse B, a Ms. Know-it-all who doesn’t know it all.  She looks at the arm and taps around. 

Nurse A:  What do you think?

Nurse B:  Oh yea, there’s something there.

Nurse A:  You wanna give it a try?

Nurse B:  Sure.

Ummm, people…we’re not talking about trying on a pair of shoes here. 

I may not be a doctor or a phlebotomist, or even a nurse…but I seriously don’t see any veins there.  What are these people talking about????  But Nurse B is determined to go in.  But instead of taking out a butterfly needle, she uses a regular, full-size needle.  What are you doing, lady?  She pokes the needle in.  I squirm in pain.  She starts to dig around.  OUCH!!!  There’s no vein there!  This goes on for about a minute.  I let out a scream. Nurse B looks at me and says, “Are you okay?  Does it hurt?”  What the *bleep* do you think???   She pulls out the needle.  “I think we’ll have to send you to the lab”, says Nurse B.  You’re kidding me, right???  After all that?

As I’m getting ready to go, Nurse B says, “Oh maybe So-and-So can try.”  In comes Nurse C.  She looks at my arms.  Shakes her head.  And takes a look at my hands.  She ties an elastic on my wrist, tells me to make a fist, and out pops a vein. She takes a butterfly needle, pokes it in, and draws the blood.   Nurse A and Nurse B stands there watching in awe.  Thank you, thank you Ms. So-and-So.

Finally, done.  I walk out of the office with 3 huge bandages.  One on my left arm, one on my right arm, and one on my right hand.  I look like I was in a fight.  Why do they use bandages?  Why can’t they use a Band-Aid for that little pinhole?  **Sigh**

I don’t know how druggies do it.  Poking themselves over and over again.  But then again, maybe if I was a druggie…I’d have bigger veins.