When in doubt, watch Food Network

This weekend is Drew's birthday party spectacular. We are heading to Boise so he can spend his own personal holiday with Oma and Opa and his best friends. It also gives me an excuse to insist all my friends clear their calendars and spend every waking second with me. Just sayin'.

It is hard to believe Drew is going to be 9. When did that happen? It was 5 minutes ago when I still held primary responsibility for wiping his butt. Now he is practically asking for the car keys and sneaking in right at curfew. I would tell you how old that makes me feel, but I've already forgotten what I was talking about.

This week has been better on the anxiety front. I still haven't managed to make it through a day without hiding in a bathroom stall in order to talk myself down from yet another ridiculous panic attack, but I have smiled more, so...you know...I WIN!

Eric is trying to cope with my insanity. I feel bad for the guy. You would think I was regularly whapping him on the nose with a newspaper. Everytime he walks in the room and I open my mouth to say something I swear he literally ducks. I keep waiting for him to develop temporary psychosomatic deafness as a coping mechanism. It hasn't happened yet, but I am pretty convinced a diagnosis of PTSD is forthcoming.

In the meantime I watch a lot of Chopped on Food Network and avoid using my "out loud" voice. The bonus is I now know two very important things: 1. That a squab is a tiny little chicken-like creature. - and - 2. Don't puree cactus pear with raw red onion.

You're welcome.

Speaking of Food Network, my weightloss adventure (see how upbeat I am? It's an adventure! (...an adventure is constant hunger, aching muscles and a chronic lack of anything actually resembling weightloss...) I know I am doing something fundamentally wrong, but I can't quite figure out what. Excercise? Check. Smaller portions? Check. Vegetable-laden plates? Check. Actual weightloss? Not a freakin' check anywhere on the freakin' horizon despite the constant hunger and aching muscles. I would hire a trainer or a health coach, but I'm afraid they would yell at me for eating an M&M. I guess I'll keep at it. Eventually the weather will warm up enough that I can run more often. The elliptical just isn't cutting it. If anyone has an extra treadmill sitting around under a pile of sweaters and feels oddly compelled to drive it all the way to Nevada that would be great. I'd make it worth your while.

We could watch Food Network together. And eat vegetables. And maybe squab.