Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Don't Mess With Sunday

Here's my typical Sunday:

Morning: 8am-master's swim practice or 9am-yoga or sleep in and let husband make breakfast, drink lots of coffee and embrace robe culture.

Afternoon: Catch up on what I blew off all week which may include: grocery store, laundry, bill paying, house tidying and aggravating Trudy by not letting her sleep.

Evening: Prep for upcoming week by getting lunch food organized, cleaning the gum wrappers from my purse, grouping workout clothes together, planning meals for the week and then stealing away to read a magazine while Husband watches a cartoon extravaganza of which I want no part.

Besides noticing that I'm horribly Type A, you will also notice something else -- nowhere in the plan is a dinner party included. That is because Sunday night dinner parties suck.

Please note that I am not saying the people at dinner parties suck, I'm saying planning crap on a Sunday night frustrates the hell out of me. Especially when it's thrown together last minute. Impulsiveness + encroachment of personal time = one unhappy Jen.

You may wonder, why didn't you just say no? I wasn't given the option. These friends are from out of town and the guy, who is a close friend of Husband, is a "hey-I'm-in-town-for-a-couple-hours-so-let's-do-something-right-now" kind of guy. He's lots of fun and so is his wife. However, I don't care if Russell Brand and Katy Perry want to hang out on Sunday night, I'll be mopey.

I was also called out by Husband last week for not being game for doing stuff I consider slightly inconvenient. So when told we'd been invited to a dinner gathering on the Sunday night at the end of a holiday weekend, I smiled tightly and tried hard to not express my displeasure.

I can hear what you're thinking. Geez, Jen, what a rough life to be invited to dinner with people you like. Call me curmudgeon. But the reality is I'm an anxious over-planner. Lexipro was created for people like me. The best way for me to find peace is to be organized. Take away Sunday night - my most important anti-anxiety window - and my mood goes south quickly.

Being newlyweds, Husband and I are still discovering how the other reacts in certain situations. I feel confident I will no longer be asked to join in anything, anywhere with anyone on a Sunday night. Now I'm off to yoga to work on some mental flexibility because after re-reading this post, I certainly need it.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

A little something sweet

Oh, sugar. I love you so. It’s been a magical last few days as your abundance was celebrated. At home, at work, even in my car. (That’s what happens when you open a bag of Hershey bars on your drive home.)


My love affair with sugar started young and was heavily influenced by my father. Every lunch, dinner or spoonful of savory was followed by a little something sweet. Consequently, our house was littered with random piles of candy, usually purchased at a gas station since he traveled for work.


He kept a stash of taffy in the living room clock, cookies behind the phone books and butterscotch candies in the drawer next to his bed. And yes, I sought them all out. (My giant appetite was the reason he had to hide food in the first place, but that’s another story.)


Always the supporter of the underdog, my dad applied that philosophy to candy, as well. Really awful candy, my dad bought in bulk as if to say, “Don’t worry strange strawberry hard candy with a soft center, I’ll take care of you.” I think he bought Cherry Mashes only because they were made in St. Joseph, Mo.


So in addition to developing a major sweet tooth, I had no ability to discern between quality desserts and straight-up high fructose corn syrup. This is something I struggle with today. I love to bake (surprise!) and take pride in making items from scratch. No box mixes in my house. (To all the moms out there, I realize this will change if I have kids.)


But loving my Barefoot Contessa recipes as I do, I equally heart a Costco white cake with the pudding center. I can hear it singing out to me from the break room on the other end of the building and always partake. Oatmeal cream pie? Yes, please.


Someone suggested immediately brushing my teeth after dinner to keep from delving into the sweets. I laughed. Did she seriously think Crest could overcome the lure of Nutella? Silly girl. Never.