Live, Nude Girl

My daughter has spent a large percentage of the summer naked. There have been days when she started off with no clothes and eventually put something on. Other days, she would start off clothed and gradually removed every stitch. I haven't been too concerned. I remember my friend Jen's daughter Anna liked being naked around that age and she outgrew it. Baby Girl has only streaked in the front yard once and I caught her before the neighbors could pick up the phone and report us. She is happy to wear clothes to go outside or go shopping, so it isn't as though she has dropped trou at Kroger. If anything, it makes the whole potty training thing easier because I am not wrestling her to get her jeans and diapers off in time for her to go. It is also saving a little bit of laundry which is always a huge help. She loves being naked and I love that she isn't hung up on her body. There will be plenty of time for that.

My husband, however, is another story. I noticed lately that he comes home, sees her naked and tells her to put some clothes on. She always obeys, and she goes back to what she is doing. We have a rule that we don't contradict the other parent in front of the kids, so I keep meaning to talk to him about it, but I forget as there are thousands of other random thoughts swirling around my head at any given moment.

Last night, my husband came home for a half hour before having to go back out for a dinner. Baby Girl had been naked the entire day with the exception of the diaper she wore during her nap. He saw her dancing naked in the front of the television and had a distressed look on his face.

"Hey, will you talk to some of your friends and find out if they have problems with their daughters being naked all the time?"

I just sort of looked at him.

"Honey, kids do this all the time. It's just a phase. She likes wearing dresses as much as she likes being naked. It's no biggie."

He just sort of shook his head and walked away. I wanted to talk more, but Peaches was chewing on an extension cord, so I had to tend to her and he left for his dinner.

I've decided to sit down and talk about it tonight and try to put his fears to rest. At first, I thought he might be grossed out by the thought of her rolling around on furniture naked (which I don't let her do.) But I quickly realized that wasn't the problem because he asked me to find out if our friend's DAUGHTERS do the same thing. He thinks she is going to leave home at 16, work a stint at the Shake Shack and then move on to a career in porn.

It's good that he cares. His concern will come in quite handy when she tries to get away with wearing one of her friend's hoopie outfits when she gets older. But in the meantime, I hope to help him to relax about the whole thing. Besides, it's going to get cold soon--she'll get dressed. We may have a nudist, but she's no dummy.

Thanksgiving anyone?

Since going back on Weight Watchers, I have really come to appreciate the foods I desperately miss, as I am currently on my diet of vegetables, diet coke and oxygen. That said, there are only 60ish days until Thanksgiving, so I haven't a moment to lose! Let's plan!!!!

See, I am an Irish Girl, adopted into a Polish Family. As an honoray Polack, I HAVE to be able to cook, or they might think there is something seriously wrong with me (I just KNEW there was something that wasnt right with her...") Easter and Christmas Eve Dinners are critical for proving one's worthiness in a Polish Family. While I love making pierogies, mushroom soup, kluski, haluski, etc, I LIVE FOR THANKSGIVING!

This Thanksgiving is going to be a drastic change for me. My husband and I have managed to get out of having Thanksgiving with our relatives for 12 years. The reason? We got married the day before Thanksgiving and we have always insisted that we go away for our anniversary. It didn't matter that Thanksgiving is a different day every year. It was just understood and no one gave us grief for it. Instead, we have had the good fortune of having Thanksgiving with various friends all these years. And it has been AWESOME! No stress, no family fistfights. Just lots of drinking, eating, laughing and belching. We have enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner in our various apartments, our friends' home in Virginia, a cabin in Pennsylvania, a cabin with a hot tub in Maryland, you get the picture. This year, my husband has decided that it would be rude if we didn't invite his family here since we live only two hours away from them.

WHOA.

It's not that I don't like his family--quite the opposite. It's just that it's going to be weird. I now suddenly worry that my food will be deemed too fancy because it isn't out of a can (except for the canned cranberry sauce--yum!). Whenever we have hosted Thanksgiving, I have always gotten in touch with friends to go over the menu. I have always felt it is important to have dishes that they love in addition to my own. "Mashed potatoes with parsnips you said? Sounds great. I will make those plus MY kind with cream cheese, garlic and heavy whipping cream!" or "Pumpkin pie? Certainly. I will also make two of my sweet potato bourbon pies..." If the food item was something they wanted to prepare themselves, so much the better! I think the bottom line is that I am a Thanksgiving control freak. I want everything to go well, but I ultimately want it to go my way.

A Husband's Family Thanksgiving also means little drinking because it isn't appreciated (unlike a holiday with my mother in which her morning coffee is spiked with bourbon at 5AM.) I am ashamed to admit that I don't think I have actually been completely sober for the past 12 Thanksgivings (except for the 2 in which I was pregnant and all bitched-up). Those dinners are some of the best I have ever eaten. What if they were actually figments of my drunken imagination and my food really tastes like dog crap? What if last year's Organically Fed Free Range Turkey wasn't as succulent as I remember, but because I was pregnant, my hormones led me to believe that it WASN'T cardboard? Now what do I do?

It just seems to early to get hives on my chest over a silly meal. But they're there.

I am off to do some reconnaissance work. I saw that there is a turkey farm down the road and I want to find the best one before someone else gets it. Tonight, I will start planning my menu...

The "F" Word Pity Party

Today, I admit defeat. I have failed miserably. I have managed to completely lose all control in my life and I am not sure how to get it back.

It all started when I had to call my boss and tell her that I cannot do my "So Easy a Monkey Could do it From My Home Office" job for awhile. I felt like a fool. My "Oh My God You're Paying Me Too Much Money" job is a sweet gig that allows me to work a few hours a week from home, based on projects my old employer from New Jersey might have. I can make the same money I did in New Jersey (I would make 1/2 of that here. AND I would have to commute, pay for daycare, etc.) However, I have not been very good at it because of the children. There, I said it. It is all their fault.

I am a recruiter by trade. I like what I do, I think I do a fairly decent job of it most of the time. I just had no idea how difficult a job such as recruiting can be when one has two children who make sure to scream EVERY SINGLE TIME I AM ON THE PHONE. There are only so many times one can apologize to a prospective candidate for a screaming child. They are always very nice, but it does get annoying. Especially for recent college graduates. I am trying to relate to them as a recruiter. It's a little hard to do that when they can hear, "Mommy, I go poopie in my panties. Get off the phone and change me."

Unfortunately, it isn't as simple as moving to another room. They just follow me. If I close a door, Baby Girl beats it down. If I work during naptime, I can still hear them on the second floor as the acoustics are FABULOUS in my house. What is even worse is that I can hear them scream even louder when I am in the basement. And they sleep on the second floor. If I am posting jobs online, Baby Girl comes in and tries to type on the keyboard and play with the mouse. A gentle nudging out the door doesn't do it. I have to forcibly drag her out of the room, and then she hauls off and hits me. Then the real fun begins. I haul her up the stairs and throw her (sort of) into her room and shut the door. Bloodcurdling screaming then begins from not just one child, but the baby too! But, I can't find the baby. That's because she is under the desk pulling all of the cords out of the surge protector and now the computer is off. Doing the work at night is not an option right now as my daughter has decided to be afraid of the dark and scream at the top of her lungs for up to 2 hours a night. What was once a fun job that put a few shekels in my pocket and made me feel like I DID something is something I can't even manage. Fortunately, my boss is terrified of children and could hear my daughter say, "Mommy, I bite Peaches. Hard," when we were on the phone today. She told me to call her when I feel that things are holding up well enough for me to come back. She is wonderful, but I am mortified.

But it doesn't just stop there. I have found that I can't manage to keep the checkbook balanced. How hard is that?! According to my calculations, we are -$45 until my husband gets paid tomorrow. According to the bank, we have boatloads of dough. WTF?! Sure, a good problem to have perhaps, but a problem nonetheless. Because I have the attention span of a gnat, I can't figure out my mistake. I am ruining dinners I used to make all the time, I have managed to ruin several loads of whites of late. I am going to the gym at 5 fucking 45 AM every Monday, Wednesday and Friday and not dropping a pound. I can't keep the house clean and I can't make my kids consistently happy. I feel as though I have no abilities to do anything productive except yell at my kids and I have no passion left in me for anything except the occasional television show. The most exciting thing that happened yesterday was that I found out that Scott Baio is going to be on Arrested Development as the Attorney Bob Loblaw. Just so you are aware, Scott Baio is going to be my third husband, should I dump the one I have and then dump my second husband, John Cusack. Say Bob Loblaw three times really fast and you will see why Arrested Development is one of the funniest shows ever. See what I mean? I am excited about a STUPID television show and nothing else. I need to make real friends here, but I really don't want to. I like the ones I have. I realize that isn't practical, but it's just how I feel. Unfortunately, my friends are a minimum of 4 1/2 hours away and as far away as 18 hours away, so it isn't like I can just hop in the car and go see them when I need to get some fresh air.

I'm not really looking for advice, I just want to put this out there so that in a week, or a month or a year I can read this and chide myself for being such a self-absorbed jackass.

A Present!!!

Thursday, Baby Girl and I went to get the mail. When we opened the front door, a package was on our porch.

"What is it, Mommy? Is it a present for me?"

"Well, Sweetie, the box is addressed to me, so it might be for someone else in the house."

Secretly, I know darn well that the box is for Baby Girl. I just don't want her to go through life thinking that every box that comes to the house is for her. Which, in fact, they have been since December of 2002. The box was from my friend Erin , who is an Acting Coach and Director Extraordinaire. I admire her talents (many) and her wit (sharp) and her ability to be a snake charmer with children. While Erin is perfectly suited in her field, I could just as easily envision her opening up "Auntie Erin's Fabulous Daycare." The rooms would all be purple with stars on the walls, and there would be entire rooms with dress-up clothes for make believe. She would have incredble productions of Hamlet or Carousel or Spamalot performed by 2 and 3 year olds and they would be the talk of the town. I have a feeling that if I had 1/8th of Erin's abilities, my child would never be bored with me.

Once I got the box open, there was a cute little bunny for Peaches and a FABULOUS unicorn get-up for Baby Girl. She insisted on immediately wearing it and screamed, "I'M A HORSIE! I AM A HORSIE!" After I explained to her the differences between a unicorn and a horse, she informed me that her name was Dora (of course) and she was a unicorn and was going to go have some adventures. She spent all day wearing it and enjoyed prancing around.

She was quite proud and couldn't wait to show it to Daddy when he got home. She has since worn it to two banks, the grocery store, and Old Navy. She also insisted on wearing it when we took Peaches to the doctor, but opted at the last minute to remove it before going in. Her favorite way of wearing it is in the buff. That in of itself is not so surprising since she is now our resident Lady Godiva. The thank you card cannot be getting to Erin fast enough!!!!

Potty Training Part Deux

Well, the potty training is moving right along. I have reduced the number of M&M's to four per pee and make Baby Girl sit on the potty quite a while so that she is not eating an entire daily diet of M&Ms. She got mad when I initially told her she gets 4 instead of 5. Now, I tell her she gets "Quatro" instead of "four" and she is PSYCHED! She has had no pee accidents since the weekend, so I think that's good.

Here's the dilemna: I think I have totally freaked her out about pooping. The last time she pooped in her pants (Monday) it was, by far, the worst ever! I MAY have freaked out a little bit. Not much, but I think she is now afraid to poop. And it is all my fault. Baby Girl eats a lot of fruit every day, so I am quite surprised that she hasn't done the deed since Monday. She has always been a regular child, if you know what I mean. I have asked her if she needs to go but she always says no.

A friend of mine suggested that I go to the Dollar Store and buy a bunch of 6 for $1 toys, wrap them in tissue paper and put them in a bowl. Then, everytime she poops on the potty, she will get one. The idea is that she gets excited about the surprise and it will eventually steer her away from food rewards. Well, I don't need to go to the Dollar Store. When we moved here, we kept half of her toys in the basement because I thought she had way too much stuff. I figure I will find all the small stuff and wrap it up. She has long forgotten these toys anyway.

I thought I would pump her up this morning about the whole pooping thing. I need to leave the house this morning as we haven't left since Sunday and I just KNOW that if there is pooping to occur, it WILL be at the Super Target.

"Hey Baby Girl, do you need to go poop on the potty?"

"No thank you, Mommy."

"Well, guess what, when you poop on the potty, you are going to get a surprise!"

"A SURPRISE?!?!?! Is it candy?"

"No."

"Is it applesauce?"

"No."

"Is it PUDDING?"

"No."

"Is it butter? I love butter!"

Monday Bitch and Moan

I need to spend a couple of minutes whining about how horrible potty training is. I read all the books and have read other people's blogs and have been so excited about the wonderful ideas presented. That is, until I have tried to incorporate them in my home.

After weeks of offering dolls, tatoos, stickers, candy, juice, a pony and a car I finally just shut off the television. I told my daughter that if she peed on the potty she would get 5 M&Ms and could watch some TV. The first few days SUUUUUUCKED, particularly in the mornings. Because she had no television to watch, she suddenly thought I would be her sole source of entertainment. Au Contraire, mon Frere! However, the lightbulb has popped on and she is all about peeing in order to suck down some M&Ms and watch her Noggin. She has also gotten quite sly. She will pee 3 drops and demand her M&Ms and then go back 4-5 more times in 10 minutes. I have now reduced her amount of M&Ms to 4 per pee which has made her quite annoyed, but still fairly compliant.

I am still offering her exciting prizes if she poops on the potty, but she will have none of it. She is also crapping in her panties and NOT TELLING ME. My favorite is when she flat out denies it. I thought I would be saving money on baby wipes while she potty trains, but I am using no less than 40 when she poops the panties. Ugggghhhhh. What is really hilarious is that my husband has no concept of what it is like to change poopy panties as opposed to a poopy diaper. He practically fainted yesterday when I asked him to rinse out a pair of poop-stained underwear and then throw it in a bleach bucket I have in the mud room. AND THERE WAS HARDLY ANYTHING ON THEM!! I had already done the gross part. Sheesh!

Other than that, there is nothing new to report. Sunday we went to Kings Island which is a huge amusement park here in Cincinnati. They had it open this weekend for the company my husband works for which was quite nice. It is truly amazing all the crap one packs just to go on a day trip for two little girls. The backpack had diapers, wipes, extra panties for Baby Girl(the whole potty training crap), extra clothes for Baby Girl (should she shit herself and all), raisins, formula, two bottles, water, crackers, something with peanut butter (in case Baby Girl experiences a protein crash), crayons and paper for the 20 minute drive, sunscreen, two hats, and M&Ms (in case Baby Girl pees on a public potty). I distinctly remember my mom bringing nothing but bologna sandwiches, apples and the back of her hand whenever we went anywhere. Oh how times have changed.

I'm done bitching now. Move along.

A Sure Sign That That My Internet Shopping and EBaying Must Stop

My daughter and I were in the playroom this morning putting together puzzles when we realized there were many pieces missing. She got on her telephone and said the following:

"Hello, Brown Man. We missin loffa loffa puzzo pieces. Can you bring some in your twuck? OK Bye."

Under the Category "I Can't Even Make This Stuff Up"

So, I just got off the phone with the Eagle Tee Golf Course. My Husband dropped his golf clubs off at the clubhouse last night after he hit a bucket of balls.


"Yeah, Ma'am?" I just wanted to let you know that your husband's golf bag is full of cow shit in the bottom of it." NOTE: This is a DIRECT QUOTE!

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah. It's full of cow shit so we have it outside on account that it smells so bad."

At this point, I am laughing out of sheer embarassment and wonder.

"Um, do you mean it's on the bottom of the bag?"

"NO. It's INSIDE the bag. Do you live on a farm of somethin'?"

"Uh, no." (More embarassed laughter) "We certainly DON'T live on a farm. Don't you think it would be a bit difficult for a cow to do that in a golf bag?"

"Well, Ma'am, I'm just calling to let you know that it smells bad."

"I'll be sure to let my husband know."

On Being Pretty-ful

I took this picture of my daughter this morning after she yelled, "I'm pretty-ful!" I wanted to capture this moment of happiness for her.

When she announced that she was pretty-ful I have to admit, I got a little teary. I am so proud to have a daughter who has a lot of sass and confidence. While she is certainly a handful most days, it is my hope that this confidence will prevail during the really tough teenage years and continue through adulthood . I am also somewhat envious of her confidence. I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't filled with some sort of self-doubt and loathing for some feature or aspect of myself that I possess. I would imagine I had it when I was her age.

All Aboard!

Well, I have come down from my vacation high and am back at my job as conductor of the crazy train. So far, Baby Girl hasn't noticed that she is not going to school anymore. It probably helps that I have no intentions of driving past the school for the next six months. We'll see how that goes.

Vacation was an absolute blast. This was the first year in the four years we have gone to the shore that it didn't rain once and it wasn't 300 degrees. The kids had a wonderful time, I got to see my friends' new BEEEYOUTIFUL baby and my husband came out ahead playing poker. I even got some errands done while I was there. For starters, I was in need of a pedicure, so my girlfriends and I went out for an afternoon of pampering. We did the same thing last year and had a wonderful time. What's not to like when one is sitting in the "Princess 2000" Pedicure Lounger with feet soaking in herbal infused warm water and reading magazines?! Ahhhhh. I even had the same woman do my feet as last year (not that she remembered). The reason I remember is that she is a dead ringer for Carmella Soprano--no shit. I have been so tempted over the past two summers to ask her if she is related to Edie Falco, but I am too afraid. I mean, what if she is her sister and is BITTER that she's not making the big bucks instead of sloughing 4 inches of callouses off of my gnarly dogs? It's better not to know.

I am a creature of habit with my pedicures. This means that I only like French Pedicures. So, I handed Carmella the white polish and happily opened my magazine. We shared a few pleasantries here and there, but for the most part, I was enjoying my magazine. It wasn't until she was done that I realized my mistake:

No, those aren't Chicklets glued to my toes. That is the polish. I am so used to going to salons where English is the 3rd or 4th language, that when you hand a person white nail polish, you are going to get a french pedicure. I didn't think I had to actually TELL her that I wanted one. My mistake. However, I didn't have time to have her change it because I had a haircut scheduled upstairs. So I ran upstairs to get a haircut while my girlfriends sat on their "Princess 2000" loungers waiting for their toes to dry.

There is nothing quite like a scalp massage by the shampoo girl at a salon. I have never been able to replicate it on myself, so I always enjoy it when someone else washes my hair. After that was done, I was directed to "Katie's chair." Katie took me by surprise. She was quite loud, messy and wore fake Ugg boots with her too tight denim mini skirt. I have learned to not judge a book by it's cover, so I sat back, preparing to be dazzled.

Instead, I heard "OH MY GOD! DID YOU KNOW YOU HAVE SEVERE PSORIASIS ON YOUR SCALP?!?!?"

At that moment, time stood still in the salon. Sure, I had noticed a couple of flakes here and there over the past few weeks, but I thought it was dandruff and I was using all kinds of fancy products to get rid of it. Because she was combing my scalp off, GOBS and GOBS of flakes were on the top of my head. Everyone around her stopped what they were doing and turned around. I tried to sink lower in my chair, but it didn't matter. The damage was done.

"You need to go see a dermatologist right away to get rid of this!' Oh God, look at it! Look at how it is collecting on my comb. See it? SEE IT?!"

"Wow! It's pretty unusual to have psoriasis on your crown. Usually it is on the back side of your head. WOW!"

I couldn't believe that my friends downstairs couldn't hear her shrieking about my flakes. I wanted to die. Keep in mind, all of this happened before she even asked me what I wanted done. I told her to just cut up to my longest layer, which took her two minutes. What was even worse was that she refused to blow dry my hair because that would make it worse. Hmmm, what's worse, exactly...parading through a very busy salon to get my friends from the first floor with flakes the size of dimes on my wet head or blowing my head dry and letting me deal with my problem later while I still had a shred of dignity? Needless to say, I ran downstairs and said to my friends, "Can we please go NOW?!" Thankfully, we ran to the nearest bar and had drinks and I soon forgot about my hair trauma.

Oh, yeah. Enough about me for a minute. Here are pictures of the girls at the beach.



















OK, now back to me! I have a date tomorrow night with my husband!!!! YIPPEE! We have not had an evening without children since the week before Peaches was born 7 months ago. I have secured a sitter and we will be going someplace fabulous.

Here is the problem with going someplace fabulous. I have nothing fabulous to wear. My wardrobe is solely from the Target/Old Navy Spitup Collection and I haven't the ability nor patience to buy something nice. Oh yeah, did I mention that I am a virtual WHALE from living la vida loca while at the beach?! A trip to a store would reduce me to tears for sure! I should probably cancel the reservation and convince my husband that going to Skyline Chili or Denny's will be just the ticket for our romatic night out.

The bigger problem is trying to figure out what we will talk about. We haven't had a meaningful discussion in months that wasn't interrupted by:
"Iwantdinner.Franklin'sonnext. Scoo Mee Mommy, I poopied. Iwantdinner. Iwantagooutsideandslide/swing. Iwantapaint." See my dilemna?

I am taking suggestions for interesting topics for Husband and I to discuss while eating. Please feel free to give me some ideas. I prefer that they not pertain to our children, our finances, sports, Katrina or the food we are eating.

Thanks for your help!!!

Vacation Confessional

"Forgive me Weight Watchers Counselor, but I have eaten," I whispered.

"Go on my chubby child," she gently prodded.

"I, uh, gained some weight while I was on vacation at the shore," I confessed.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, just pick yourself up and start again!" she cried.

"Well," I sighed, "it seems that I gained six pounds."

"SIX POUNDS?!?!?" she bellowed. "Holy guacomole! How is it possible that you gained nearly a pound a day on your vacation?!"

"Well, it's not like I meant to gain that weight, Sister Skinnypants. It just, um, happened," I stammered.

"You are full of beans. Or maybe lard! Were you lying down the entire 8 days or did you indulge in ANY physical activity?" she asked.

"Oh, I was totally active!!! I walked up a huge dune to get to the beach a couple of times and schlepped a bunch of crap and my kids, so I guess that counts. "

"Anything else?"

I did LOTS of 12 oz. curls and I got a pedicure and a haircut! Oh, yeah--I went shopping too!" I exclaimed.

"What a bunch of Poppycock! That isn't much exercise! Surely you did something else?!"

"Uh, I guess not."

"I'm assuming you used your 35 weekly bonus points, then?" she asked.

"I believe I used my weekly 35 bonus points each of the 8 days, so I don't think I can use any for the next couple of months, right?" I asked.

"That would be correct! Pray tell, how much food did you EAT?!"

"Well, Your Most Holy Thinness, I thought I started off the vacation OK, but we were staying in a house with 6 other people and there were things there that I normally don't eat."

"Like what?" she queried.

"For starters, there were Pringles there. Plain. Yummy. Pringles," I said.

"Did you forget that they make reduced fat Pringles?" she asked.

"Not at all! As a matter of fact, when I did the grocery shopping with my friends, I even bought a can. But when it came time for me to eat them, they were gone. I think someone accidently ate them."

"Well, a few Pringles does not 6 pounds make. What else happened last week?"

"One night, Stevo made steaks as big as our heads, but I only ate half of one, so I guess that isn't so bad. I had sauteed scallops and shrimp too! The men in the house also prepared breakfast meats every morning like Taylor Pork Roll and bacon." I said, salivating at the memory.

"What is a Taylor Pork Roll?" she asked.

"Well, it's a favorite in Philly and New Jersey. It's a pork product of sorts that is quite yummy. I have never actually looked at the label because I didn't want to not enjoy it," I confessed.

"I see. Well, what else did you eat to put on that kind of weight?"

"Well, I will confess that my downfall was the sweets. Normally, I am not a big sweets person, but I throw it all away when I stay with these guys at the beach house. I ate Hershey Bars and Devil Dogs and Yodels and Funny Bones and Kandy Kakes --"

"What on Earth are you talking about?" she asked, horrified. "Didn't you remember the Weight Watcher Credo, "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels? Didn't you keep a sandwich bag of carrots or broccoli with you at all times? What about Rice Cakes or a fat free yogurt?! Did you lose your mind?"

"Are ya kiddin' me? Have you ever TASTED a Devil Dog or a Funny Bone? You would have lost your mind too!" I huffed. "Don't even get me started on the ice cream!"

"Am I to assume that you didn't eat your Weight Watcher 2 point ice cream treats or a Skinny Cow ice cream bar?" she asked.

"I am embarrased to say that you assume correctly. I ate nearly an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra in addition to other flavors of ice cream almost every evening.

"Did a fruit or vegetable even touch your lips the entire time you were on vacation?"

"Do potato chips or ketchup count?" I queried.

"Hardly!" she yelled.

What is my penance, oh Savior of the Salad Bar?" I trembled.

"Well, Husky Hausfrau, you need to injest 20 2-liters of seltzer water and about 10 lbs. of carrots before you are back to your old self. See that this doesn't happen again!"

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied.

Have a great week!" she trilled.