It’s not you, it’s us.

Dear People Who Used to Read Mommin’ It Up,

So… remember when we had a blog? And people read it? That was fun, wasn’t it? Somewhere along the way, though, we lost our mojo. Or Jenny became gainfully employed and stopped reminding me to post. Something like that.

In any case, as it turns out, blogging is one of those things like exercise – the longer you don’t do it, the harder it is to get back on the wagon.

But as I’ve discovered in the past 45 seconds, it is also like exercise in that once you do do it again, it feels really, really good.

So, all this to say — sorry we have been MIA. It hasn’t been intentional. It’s not you, it’s us.

But we’re alive, we’re doing well, and, while we may not ever be in post-five-days-a-week mode again, every once in a while we will blow the dust off this thing and get back to business.

XOXO,
Emily

P.S. This has nothing to do with the fact that Kate was giving me a hard time the other day about not having a baby book, and me telling her that she absolutely does have one and she can find it on MomminItUp.com, and then me realizing that if I don’t get on the stick, neither of us will remember her tween years. Although that may or may not be a good thing.

P.P.S. This also has nothing to do with the fact that I need ADVICE on a very important subject but didn’t feel right about asking for something straight out of the gate without a vague and unsatisfying explanation of where we’ve been for the past six months. And by very important subject, I mean cupcakes.

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(Dog) Haters Gonna Hate

Earlier this week, TimeHop, the handy app that tells me what I posted through social media outlets on this date in history, reminded me that three years ago, Jenny wrote me the best letter I had ever received.

Now, I don’t say this often – and it pains me a little to do so now – but Jenny was right.

Let’s review her words of wisdom, shall we?

photo by number657 on flickr

photo by number657 on flickr

Dear Cousin,
I love you. Just about as much as I love anyone on this earth. And I have in my past, loved a pet. More than one. I mean I used to let those cats SLEEP WITH ME
[OMG that is SO GROSS, Jenny.] every night, I looooved them, they were my BABIES, and you know what? I’M GLAD THEY’RE GONE. Going pet-free is the best decision we ever made for our family.

And that is the reason I am going to tell you that you should under no circumstances, get a DOG. I know your husband thinks he wants one, I know your daughter thinks she wants one, I know all our readers think your kids are going to turn out to be emotionally stunted irresponsible citizens who make a living stealing other people’s identities if they don’t get a one, but I am here to tell you that they are WRONG. Why? Because YOU don’t want one [she’s right. I didn’t, and I don’t.], and they ultimately want what YOU want, whether they know it or not. This dog will make you unhappy, and when mama’s not happy…she gets TMJ, gets hopped up on muscle relaxers because she can’t deal with letting the dog out in the middle of the night one more time, refuses to leave the bedroom, gets fired from her job, and starts talking to her new hair dryer. [Let’s all say a silent prayer of thanks that I haven’t gone off the deep end quite so much. Yet.]

But you know what? I don’t need to give you any more reasons about how dog hair is gross [I do not have the words to adequately express how much I hate having dog hair all over my house. It makes my blood pressure skyrocket just thinking about it.] (and your cleaning lady is going to start charging you more) [Yep! We had to have her start coming every other week instead of once a month after we got the dog. Because dog hair.], how you are going to have to pick up POOP [Actually I have managed to not do that even once. The fact that I’ve never walked down the street carrying a plastic bag full of crap is one of my biggest accomplishments.] really, both your kids can take care of their own poop, shouldn’t you not rock the poop boat?), how you are going to have to make Kate get a JOB to pay for the tags, license, shots, etcetera that this pooch is going to require. And what if he gets hurt, or sick? Oh, you can just buy health insurance for YOUR DOG. I’m sure that’s cheap. And probably really good coverage. I am sure you will never have to pay out of pocket thousands of dollars so your dog won’t die so your kids won’t be emotionally scarred.

[Let me break in here to say that our dog has epilepsy. That’s right, we have an epileptic dog, and my husband gives him medicine for that condition twice a day. On rare occasions, I have given it to him as well, I am sad to say.]

OH, and YOU HAVE TO PAY MONEY FOR YOUR DOG TO GET A HAIRSTYLE AND A MANICURE. Dubya tee eff, cousin. Like you even have time to get your OWN hair and nails done but your DOG will have to have regularly scheduled appointments?

I just died a little just thinking about it.

Jenny goes on to use my own words against me, and you should really read the rest of the original post because it’s some funny shark.

But anyway, it’s been three years and I still hate having a dog. Like, a lot. I hate the hair (did I mention that?), I hate that he snatches food off the kitchen table and counters, and I hate that guests are welcomed to our home by a dog freaking the hell out the moment the doorbell rings.

In all fairness, I have to give a shout out to my husband. He handles 98 percent of the dog’s care and doesn’t expect me to do it. When we’re away from home, he’s the one who remembers there’s a living thing at our house who probably needs some attention – because I kid you not, it does not cross my mind. And rationally, I recognize that the dog isn’t even a “bad” one. He doesn’t chew anything except tennis balls, he’s continent (which is lucky for him, let’s just say that), and he doesn’t… well, those are all the redeeming qualities I can come up with.

Andy and Kate are convinced, though, that somewhere inside my coal black heart, I possess a soft spot for the dog. Really, they think I do. But I am here to tell you – unequivocally – I hate having a dog.

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Back to Basics

My surgery is scheduled for March 25, and my doctor’s office evidently wants me to be prepared.

Yesterday, I got this in the mail.

image (68)

It’s a handy little pamphlet full of useful information. Highlights include:

— A hysterectomy is the removal of the uterus. During pregnancy, the uterus holds and nourishes the fetus (a baby growing in the woman’s uterus).

— It also depends on the findings of a pelvic exam (a manual examination of a woman’s reproductive organs).

— A needle may be placed in your arm or wrist. It is attached to a tube called an IV line.

— After a hysterectomy, a woman can no longer get pregnant.

It also contained before and after pictures:

At least I’ve got that going for me.

I guess I shouldn’t be making fun of this, because in reviewing it I learned that I’m not actually having a hysterectomy – because they are removing my ovaries (two glands, located on either side of the uterus, that contain the eggs released at ovulation and that produce hormones) and Fallopian tubes (tubes through which an egg travels from the ovary to the uterus) as well, I am actually having a salpingo-oophorectomy. So there’s that.

Anyway, this brochure got me to thinking about the completely absurd educational materials designed to teach girls about getting their period.

Anyone remember this gem?

I was scarred for life after having to watch Daisy Duck get her period when I was in fourth grade.

And then there was the famous uterus pancake featured in the VHS video Always would ship if you sent them a self-addressed stamped envelope. Anyone remember that? Evidently the video itself doesn’t exist on the internet, but I will say google finished my sentence for me when I started to type “uterus pancake video.” (which I do not recommend doing, by the way)

uterus pancake

All of this leaves me with one more question – are men/boys also presented with information about their reproductive health in completely ridiculous ways?
Please tell me there’s a comparable video about Mickey Mouse’s… never mind.

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