Type A is for Bakers (Or, Matt just wanted to make cookies)

I’ve had several people in my life tell me I’m Type A and I have never bought it. In my mind, the evidence against me being Type A is enormous and insurmountable.

Exhibit A: My basement stairs? Don’t remember the last time I vacuumed them.

Exhibit B: My laundry? Everywhere, most likely unfolded, definitely not put away.

Exhibit C-D: I have an outside furniture project I started over a month ago and still have yet to finish and we can’t even start talking about the state of my room/bathroom because I will have to resort to day drinking to combat depression.

Despite this (and many, many other examples of my slovenly existence), I have been likened to Leslie Knope more than once (A fantastic compliment that I take even though I consider it misplaced.) and one of my newest friends has repeatedly laughed and said “you’re so type A”.

One of the first time I was told this was right after I told someone I enjoyed baking.

“You must be Type A.” she said “You probably enjoy doing things exactly the way they’re meant to be done.”

I’ll admit, I do appreciate that aspect of baking. (Follow the recipe and boom! Cake!) I also love the transformation that takes place when you bake. Mushy brown blobs become irresistible cookies. Boring white cream becomes fluffy whipped topping. It’s very rewarding. As are the compliments that come whenever people taste whatever I’ve made. (Unless the taster is my professional chef brother, who likes to tell me things are “fine”.)

I also enjoy the challenge of baking and find it a very calming hobby. I learned this week, however, that I apparently do not find it calming when I’m trying to help someone (say, my husband) do baking for me.

On Tuesday this week we were scheduled to have dinner with some friends. We were asked to bring dessert, a thing I usually love to do. Leading up to Tuesday, however, we had a hectic weekend and then a late-ish Monday night with guests. So I didn’t get a chance to peruse cookbooks or baking sites and find something fun to make. I was distraught that perhaps we’d have to just go the store bought route when Matt said the words I’m sure he soon regretted.

“I’ll make something baby, don’t worry about it.”

Quick additional note…not only do I not consider myself Type A, I also don’t consider myself to be a micro-manager. I’ve worked for a world class micro-manager before and it was so horrible that I’ve always tried to not be that way.

Try to keep all of that in mind as you read the following exchange between me and my beloved husband, all in the name of dessert:

9:20 AM

Me : so…what if Amy (Note: babysitter) and GiGi made cookies or something while Georgia napped today? Is she taking them somewhere? Because we have to bring a dessert…

Matt: I don’t think she’s taking them anywhere. I’ll make cookies. I’ll go grab some supplies at lunch.

Me: Yeah? If she’s into it they could do it, i’m sure GiGi would like it. But whatever’s easiest. Sorry I didn’t get it done last night.

Matt: It’s cool, we had company.

Me: Do you want me to find you a recipe or something?

Matt: Sure.

<Five minutes pass during which Matt possibly realizes he’s made a huge mistake.>

Me: Does this look easy enough to you? You combine things in a food processor basically. And it’s just a few ingredients.

<I send him this recipe for mini chocolate hazelnut cheesecakes from Food & Wine>

Matt: I was thinking more along the lines of a cookie dough that I roll into balls and place on a baking sheet.

Me: Lol fine. This seems way easier to me, even though it looks more complicated. But I’ll find a cookie recipe if you want.

<Two minutes pass>

Me: You want to make a dirt cake?

Matt: <referring to the cheesecake recipe> Baby, that is not a simple recipe. It might be simple to you.

Me: omg that recipe has 3 steps! It’s so easy!

Matt: Three giant ass steps. Each step has  five steps.

Me: Grind up the first set of ingredients, put in muffin liners. Bake. Grind up the other stuff, put on top of crust in muffin cups, bake.

Matt: How about this: mix ingredients, place on baking sheet, bake.

Me: I hear you. The “mix ingredients” part for cookies is just usually messier and involves multiple measuring cups/spoons and prep bowls. I was also thinking of dishes damage here. BTW I’m serious about the dirt cake option. I also think that will be less work than cookies.

Matt: I think I’m okay with using multiple measuring cups and spoons, I’m envisioning one bowl…you know what? I’ll find something.

Me: hahahahaha. You don’t like my dirt cake idea?

Matt: No.

Me: How about rice krispy treats? And we could bring a thing of strawberries and whipped cream and do a sort of modified strawberry shortcake?

Matt: omg.

Me: Rice krispy treats are no big deal! I’ve made them while drunk! (note: true story. best rice krispy treats of my life.)

Matt: I am going to make some cookies. That’s it.

Me: <not letting the krispy treat thing go.> Melt butter with marshmallows, add rice krispies, put in dish to cool. Boom. Done.

<Almost 10 minutes pass with no response from Matt>

Me: Are you just ignoring my baking options now?

Matt: I texted you.

I go to check my phone and sure enough there’s a text from about 10 minutes earlier:

Hey, it seems like my chats aren’t coming through, so I thought I would text you and let you know that I’m going to make cookies tonight. Love you!

I go back to chat:

Me: hahaha. omg. I want you to know that what I googled was “easy impressive desserts”. I was trying to go easy for you!

Matt: Everything seems easy to you. I need something that is both easy and not time consuming. I don’t really care about the “impressive” part.

Me: It’s not that I’m not hearing you. It’s that I think cookies are more time consuming than what I’ve been proposing, especially since you usually have to make several batches – it’s not like you get them all on one sheet.

Matt: I seriously underestimated how much discussion there was going to be when I said I would make something.

Cue me feeling a pang of anxiety as I think I’ve stepped over the line and now have an Angry Matt on my hands. I’ve been laughing this whole time, aware of my insanity, but who knows how he’s taking this over the impersonal medium of gchat? Has he resolutely placed me in the “Nag” category forever?

Me: Sorry. I’ll leave you alone. Honestly I thought I was helping.

Matt: It’s fine I just think it’s funny.

Me: Oh really? You’re not frustrated? I thought you were getting mad at me.

Matt: No I’m not mad.

Me: Phew. I’ve been laughing too.

Matt: You’re a total baking micro-manager. You can’t help it.

Me: I can’t remember the last time you baked something. so….in my mind this is uncharted territory and I look at it more as a mentor/mentee situation.

Matt: Which is why it was so funny that the first thing you sent me was mini chocolate hazelnut cheesecakes that need to be baked twice.

Me: But see I see that as the oven doing all the work for you! “mix this – bake. mix that – bake – done”

At this point we move on to other things and I don’t hear about this for hours. And then…

1:24 PM

Matt: Okay I’m going to try this, do we have what we need and what would I have to get? <He sends me the link for the mini chocolate hazelnut cheesecakes>

Me: You don’t have to do that.

Matt: Do they sell skinned hazelnuts? Because I’m not buying hazelnuts and skinning them myself.

Me: Just use almonds or pecans, we have both in our pantry.

2:42 PM

Matt: So we have unsalted butter?

Me: No I never use unsalted butter. Just use butter.

Matt: Where are the liners?

Me: Baking cabinet – the one underneath my mixer – left hand side – pull out the shelf.

3:58 PM

Matt: Fuck me.

Me: ????

Matt: I forgot the Nutella…also I didn’t spray down the liners.

4:04 PM

Matt: well in a move that will almost certainly end in disaster, I pulled everything out after one minute in the oven when I realized I didn’t have Nutella in there. Tried to mix a dollup of Nutella in with each one, and put them back in, subsequently mixing in the chocolate chips.

Me: It’s going to be delicious.

Matt: “Mixing” in the Nutella is a very generous term.

Me: It will be a swirl. Perfect. People love marble cheesecake.

Matt: “Stirred the blob of Nutella” is more accurate. “Moved around”.

Me: I’m dying. I can’t wait to eat them.

I get home from work and we head to our dinner. The kids know dessert is coming and can barely choke down their pork chops and broccoli before we finally tell them it’s time for dessert.

And you know what? They were pretty good!

The Nutella kind of settled in the middle of the cheesecake filling so it actually seemed almost intentional. Like a bonus shot of hazelnut chocolate goodness. I had always planned on serving them with a can of whipped cream someone had brought over. Matt took this as an insult to his baking skills but I promised him it was just a way to use up this whipped cream.

Can you see the Nutella center in there?

In the end I think we all learned something. I learned that perhaps there is some credence to these Leslie Knope comparisons…

And Matt learned next time, if there is a next time, he should just stay quiet and make the damn cookies.


Dear Georgia Sue

Last night you woke up around 12:30 or so. I guess that’s technically this morning and not last night. Regardless, it was simultaneously too early and too late for you to be awake. I was on my way to bed (perhaps by the time you’re a bit older Dada and I will be better at going to bed at a reasonable hour, though I doubt it) and even though we’re more “cry it out” parents I thought you’d settle down faster if I just helped you for a few minutes. According to the internet/other moms/mountains of unsolicited parenting advice, that decision I made will either turn you into a spoiled dictator of a child and ruin your chances of being a well adjusted person or it will nurture the bond we’ve been forming since I saw two pink lines on that pregnancy test and help us grow closer to the goal of you telling me everything that happens in your life and maybe never moving out because you love  me so much.

Sometimes I envy how simple your world is. I hope you can still see simplicity through the madness as you grow up in this chaotic world.

(Also – please move out one day.)

Your hair was covering your face. Remember a year ago when you had practically no hair?

Baby Georgia

Now not only do you have hair, it’s kind of curly at the end and it’s darker than your sister’s was when she was one and a half. Maybe you’ll look more like me one day. Though I hope you’re spared my nose.

Georgia hair

Speaking of noses, yours is currently all banged up. You have a tendency to think you can do things that are just a bit too much for you (not sure where you get that…personally I’m great at setting realistic expectations for myself) and so when you woke up from your nap on Saturday you didn’t wait for one of us to come get you out of your crib. You just got out. I wasn’t there so I’m not sure what happened, but now you look like Rudolph and everyone asks me what happened. We should talk about what story I should tell – I’m sure you’re embarrassed to have fallen out of bed. We can come up with a better narrative.

I changed your diaper. There wasn’t much in it, but you never know. There was a chance that’s what woke you up. As I changed it I thought of you at fellowship that morning, desperately trying to open the door to the bathroom with one hand while pulling up your shirt with the other and repeating “potty” over and over.

Maybe you will be potty trained sooner than I think. That would be a nice present.

(Sorry the bathroom thing ended in you crying though. Someday you’ll understand I’m showing my love for you by not letting you touch toilet water. Especially in public restrooms.)

After changing you I took you to the kitchen to re-fill your bottle. You looked very confused by all the lights still on in the house. I know in your mind the world stops once you go to bed. In reality, we miss you of course, but also we’re happy to have a chance to watch the series finale of Downton Abbey in peace. I don’t know if you could appreciate how much it really matters if Lady Edith ends up happy.

You scored a bonus goodnight kiss from Dada and then we went back into your room. You weren’t interested in the bottle. Most other nights I probably would have deposited you in your crib with a quick kiss and headed to bed myself. Considering what time it was, I should have done that last night too. But I didn’t. I sank into the glider in your room and held you in my arms and just rocked for awhile.

You’re almost too big to cradle in my arms. Especially since these days you prefer to stretch out, arms behind your head.

Hands behind head

You didn’t say anything or make any noises. You didn’t cry. You didn’t try to escape. You just lay there, watching the cow endlessly jump over the moon in the projection from your sound machine. After a few minutes your eyelids got heavy and you started to drift off.

I sat there and watched you. Not in a creepy way like the mom from “I Love You Forever”.


I don’t know how many more times you’re going to fall asleep in my arms. Your dad jokes that I’m always so pessimistic about things, but sometimes thinking about how things inevitably must end helps me appreciate what’s happening in the moment. Before we had your sister I tried to appreciate the moments we had alone, just as a couple. And when she was our only one I tried to appreciate our world of three. And now that you’re here and so determined to Grow Up Like GiGi, I have to appreciate these moments of Baby You.

You really love her. Almost as much as she loves Paw Patrol. 

I sat there and watched you fall asleep and thought about how much I’d like to stop time and forget everything but you and your sweet face. I’ve thought the same thing about GiGi I don’t know how many times. How magnificent it is that our hearts can love so many people so completely.

I thought about God too. Having GiGi and you has given me a new perspective on God’s relationship with us as our Father. There you were, so utterly at ease with me, your parent. Trusting completely that I would take care of you and give you what you needed. That I would keep you safe. That’s how we should be with Him. But we’ll talk about that later, when you can understand more.

Eventually we both went to bed. You didn’t make a peep when I laid you down, and slept soundly until this morning as far as I know. I don’t know if you dream already (probably you do?), but I hope your dreams were good if they were there. I hope they were filled with you doing all the things you want to do. Like get out of bed without injury. Or go potty like a big kid. Or style your own hair in something other than a whale spout.

I hope so much for you.

Let’s start with my hope that you sleep through tonight.

Bath smiles

A Joking Matter

As GiGi gets older we see new things with her just about every day. I can kind of understand the plight of everyone other than the oldest child because there is just ever so slightly less excitement with their milestones since you’ve had that experience before. Of course we’re excited when Georgia does something new but we also talk about things in comparison to GiGi like “Oh wow GiGi never did that.” or “Aw remember when GiGi was in that stage?” I’m sure the internet would tell me I’m a terrible mother for ever having those thoughts but what else is new.

GiGi is a talker that’s for sure. And I’ve mentioned before that she likes to be in charge all the time, so not only does she talk, she likes to dictate the topic of conversation. On Saturday she accompanied me on errands and decided at one point we were going to tell jokes. I tried to recall the whole exchange for your reading enjoyment.

Spoiler alert: four year olds are terrible at jokes.

“Ok mama let’s tell jokes.”


“You go Mama.”

“Why did chicken cross the road?”

“To get to other side!”

“You knew it! Ok baby your turn.”

“How does a motorcycle go on the road?”


“It jumps! <bursts into hysterical laughter>”

“Ok, what’s black and white and read all over?”



(More hysterical laughter, though I am now wondering how much exposure to newspapers she’s even had. It’s her turn now, and she clearly takes a page from my book.)

“What’s yellow and green?”

“A bug.”


“I don’t know. What?”


(I don’t feel like I need to say every time that there was hysterical laughter. Just know it happened every time. Also – how gross would green and yellow toothpaste be? Yellow? No thank you.)

“Ok GiGi, knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”


“Mama, let’s do knock knock jokes!”

“Ok. You go.”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”


“Banana who?”

“Banana peel!!”

(Do you think we can safely assume that to a young person such as GiGi the humor in all these “jokes” comes from just realizing you know things about the world? Like motorcycles go on roads and bananas have peels? Regardless – again – hysterical laughter. My turn.)

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”


“Mama, I did that one.”

“No it’s a new one. Banana.”

“Banana who?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”


“Banana who?”

“Knock knock.” (confession: I was laughing at this point. It is pretty amusing seeing these dumb jokes actually succeed.)

“Who’s there?”


“Mama, that’s not how they go.”


<with a hint of exasperation> “Banana who?”

“Knock knock.” (again I’m laughing)

“Who’s there?”


“Orange peel!!” <Hysterical laughter>

“No not orange peel. Orange.”

“Orange who?”

“Orange you glad I didn’t say banana!?!”

“Mama, that’s not a joke.” <disappointment>

“Ok, should I do another one?”


“Ok, knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Interrupting cow.”



“….interrupting cow who?”

“No baby that’s the joke. I interrupted you. By saying moo. Because I’m the interrupting cow.”

“Oh. What is interrupting?”

<Definitely didn’t read the room correctly when I chose that classic joke.>

This went on for a couple more minutes, and I had recorded a voice memo on my phone to be able to recount it exactly. But the phone must have been too close to the window of the moving car because all I get is static. Sorry about that. To make amends, here’s a video of her telling jokes with Matt and I a few months ago. Hysterical laughter and terrible jokes in person with cameos of sisterly affection and demands for laughter.

Happy Wednesday.


Monday Friday

Matt and I work so well together partly because we have a similar social agenda. We love our family and friends, and we want to hang out with them, but we also love being hermits at home who binge watch old episodes of “Happy Endings”. Sometimes we have different ideas of how often to hang out with people but for the most part we’re in sync and it works because we both contribute to the prep, hosting, and clean up it takes to have people over.

Sunday was the 88th Academy Awards and for the first time since moving to IL we hosted a viewing party. The first time we threw one was 2013 and we thought it would be fun to come up with themed food for the best picture nominees.

S’Amours for example. Man those were delicious.


This year was no different.

Thing is, we’re just a teensy bit control freaks. And so we make ALL the food. And invite 20 people over. And since Italian food habits are genetically transferred (science tidbit for your day, you’re welcome) I can’t just make SOME food I have to make enough food for EVERYONE to have AS MUCH of EVERYTHING as they want. If you don’t leave my house with a food baby, I’ve failed.

Needless to say, the weekend was busy leading up to the red carpet start time at 6 Sunday night.

It’s somewhat of a tradition that about 2 hours before a party starts the hermit in me wakes up from her nap and says “Hey Party Abby, you look like you’re working really hard. Wouldn’t it be nice if you just canceled and ate all those potato skins yourself?” (Hermit Abby is fatter than Party Abby. Party Abby wears a lot of satin and chiffon and mostly survives on champagne.) When this happens the logical part of me knows we won’t cancel, but I still throw it out there in case Matt’s inner hermit is telling him the same thing and this time he feels like listening.

Despite the best efforts of Hermit Abby, we had our party. And it was fun and there was plenty of food. There was also plenty of alcohol (see above: “The Big Shot”, as well as wine. Plenty of wine)…which is where I may have miscalculated. See, Party Abby exists on champagne and perpetually acts at least a decade younger than Real Abby. So when it’s 10 PM and the sensible guests have gone home to get some sleep since it is Sunday night after all…and there’s still half a bottle of wine and a couple Big Shots that are clearly feeling unloved…Party Abby says “Hey, why not?”

Then it’s 6:30 AM on Monday morning and Real Abby is wishing she had listened to Hermit Abby and had a potato skin party with Hermit Matt that perhaps would not have resulted in Most of the Alcohol being consumed  late on a Sunday night. Party Abby is fun but damn if she doesn’t come with some consequences. Plus she isn’t smart enough to tell Real Abby to take the day after the Oscars off work.

I put a full face of makeup on to cover up the consequences of Party Abby and dragged myself to work. I spent most of the day dreaming of the moment I could be reunited with Bed who at the time I considered to be my Very Best Friend.

Then, I drove home, and helped with dinner, and did bath time, and got GiGi to bed, and the whole time I was again thinking of bed and sleeping and REM cycles.

Exhausted Abby
Me during bath time. Laying on Bed and wanting desperately to be sleeping in Bed.

I knew I wouldn’t go to bed as soon as the kids were down because Monday night is The Bachelor and pretty much Matt’s whole family watches it and we have a group text where we bemoan all the Bad Decisions being made on national television. It’s great fun. So I knew we would soldier through Bachelor and then figured we’d head to bed.

Or at least that’s what I thought before the Monday Friday phenomenon kicked in.

Monday Friday is a thing that happens just about every week. Matt and I are exhausted from a full day of work after a busy weekend and often fully intend on going to bed early like normal, responsible adults with children.


The kids are in bed, we decide to have a glass of wine/cocktail while we watch our one show…then might as well have another since the show isn’t over…and might as well watch another show since we’re not done with that glass of wine yet…and should we have a snack?

And then it’s Way Too Late and Future Abby is furious at Present Abby because Tuesday morning is going to go just like Monday morning except worst since it’s been multiple late nights now and I PROMISED THIS WEEK WOULD BE DIFFERENT.

(In case you’re wondering where Dramatic Abby is in all of this, the answer is “Everywhere”. Dramatic tendencies are passed down genetically along with food habits in those with Italian heritage. I’m scienceing all over the place today!)

So last night was a typical Monday Friday. We headed down to the basement to watch Bachelor Ben choose his final two ladies. We filled a couple rocks glasses with leftover Big Shot (which is a royal flush, for the record) and settled in to watch the insanity unfold.

Drinking with Ben
Bachelor, booze and baby toys. Truly living the dream.

Then we had a second glass of the deliciousness (cocktails that taste like candy are one of life’s most dangerous things). And then I brought down the leftovers from Mad Max: Rocky Road. And then The Bachelor was over but we had Better Call Saul to watch. And then I thought maybe I’ll just paint my nails because they really need a new coat.

And then, yet again, it was Way Too Late.

I don’t know what it is that makes us do this Monday after Monday but Monday Friday has been a running joke in our life for some time. Maybe it’s us not wanting to accept the freedom of the weekend is over? Maybe it’s our way of dealing with the stress of a new week? Maybe it’s just that Party Matt and Party Abby are sneaky sons of bitches?

Whatever the reason, Monday Friday is a regular thing. And here I am, Tuesday Abby, already one caffeinated drink in and contemplating digging into a dozen Krispy Kremes someone brought in. Because sleep deprivation does nothing good for weight loss goals.

But I must be strong, Wednesday Abby is counting on me. And Friday Abby has to weigh in for ShrinKing. And Present Abby will think about all of that….later.


Friday Lists

Timeline of my morning:

  • 6:00 – Fitbit alarm goes off, ignore, roll over, back to dreamland.
  • 6:30 – Second Fitbit alarm goes off, I think about it, decide I can sleep longer since I’m driving to work, roll over.
  • 6:32 – GiGi comes in the room. Uncharacteristically, she says nothing and just climbs up into bed and lays down between Matt and I.
  • 6:45 – I get up, start getting ready for the day.
  • 7:15 – I get Georgia up. Matt and GiGi are still laying in bed. Feel GiGi’s head, it’s slightly warm.
  • 7:45 – Breakfast. Decide GiGi is definitely staying home.

Ways Georgia differs from GiGi:

  • She’s skinnier. Has been from the beginning.
  • She’s more defiant. Can’t imagine how soon she’ll start praying to always be right.
  • She’s more daring. This kid’s new favorite thing is leaping off of couches, chairs, etc. into nothing. She has no thought for the landing.
  • She’s more cuddly. GiGi almost never laid her head on my shoulder unless she was sleeping. Georgia will just do it sometimes. And she likes to sit with us and catch a little TV in between death defying stunts.
  • She’s more verbal. I’m sure having an older sister helps with this, but I believe she’s saying more earlier than GiGi did.

Ways they are exactly the same:

  • They are nothing like me.
    • Blue eyes, blond hair, tall, skinny, small noses
  • They are exactly like me.
    • Strong willed, persistent, healthy appetites, solid senses of humor, and an appreciation for reality competition shows.

My struggle right now:

  • I organized a Valentine’s treat day at work.
  • I brought in cake pops because they are not especially appealing to me.
  • Someone brought in a sugar cookie/cream cheese frosting/chocolate covered strawberry “pizza” thing and it is NECTAR FROM THE GODS.
  • I shouldn’t eat all of it. I shouldn’t eat all of it. I shouldn’t eat all of it.
  • Side note: cake pops are kind of a son of a bitch to make.

Really? Cake Pops?

  • Yes.
  • It’s basically impossible to get them to be spherical while shaping them.
  • It’s basically impossible to dip them in icing and have it smoothly cover the cake.
  • It’s basically impossible to get them to dry and remain spherical.
  • They’re basically impossible. I brought them today but I’m in no way proud of them. I just want everyone to eat them so they’re not at my house.

Why even make them then?

  • Because next week GiGi turns 4.
  • We’re throwing a party and I told her I’d make cake pops.
  • She loves cake pops. It’s what she gets at Starbucks if she’s not getting “GiGi coffee” aka hot chocolate.
  • I have a grand vision of making a super cute display with all of them, but in reality it will probably look something like this:
Sad, uneven, lumpy. Metaphor for life really. Cake balls are so deep. 

So…no more birthday cake pops then?

  • No, I’ll still make them. I told her I would.
  • But I’m buying a mold now. I don’t care what reviewers say.
  • Have I mentioned I’m not even a big fan of cake pops? They’re kind of too sweet and mushy for me.
  • Grumble.

Update on ShrinKing:

  • Amazingly and despite all pizza, I am down almost 20 lbs. #10poundsto1derland
  • Sugary food makes me feel sick almost instantly. I still eat it sometimes, but with far less voracity and far more space in between snacks.
  • I haven’t had soda in a month and a half almost. That hasn’t happened for…a really, really long time. I might just keep that up.
  • Matt told me if I won the competition he would take me on a trip anywhere I wanted to go.
  • Obviously, he made made that promise because he knows, as I do, that he is most likely to win.


  • Tomorrow I’m going to see Brooklyn with my mom and my other mother (bff’s mom). Leaving only 3 best picture nominees to see before the Oscars.
  • Sunday we have fellowship and then are going on a double sushi dinner date with my parent’s for Valentine’s Day.
  • Next Friday Matt’s parents come to town.
  • Next Saturday is GiGi’s birthday.
  • We’re throwing an Oscar’s party on the 28th.
  • We’re heavily involved in my dad’s 65th birthday party on March 5th.

How all of that makes me feel:


Chip Update:

  • GiGi was unnecessarily terrified of him and that’s been downgraded to unnecessarily afraid of him.
  • Georgia, in typical fashion, continues to push the boundaries of what Chip will endure and likes to take his toys from him, despite our constant disapproval.
  • He’s getting more comfortable…which means he is barking and howling more. Which is challenging at times.
  • I’m hoping some things will change once he’s neutered.
  • Despite some setbacks, we’re pretty set on keeping him and are looking into an obedience class.

Hey remember when I worked out?

  • Don’t remind me.
  • Sleeping in is so much more fun than hitting the gym at 5:30 AM.
  • I signed up for a 5k though. And my other mother is talking me in to doing a 5 mile St. Patrick’s Day race. She promised breakfast at the end and going out to breakfast is one of my favorite things so…Future Abby is probably signing up for another race.
  • My trainer didn’t renew her certification but texts me sometimes to see how I’m doing.
  • Ok, ok, I’ll go back to the gym. Monday. After I check on the status of that sugar cookie pizza…