For the past three years, nine months, and two weeks, my husband has been a slave to the night.

He worked night shifts.
It was something we thought would be temporary when he settled on a career in law enforcement after that injury I talked about a few weeks ago ended his football dreams.

But it followed us... like a nightmare... when we moved from the Dirty South to The Carolinas.

And, whether either of us wanted to admit it or not, it changed our marriage-- our lives-- and not necessarily for the better.

Today, my great blogger friend Julia is upping the ante on her "Working Mommy Wednesday" meme, and I wanted to help her kick it off on the right foot. She wants to know...

Have you ever-- or would you consider-- calling in sick, even if you weren't?



Back when DH first worked nights, it was only on a rotating basis: two weeks on day shift, two weeks on night shift. That was doable. Then, earlier this year when G was just a few months old, DH's bosses at the sheriff's office came up with a hairbrained questionable idea to go to permanent shifts. For reasons never quite made clear to us, DH was one of five people in the ENTIRE department not given his preference of shifts.

Does anybody else find it
surprising that half of DH's coworkers
actually wanted to work overnight?

To be honest, it was miserable. DH & I often passed like strangers in the night. We didn't go to sleep at the same time, even on his days off. We didn't wake up at the same time. We often went 12-day stretches during which we only saw each other for 15 minutes here, 30 minutes there, and nothing more.

And even though it was his career, it affected my job too. I've talked about how I had to give up on two promotions because of his schedule. It also meant I wasn't available to fill in in a pinch when people called out sick. And it meant that basically every single sick day I've taken over the past year was not because I was sick.

DH makes more money than I do.

His job has more room for growth than mine does.

His job has less flexibility than mine.

So that meant when the sitter was out sick, I took the day off to stay home with G. That meant when DH was sick on his days off, I took the day off to watch G. It also meant that, when I had already gone more than a week without spending any meaningful time with my husband, I took the day off to enjoy my family.

I've used DH's nocturnal
schedule as a crutch......as a reason...

...as an excuse.

And now...
DH had been chosen to move back to days.
I'm not sure what to think. On one hand, for the first time in almost my entire marriage, I will have my husband at home-- in bed with me-- every single night! But, at the same time, for the first time in almost my entire marriage, I will have my husband at home-- in bed with me-- every single night.

So what now?

Now, I lose that crutch, that reason, that excuse that kept me from reaching for the stars. That kept me from sleeping under those same stars next to my husband. That forced me to-- yes, at times-- lie to my co-workers and even my friends about why I wasn't around.

Now, DH & I learn to be a "normal" (really, what is normal these days?) couple... really for the first time in our marriage.

Now, maybe I end up with more sick days to use for days like today-- when I actually... am... sick!

Have you checked the calendar?

Are you counting the days?

Are you ready?

Just 17 days til Christmas.

Not that I'm counting.

And that brings us to this week's Truthful Tuesdays question:

What do you really want for Christmas?
...or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, or Eid...
If this is your first time visiting, welcome! It's great to have you. There are several ways to play along. You can leave a comment with your answer, post about this topic on your own blog, grab my button (oooh, sounds kinky!), even enter your blog in the MckLinky at the bottom of this post!

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Last week, the Divine Miss M (that's Mama M over at "Five Crooked Halos") asked her readers for their favorite holiday song...

...I told you mine, and hinted at the rest of the story (thank you, Paul Harvey).

Here it is:

For years, I have adored the Mariah Carey carol "All I Want For Christmas Is You". When I was a college dance team coach, my girls performed a half-time dance to this song, decked out in slinky costumes and festive Santa hats. I still can't hear the refrain without pounding my feet in time with the choreographed kickline finale...

But the song took on a different meaning the year I was trying to get pregnant. Christmas Eve '07 fell on what would have been the first day of my second trimester for my first pregnancy. But instead of rubbing my growing baby belly, I was instead rubbing my red, swollen, tear-filled eyes after an early miscarriage. I was crushed. All that year, whenever I heard "All I Want For Christmas", I would sing along, pointing at my flat belly. You were all I wanted that year. You were the only thing DH couldn't wrap and put under the tree.

He tried, though, oooooooh he tried. He bought me this Precious Moments figurine:


It's name?

"Dreams Really Do Come True"

When I opened what has perhaps gone down as the most sentimental gift he's ever given me that Christmas morning, tears poured down my cheeks. I was touched; I was grieved; I was saddened. I didn't believe.

But I should have...

...I was already
four days pregnant.

That little holiday gift-- the one we hadn't realized DH had given me until after the New Year-- became this holiday reality one year later:

Last year, I was in the midst of my maternity leave and we were poor without my paycheck, so Christmas was very low key.

This year, we are doing a little better finacially and there is some wiggle room in our budget for gifts. DH keeps pestering me (every single night!) for gift ideas; would I like a deep fryer? A new cell phone charger? Maybe some silky, sexy lingerie? (Uh, wouldn't that be a gift for him, not me?)

"No," I tell him to all those suggestions.
The one gift I wanted, he already got me.

Because all I ever wanted for Christmas...

...was her:

There will always be new clothes, new jewelry, new electronics under the tree...

But what do you really want for Christmas
that money can't buy?




And to all my SITStas...
Merry SITSmas!

68 years ago today, America changed forever.

We were attacked at Pearl Harbor.

The cost was overwhelming:

-8 American battleships damaged or destroyed
-188 American planes damaged or destroyed
-2,403 American lives lost.

It launched the war to end all wars-- yet, there are two wars going on at this very moment. And in just a few short months, 30,000 additional fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, and friends will be heading overseas all in the name of our democracy and freedom.

I'd like to thank them, and I hope you'll join me.

Xerox (yes, the copy people) have launched a campaign to make that possible. "Let's Say Thanks" allows each one of us to select a thank you card designed by a child, choose a message of thanks, and send it overseas to a U.S. serviceman or woman serving our country. It costs you nothing, but it could mean everything to one of our soldiers, marines, sailors, or airmen.

To participate, all you have to do is click here.

***********************************
And before I go, I have a "Not My Child! Monday" I couldn't resist adding...


What did my most darling, most precious, most adorable child do last week?

G did NOT pick a booger from her sweet little nose...

...and stick it right in my mouth!

Nope, not my charming little girl.

Have a great Monday, and don't forget to tell a soldier thank you!

Wow, I am cramming a LOT into one post... is your seat belt buckled? Then let's go!

***************************************
Let's begin with "Friday Fragments" from Mrs. 4444s.


-Does anybody else hear "Friday Fragments" and think of this:
Or is it just me?
-I saw an extremely disturbing commercial this week from the Michelin tire company. It featured a bunch of animated animals-- bunnies, squirrels, raccoons-- as road kill. Only the French would find that appropriate (no offense if you're French).

-Does anyone else watch "Mad Men"? I just started watching Season 1 on DVD a few weeks ago (plodding my way through it during G's naptimes). I like it a lot, but it's bugging me, too. No, not all the infidelity or even the outdated anti-women remarks... the chain smoking! It makes me wonder if the actors and actresses are really lighting up in every scene, or just "fake-chain-smoking"...

-About two weeks ago, DH hit me in the left temple with a dessert plate (not on purpose, it was a total accident). Ever since, my left eyelid has been having "seizures" several times a day. I'm not sure if it's connected, but I plan on using it to milk DH for some pampering.

-In another "ailment", I think I'm getting carpal tunnel. My job forces me to spend hours and hours typing, and I'm wondering if I can get workman's comp, and maybe take the entire month of December off to "recover"? No, I do not think my excessive blogging habit has ANYTHING to do with it.

-I have the day off today (it's my "compensation" for working on Black Friday morning), and I think I'm going to take G to a "blow up junglegym". That's either a recipe for fun or for disaster with an almost 15-month-old.

-I decorated my entire house for the holidays on Thanksgiving... except for the tree. And now, one week later, it is still not up, and I have no immediate plans to do so. I've seen the way G manhandles other, kid-friendlier elements of my holiday decor... and I'm terrified. I'm wondering whether it would scar her (or me!) for life if we skipped the tree this year for safety purposes.


***************************************
Shifting into second gear with Mama M's...


This week's questions are:

1. Favorite gift you are GIVING this year?
Ooooh, that's a tough one. I WAS going to say the Winnie-the-Pooh chair we got for G, but then I remembered the photo calendar I ordered for my mom. She is going to LOVE it. It's a toss up.

2. How many parties are you attending between now and Christmas?
I think right now just two, and both are "baby themed". DH & I were going to throw a big holiday party, but it was just too much this year!

3. What is your favorite Christmas song?
This is an easy one-- Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You". I plan on writing a post about exactly why later this month.

4. Who was your favorite elementary school teacher and why?
Mrs. Sears. She was my third grade teacher, and I still remember being told by all the fourth graders on the bus on the first day that she was mean. She was mean, but she really knew how to get you excited about learning. My whole family adored her, and to this day, my grama still grades papers for her!

5. If you had a choice to live in any other period of time (other than now) what era would you choose and why?
Well, I like indoor plumbing and electricity, so it would have to be fairly recently. I would have to say the 1950's. I've already talked about my new obsession with Mad Men, and that's definitely playing a role in this answer!

***************************************
The announcement you've all been waiting for...

The winners of my first every, BabyLegs giveaways are:
Jillien @ "The Infamous"
Honey B. @ "The Honey B. Blog"

CONGRATULATIONS!
Email me at my.confessions@live.com to give me your mailing address.

...Or for that matter, a blue toy bin...

At some point, somebody in your life has probably used that very cliched phrase-- "Don't hide your light under a basket".

The saying actually comes from a verse in the bible...

Matthew 5:14-16-
You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under a bushel basket, but on the lamp stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

...and my mother used it religiously. She used it when my middle school friends started making fun of my good grades, and I intentionally failed a test to prove I wasn't a nerd. She used it when I slacked off at swim practice so I could swim in the same lane as the boy I had a crush on. She used it when, after just one semester at my dream college, I begged to transfer to a state school because I was homesick.

When I caught G on camera recently hiding her beautiful little face under that toy tub, it got me thinking. How will I teach her how to let her light shine as she grows older? How can I encourage her to be her best, do her best, reach for her best at each and every turn? How should I react when she does something silly, or stupid, or just plain wrong to impress somebody?

Sigh.

Sometimes the overwhelming challenges of parenting are so... well, overwhelming! I get to thinking about the future, and I go berserk. I get panicky. I think about her first day of kindergarten, and the hurtful words children say. I think about her first true heartbreak, and my heart breaks for that pain. I think about her graduating high school and going off to college, and my heart breaks for me. And don't even mention the idea of her dating or getting married to my husband, he'll bring out the shotgun (you know, the one every father of every girl buys the minute he learns he's having a daughter?). It's daunting.

What skills can I give her to navigate all that lies ahead, the gritty, the dirty, the down-right evil, when all she is right now is soft, sweet innocense?

Two things...

I can show her God's example, and I can set my own example in His path. It's about all any parent can do. He is the one, true, shining beacon we have in our lives.

That, and a good flashlight.

In the midst of all our Thanksgiving thankfulness last week, there was something I was decidedly unthankful about:

Working the Graveyard Shift.

It's part of a new policy at the TV station where I work (a policy that only applied to producers and anchors, not reporters & photographers, but I digress...).

I did not whine about working from 12am-8am on Black Friday. Well, technically I did whine, but only to all my coworkers, my mom, DH, and the mailman.

I did not complain. Ok, again, I sorta complained, but only to those I knew would have sympathy on me.

I did not try to stage a socialist-esque march on management. Well, I guess I did threaten to quit once or twice and urged my coworkers to follow me to freedom...

I just came to work looking like this:


Yeah, I don't look good in the mornings... oh wait, the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT... without makeup on.

I staggered into work wearing my old college sweats.

My hair hadn't been combed all day.

I didn't even bother wearing deodorant.

And my show?

Suffice it to say, it won't be earning me an Emmy.

Here's the timeline of my day/night/morning:

5pm: Finish Thanksgiving dinner. Hope the trytophan in the turkey will put me to sleep, and attempt to take a nap. Fail.

6pm: Flip on the bedside lamp and try to read a few chapters of the Jodi Picoult book I picked up from the library over the weekend. June Nealon has me hooked. This is hopeless.

7:30pm: Give up. After 2.5 hours of tossing and turning, I return downstairs to play with the baby before her bedtime. Nurse her one last time (sigh), then lay her down to sleep.

8:30pm: Persuade DH to give me a full-body massage in hopes of soothing me to sleep. I know this won't work, but I'm just using my anticipated exhaustion as an excuse for some much-needed pampering.

9pm: DH tucks me into bed, admonishing me to stay there until my alarm goes off. I stare at the clock. The minutes tick by. My eyes do not close. I start thinking about ideas for my blog and begin writing next week's posts in my head.

10pm: Utterly frustrated, I drag myself out of bed and put on my shoes. I walk out the garage door loaded down with virtually all our Thanksgiving leftovers in hopes that food will make up for lack of sleep.

10:15pm: Arrive at work two hours early for my shift. The night crew is shocked to see me so early. Then they see my hair/face/clothes. I think they understand now.

10:30pm-2:30am: Work my little tail off, knowing I will ultimately crash and be absolutely useless. MUST.GET.WORK.DONE. Finally, something I can succeed at tonight.

2:30am: Finish with my producerly duties. Begin blogging in earnest. I am amazed how many bloggers are actually awake at this hour. I guess it is still only 11:30 in California.

5am-7am: Watch helplessly as the most pathetic morning newscast in history goes on air. Hang my head in shame.

7:15am: Rejoice as my relief arrives. Bust out of the doors so fast I might have broken a world record... and my coccyx (that's a whole other story).

8am: Finally home. Finally able to sleep. At last.

I know I don't have that much room to complain. DH has been working overnights for YEARS now... but I am a grade-A wuss. There's a reason I didn't schedule a class in college before noon 10:15am. There's a reason I passed up the overnight Executive Producer job to stick with my 9-5 dayside shift.

I know everybody has to go through their lumps on the job. I really am thankful just to have have a job these days. But now?

...I'm just happy I don't have to
do that again any time soon.

Maybe you call them boobs.

Maybe you call them breasts.

Maybe you even call them hooters.

They come in as many sizes
and shapes as they do names.

But today's Truthful Tuesdays question is:

Would you get a boob job?.

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If this is your first time visiting for Truthful Tuesdays, I hope you're not intimidated by the rather, uh, crass personal nature of my question. I hope you'll leave me a comment, maybe copy my button, even write about this very topic on your page and link up with my MckLinky.

Actually, I didn't come up with this question.

My husband did..

Yup. You heard right.

Apparently, he's been wanting to ask me this question for months. He just couldn't figure out how to do it without sounding like a duchebag. Ultimately, his manly ineptitude for social and political correctness curiousity won out, and he asked me this very question the day after I stopped nursing G last week.

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DH: Honey, what do you think of her chest? (asked as we were watching a movie)

ME: Huh?

DH: I mean, do you think they're real or not?

ME: I honestly have no clue. Why? Do you like them?

DH: Well... (it's obvious he knows he's crossed into uncharted waters)... it's just, they're very perky. Like yours used to be (wow, a dagger to my pride).

ME: Used to be?

DH: Yeah, well, you know. Before you nursed G.

***************************************

I spent that night in front of the mirror, looking at my chest. I looked at it from the side. From the front. I even took a gander upside down (won't do that again).

You know what?
I would consider getting the girls "perked up" a bit.
It's something I never would have said a year ago. Back when they were the size of watermelons, full of life-giving milk. I would never heven have entertained such a notion before getting preggo.

But now?

NOW?

YOU BET.
What's changed?

Well, two years ago, I was a nice, average C-cup. Last year, I was a full, post-partum D-cup. Now... I barely fill a B-cup. (Is this ironic or what? There's a mammogram commercial on the TV as I type this...)

It's not that I'm really worried what DH thinks about my boobs. Of course, I want him to like them, but I know he will no matter what. I'm not even trying to conform to what society's image of a perfect woman is. And I'm certainly not trying to take back what made them so... eh... saggy. I'm proud of what they did for my daughter for the past 14 months.

Answering, "Yes, I'd get a boob job" sounds so shallow to me... until I really think about why I'd do it. I wouldn't do it for anybody else. I'd do it for me. I wouldn't try to be something I'm not; I'd just return them to their prior glory days.

I still can't believe I'm saying this.

I'm curious to hear what all of you think:

Would you get a boob job?




By the way, this is my 100th post-- I'm pretty excited about this milestone!