The Cinema Show.

I’ve always heard that the first step to recovery is admitting that you actually have a problem.

Okay, so I’ll admit it.

I have a problem.

Correction. My husband and I have a problem.

A problem that I didn’t fully realize until I started reorganizing our family’s collection of DVD’s this past week.

A project that I finally had to tackle because we were tired of the kids constantly pulling the cases off of the movie racks we had in the living room. If that wasn’t annoying enough, Bronx had recently figured out how to open them, and all the discs were now being repurposed as teething toys.

copyright - suburban princess diaries Uh-oh. They are so busted.

I finally decided to take action. I ordered locking storage cases that would hold 100 discs each. Problem solved. No more DVD cases littering the floor in front of our television, and no more discs covered in baby slobber and bite marks.

It was a great solution. Until we did the math and discovered that we would be needing more than just a few cases.

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And organizing it took more than just a little time. It was a week-long endeavor, made up of countless hours spent entering titles into an online database, cleaning discs that were covered in everything from fingerprints to peanut butter, and then loading each disc into its own individual slot in the new storage systems. 

Just to be exact on the inventory, we needed a total of seven cases. And that was just for actual films. We didn’t catalog extra discs containing special features or any of our TV series boxed sets.

Seven 100-disc cases. Five of them are completely filled. And one of those boxes is nothing but kid’s movies. Yes, we have over a hundred children’s DVD’s. We had to start a second box just for their stuff.

Based on those numbers, it’s actually quite possible for us to start a video rental business out of our home.

Which is how we know we have a problem.

Hello. My name is Brittany. And I am addicted to theatrical home entertainment.

Forget the 12-step program though.

We have kids. We don’t get out that much.

There is no way we’re giving up our stash.

What I learned from Superman…

I was never into comics growing up.

I was, after all, a GIRL. And a downright girly one at that.

So I left the superheroes to the nerds.

Until that fateful day when I decided to marry one.

Since then I have been subjected to so much more of the comic world than I’ve ever wanted.

I now know who Stan Lee is.

I have been forced to watch every episode of Smallville.

I could even tell you the names of all the X-Men.

In essence, I’m a dork-by-association.

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Trust me, this is not a title I’m proud of.

However, after spending countless hours at comic conventions evading the awkward glares and drooling from the virginal geeks dressed up as Storm Troopers, I have gained some useful knowledge.

With Number 1 on the list being: Avoid anyone dressed in Star Wars getup. No exceptions.

Other things my exposure to the superhero universe has taught me:

2. I can wear green and orange together and it actually looks pretty cute.

Thanks for the fashion tip, Aquaman!

3. Everyone has a nemesis. And when you defeat one, another usually takes its place.

Right now, mine is the mean lady that works in the babysitting area at my gym.

4. Spending $400 on a fiberglass Power Rangers helmet without your wife’s permission should be considered as reasonable grounds for divorce in a court of law.

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Seriously Matt, you look like a green-headed, Mighty Morphin Power… Tool.

5. Power Rangers helmets are good for only one thing: collecting dust.

Can you tell I really hate that stupid thing?

6. If you are ever at a nerd convention comic-con and you accidentally bump into a table where a heated game of D&D is being played, be prepared to run. For your life. Those geeks take their dungeons and their dragons very, very seriously.

True story, I bumped a table like that once, then fled in a panic to escape the rush of an angry Dungeon Master and his minions. Pocket protectors may have been thrown in fury.

7. Michael Keaton was the best Batman. Ever.

No explanation needed. He wins, hands down.

8. Batman is the best superhero. Ever.

I don’t care what my husband says about Superman. Black rubber is so much hotter than little red undies over tights. And Batman can’t be taken out by little green rocks.

9. Secret identities are important. Especially for safety reasons. Additionally, having an alias can also help keep you out of trouble should you ever commit a crime. And let’s not forget that if you have an “alter ego” you never have to admit that what you really have is a multiple personality disorder, or as I like to call it, “an attack of the Sybils”.

Now you know why my last name isn’t plastered all over this blog.

10. The little girl from Adventures in Babysitting was right. Thor is not a homo. He fell in love with Natalie Portman and promised that he would come back for her after his epic final battle. But like a true douchebag, he didn’t return. Even worse, he didn’t even bother with a phone call. Turns out, Thor is just your typical heterosexual male jerkwad.

Figures. Thor would have been way more awesome gay.

Slight miscalculation?

Guess whose car needs a new paint job, like right now

Uh, Whoops.

But what’s really crazy is the way that the president of Family Radio, Harold Camping, came to the conclusion that May 21, 2011 was the day that this whole Rapture thing was going to go down.

The calculations went something like this, according to MSNBC’s Cosmic Log:

“Saturday supposedly marks 7,000 years since the Noah's Ark flood, and 722,500 days since Jesus' crucifixion. By Camping's numerology, 722,500 represents (5 x 10 x 17) x (5 x 10 x 17), or the square of atonement times completeness times heaven.”

I’m pretty sure that I never learned anything about the square of atonement in any of my mathematics classes.

Thank goodness too. The square roots of actual numbers were overwhelming enough for me.

Because that wacky equation seemed pretty farfetched…I ultimately decided not to hole up in a bunker somewhere safely avoiding the threats of any potential apocalyptic mess.

And since I didn’t see any of this going on…

…I’m pretty sure we’re all safe. For now.

I guess there is still a chance the Mayans got it right.

Anyone want to put their money on December 21, 2012?

The Elephant in the blog.

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I don’t talk about it often on here.

Sometimes, I feel as though I should, but I can’t bring myself to actually type it out.

I did write a post explaining myself one time. But then I backdated it so it wouldn’t appear on my homepage. I made it so that the only way it could be read was through the archives, or by clicking the photo at the bottom of this site.

The story of my initial struggles to get pregnant and the losses that I have endured are extremely hard for me to share.

Years later, the scars still haven’t healed.

And I have to admit that it could be an underlying reason for my hypersensitivity concerning all the fertility drama that has been playing out recently on here.

Seriously… I have issues.

Rio.

It used to be that when I heard the word “Rio”, I would immediately have that Duran Duran song stuck in my head.

And I love me some Duran Duran.

But not anymore. A few weeks ago, thanks to Chiquita, I took my family to see the movie Rio at the theater.

 

It was so much fun. Especially since I love to see movies, but I hardly ever get the opportunity to actually get out of the house.

The movie was great. My oldest, Kamryn, absolutely loved it. Our favorite character was this little guy:

A crazy little pick pocketing monkey. Yep. He steals his bling from the tourists. So hysterical.

In addition to the movie tickets, Chiquita also sent me a bag of their new Fruit Chips. It’s a snack that contains dehydrated banana, pineapple and mango. Not only is it delicious, but the fruit is the only ingredient. There is no added junk like sugar, or artificial colors and preservatives. The boys practically inhaled the entire bag, and I love anything that makes feeding the kids something nutritious just a little bit easier for this mushy mommy.

The Beefcake is Back.

It has been three months since little Daegan entered the world.

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And I am now officially back to my pre-baby weight.

Can I get a Hallelujah?

Sadly, my transformation didn’t come the same way it did after the birth of my second child.

Translation: The M&M diet didn’t work this time around.

No, no. I actually had to sweat to drop the extra pounds.

It has been hard, but I have been forcing myself back into distance running (with a few sprints thrown in here and there, because really I am a sprinter at heart).

I also have been following an intense weightlifting routine.

Oh yeah. And I’m still trying to stick to a loosely-based version of that hellish diet I told you about.

All of this torture hasn’t just been about getting buff though.

I’ve been training to run another 5K this year.

But losing all the baby chunk was an added bonus.

Score!

WTF is this?

Today I took a First Response Fertility Test.

I felt as though I had to. It was just sitting around in a drawer on the verge of expiring and because I am now beginning my third (OMG! THIRD?! My baby is only THREE months old, for crying out loud!) postpartum cycle I figured now would be as good a time as any.

Especially since I have been rather ambivalent about starting up those birth control pills. I figured having proof that my ovarian reserve was still well stocked would give me the extra bit of reassurance that I needed to finally stop making excuses and get back on the contraceptives already.

So, I tested. Just for fun.

Completely expecting the same good result that I got last year.

Instead I got this:

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If you have no idea what it means, let me explain. The instructions that come with this test state that a test with no second line or a line lighter than the control line is indicative of a low FSH level, which means that ovarian reserve (the quantity and quality of eggs) is normal.

A test line that is the same color and intensity as the control line or a line darker than the control line means that the FSH levels are high, which is an indicator of fertility problems due to poor egg quality/quantity.

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Maybe my vision is a little off, but those two lines look pretty identical to me.

Which caught me by surprise.

A surprise that, as the initial shock wore off, quickly turned into a mild panic.

How could I have failed a fertility test?

It doesn’t seem possible. I have been pregnant four times in the last four years. I’m not even thirty yet.

Why in the world would my FSH levels be high?

Now I don’t know what to do. We were going to wait four or five years before trying again, but if the results of that test are accurate, I’m not sure that we can afford the time.

What if my biological clock is already running out? Could that be why I have been feeling so on-the-fence about pregnancy prevention?

A lengthy Google search did bring up a couple of sites that mentioned breastfeeding causing high FSH levels, but none of them seemed very scientifically convincing.

Okay, so this is exactly why I need to stop conducting experiments in my bathroom.

Especially the ones that involve peeing on things.

A bit of a change.

Blogger went stupid on Friday.

As a result, I couldn’t log in to my account.

Which means I couldn’t read my comments.

That was annoying.

But, it wasn’t nearly as annoying as seeing this a few hours later:

Maybe it was just a Friday the 13th freaky bad luck thing.

My last post was removed. Along with any comments that I hadn’t moderated yet.

My post eventually was restored. However, I suspect that there may be some comments that are still missing.

Because of this, and the fact that Blogger’s commenting system doesn’t allow for me to easily reply to my comments, I have decided to make a change my comments section.

I am now going to host my comments through DISQUS. This way I won’t have to worry about losing comments when Blogger has a virtual temper tantrum and I can finally reply to you when you leave messages about my posts!

Thanks for understanding. I hope you all like the new system as much as I do!

The Waiting Game (Medical Mysteries Edition)

Next week, my little Bronxie will be 21 months old.

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The last time he saw his pediatrician, at 18 months, he weighed a teeny-tiny 17 pounds, 8 ounces.

Astonishingly, at his appointment yesterday we discovered that now he is actually losing weight.

The big guy shed a few ounces and is now just over the 17 pound mark.

Most one year-olds are bigger than that.

There still has been no diagnosis. No reason for why he is so small.

The doctors seem just as puzzled as we are.

We have a whole month to go before we finally get to meet with the pediatric urologist. The one who is so high in demand that we had to schedule our appointment 6 months in advance.

I’m hoping that maybe he’ll have some answers.

Because he has had two abnormal urinalysis results, my gut feeling is that his slow growth is somehow related.

I think it might be his kidneys.

I hope that I’m wrong. I hope that it is nothing.

All we can do is wait and see.

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