There was girl that lived one block over from me in high school. She was a year younger, but way more mature then I was. Or rather more mature looking. If you know what I mean. (And I think you do.)

She came from a family of a million kids. They had a kid in every grade at my high school. The family lived stuffed inside their three bedroom house. They were poor. And yet, she always dressed super trendy and cute. She had the perfect cinched waisted GAP jeans (this was the early 90’s, remember) with huge belt and baggy top. Her hair and face always looked pristine. I never understood how she could look so hip and yet, be so poor. One day I learned her secret. She had an older, richer cousin who lived in California. Apparently this older cousin sent her bags and bags of trendy hand-me-downs every summer. Just in time for the new school year.

I had other friends with this same mythical older, well-dressed, cousin. My best friend Marci had an older cousin who would hand-down her formal dresses. I dreamt of received garbage bags full of new hand-me-downs. I longed for the day that my cousin would ask me if I wanted all her used skirts and tops.

The thing is I was the oldest girl cousin in my family. I didn’t have anyone to hand their clothes down to me. There wasn’t anyone in my life to share their wardrobe bounty with me.

Not even an older aunt.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve been the proud recipient of an overabundance of a quite divine hand-me-down maternity wardrobe courtesy of my good friend Marci. And let’s not forget the hand-me-down goodies that Mrs. Squirrel has sent me over the years. I’m talking shoes and skirts and sweaters.

I know some people don’t like hand-me-downs. Let’s make one thing clear; I’m not one of those people. I love having something new-ish to hang in my closet and wear to work. I love knowing that my new favorite skirt was once loved by someone that I love. It just makes my heart feel good.

My little family had dinner over at some friend’s house last Friday night. They served us a glorious artichoke and chicken soup with the yummiest salad I’ve ever had. And bread. And ice cream. Not to mention the lovely conversation and fun kids for Babboo the play with. It was just a good night with people we love. At the conclusion of the night my friend asked if I wanted to go through the boxes and piles and bags of clothes her son had recently grown out of. She was planning on donating them the next day.

I tried to hide my excitement as I told her I’d love anything she had to offer. She took me upstairs and I was giddy when I saw the piles of winter pajamas. Babboo has needed some bigger and warmer jammies, but I just haven’t been able to justify spending all the money just yet. It just hasn’t been cold enough. Yet. My friend put pajama after pajama in a pile for me to take home. Before she was done I had more pajamas for Babboo then I’ve he’s had in his entire life. The kid is set for the next two winters. And I couldn’t be more grateful.

Last night I was folding all of his new jammies after getting them out of the dryer. Babboo recognized that they were new clothing items and kept asking me, “Mommy, what that jammie?” I explained to him that his friend William had been nice enough to give him all of these new clothes. Babboo got excited and proceeded to call them all “William Jammies” and requested to wear the firetruck “William Jammies” to bed last night.

I have a pile of clothes Babboo’s grown out that I can’t wait to pass on to his little friend “Cabub”. It’s like a piece of my baby that I’m passing on and I want them to go to a good home.

So tell me, what has been your favorite hand-me-down?

I’d have to say mine was the gray maternity shirt Marci gave me. As seen here when I was just barley pregnant with Babboo.

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Holy crap, I’m guest blogging for Amalah today over at the Advice Smackdown.  This is like my wildest fantasy come true.  Head over to read about my favorite drug store products and make sure to leave a comment about your favorite drug store products.

And also, check out my latest New Thing. I tried out some new make-up, but only because I had a $5 off coupon.

In no particular order.

I’m jealous of girls with fancy shoes and better hair. I’m jealous of girls who don’t have to wash their hair everyday or shave their legs. I’m jealous of people with designer jeans. I’m jealous of stay at home moms. I’m jealous of people with better jobs then I have. I’m jealous of people that work part time. I’m jealous of two car families and skinny people.

I’m jealous of A –list bloggers and freelance writers. I’m jealous of people that make more money then we do. I’m jealous of people that get to travel more. I’m jealous of people that get to sleep in and take afternoon naps. I’m jealous of people that have more time for television watching. I’m jealous of people that can cook and bake. I’m jealous of people with enough time to see movies. I’m jealous of people with pretty purses and trendy belts. I’m jealous of people with home internet and laptops. I’m jealous of people that drink soda all day and eat sushi for lunch.

I’m jealous of people who get to hang out with their mom and their sisters on a daily basis. I’m jealous of people that get to visit their family more then I do. I’m jealous of people that are well-read. I’m jealous of people that are clever and funny. I’m jealous of people that are good at crafts and jewelry making. I’m jealous of people that have organized spice racks and kitchen cabinets.

I’m jealous of people that can eat whatever they want and stay skinny. I’m jealous of people that make excellent homemade pizza. I’m jealous of fun moms and moms that sew their kid’s Halloween costumes. I’m jealous of people that decorate their houses super cute for Holidays. I’m jealous of people that are educated about (and understand) the economy and politics. I’m jealous of people with good superior vocabularies. I’m jealous of people that are well-read and articulate. I’m jealous of people with more friends and/or better friends. I’m jealous of people with immaculate houses and clean toilets.

I’m jealous of people that have cute jackets and big red necklaces. I’m jealous of people with perky boobies and manicured fingernails. I’m jealous of people with husbands that don’t care how much money they spend on clothes or at the grocery store. I’m jealous of wives that have rich husbands. I’m jealous of people with awesome mother-in-laws and sweet sister-in-laws. I’m jealous of people that have friends over for dinner. I’m jealous of people that throw amazing parties. I’m jealous of people that are pregnant. I’m jealous of people with more kids. I’m jealous of people who are patient and giving and loving. I’m jealous of people that are willing to serve. I’m jealous of people that always smile and ask questions.

I’m jealous of people that are fun and happy and enjoyable. I’m jealous of people that ask the right questions. I’m jealous of people with no health problems. I’m jealous of hipsters and punk rockers. I’m jealous of people that go to shows. I’m jealous of people who know a lot about music. I’m jealous of people that can play the piano. I’m jealous of people that have good singing voices. I’m jealous of people that are good teachers. I’m jealous of people that know a lot about the scriptures and church history. I’m jealous of people that are good at math and know all the grammar rules and are good spellers. I’m jealous of people that can paint and draw and create. I’m jealous of people with amazing art collections and good furniture. I’m jealous of people with nicer houses with lovely art on the walls.

I’m jealous of people with big rings and dangly earrings. I’m jealous of people with huge diamond rings. I’m jealous of people with pretty dresses at church and better toys for their kids. I’m jealous of people with better marriages and fun date nights. I’m jealous of people with better church callings. I’m jealous of people with better treats at their house.

I’m jealous. And I need to work on that.

So tell me, what are you jealous of?

Setting: The New House. Three weeks ago. Babboo is running around the house while Isabel folds laundry and The King hangs the wet laundry on the rack.

Isabel: Babboo and I are going to Portland in a couple of weeks.

The King: Wait. What?

Isabel: I know I told you months ago that Carrisa from Tulsa was coming to Portland to visit Rhi. So I’m going down to Portland. And dude, I must take Babboo. They will want to meet Babboo. And we’re having lunch with THE TV GODDESS and I’m going to talk about nothing but TV AND BLOGGING. It will be the best lunch of my life.

The King: Was I invited?

Isabel: Not really. But, I guess, you can come. Only if you promise to do all the driving to and from Portland. Oh, and don’t forget to book us a hotel with a pool.

The King: (Skeptically) Sounds fun. I can’t wait.

And that is how we ended up spending the last weekend in Portland. We split our time between the following activities:

• hanging out with friends from the interweb.
• hanging out with The King’s friend from his FRESHMAN year of college.
• hanging out with one of The King’s missionary companions.
• hanging out at a Portland pumpkin patch.
• eating my weight in eggs benedict, ice cream, and kettle corn.
• eating my first (but hopefully not my last) caramel apple shake.

Kill me now.

(The “kill me now” is in reference to the eating part and not the friends part.)

Oh yeah, and we also had to deal with Rhi being locked out of her car. I don’t want to name names or place any blame on who was at fault with this whole situation.

Just know that if you ever have a house guest from Tulsa, don’t let him/her near your car locks.

Hey, I’m just saying.

The King’s suggestion for getting into the car was to “let the keyless fob rest for five minutes and then it will work.” Whatever. We did not have five minutes. So we headed out to lunch in my car (thus The King going against his promise to do all the driving). But get this, when we came back the fob worked like butter and Rhi and Carrisa were able to drive away in the shiny red car.

So it looks like it was a good thing The King came with Babboo and I to Portland.

(Guess who can’t find the memory card from her camera? Just guess. I hope I find it eventually so I can post pictures of said blogger lunch and pumpkin patch.)

**Sidenote to Carrisa: Remember how you made me promise to tell you exactly what The King said about you? Here you go (and I quote):

Isabel: What did you think about Carrisa?

The King: She’s shorter then I thought she would be.**

And there you have it; Carrisa is short. (Happy Birthday Beotch!)

Edited to add:

Rhi, DeAnn and me.  (Carrisa was taking the picture.)

Every morning I get dressed for work while feeling sorry for myself for having to wake up at the crack of dawn.  I usually walk past Babboo’s bedroom on my way out of the house to make sure he’s still sleeping.  My gut starts to hurt at this point it the day.  This is the time of day when I’m reminded that I won’t see my kid for another nine hours.   I’m always tempted to wake him up, just so I can get a hug or a “bye Mommy” from him.  But It’s too early for him to wake up.  I know he needs to stay asleep.

Every other morning I walk to the bus stop and dream about what it would be like if we could afford for me to stay home.  I think about all my lady friends from my church congregation and about the fun things they have planned that I’ll be missing while slaving away at the office.  I missed their trip to the pumpkin patch last week.  I’ve never been able to go to their Thursday morning playgroups.  I can’t join their 9am book club.  I’ve yet to attend one of their Ladies Luncheons.  I am left out of their little club 100% of the time.  All because I work and they don’t.

Most of them don’t know my kid’s name and they really have no idea who I am.

And most morning, I feel sorry for myself about this. I feel left out.  I feel like the world is working against me, all because I have a career and they don’t.  I know it’s wrong, but I’m typically jealous of them.  I know The King and I don’t have a lot of money and that’s why I work.  I know it’s the best thing for our family right now.  And yet, why do these SAHM have nicer clothes then I do?  Why do they all drive better cars?  How is it that their kids dress so nice?  And dude, really, how do you afford those new DVD players in your van?  How can they afford to go to the museums and the zoo every week?  Why do they get to put their kids down for their naps everyday and potty train their own toddlers?

And why am I so darn jealous?

Until last night.

Today is the first day, in a very long time, that I was happy about being a full time working mom.

I hung out with some of the SAHM’s from church last night.  It was their monthly Girls Night out.  I hadn’t even planned on going.  You see, I only get a few hours a night with Babboo and The King so to give up my one chance to see them is a hard choice to make. But this night out was scheduled late in the evening, so I would still have a little bit of time with Babboo. And so I decided to join the ladies.

And dude, was it a mistake.

I had no idea that these SAHM could be so catty. And over dramatic. And just plain mean to each other. In the first thirty seconds of the evening out unnecessary drama was introduced to the party. I’m talking about scathing e-mails, mean words about people’s kids, family secrets of (those not in attendance) shared, and tears. Actual tears.

These women are all adults. They are married and have kids and families and they were acting like we were all back in high school junior high. Apparently this type of drama is uber common in their SAHM group.

And I felt like an outsider. But this time I was okay with being the outsider.

I didn’t want any part of this drama. I didn’t want to know why they all hate Rebecca’s son. I didn’t want to know why Ginny’s family all hate each other. I didn’t want to read the e-mail Samantha sent Amy before the party. I felt like all eyes were on me and that I needed to choose sides and make alliances right that second. But I don’t want to make any alliances. I don’t want to be on one side and not the other.

I just wanted to go home.

But I couldn’t. I was stuck there for the rest of the evening until my ride was ready to go home.

I finally got out of there and returned to my house. I started to recount my unbelievable evening to The King. I told him I didn’t know what to do  or how I was going to keep peace with all of these ladies. I mean, I have to serve with them at church. And I like them. I do. I just don’t want to be around this negativity.

So today, I’m thankful to be sitting in my quiet cubicle busily working on my tasks while listening to my iPod. There aren’t any sides to choose and nobody is talking bad about me or my kid or my husband. Nobody is judging my outfit or my kid’s clothes.  And I don’t have to prove that my husband is the most romantic husband in the world.

And so what if I can’t go with them to see High School Musical III today because I’m at work. And who cares that I’m missing the luncheon.

This is where I’d rather be today.

So tell me, you SAHM’s out there, is this what it’s like for you? And if so, then I’m sorry.

Long gone are the days of me waking up at every sound Babboo makes during the night. Now days I sleep right through it. But not The King. He jumps right out of bed and races to Babboo’s cribside before I even realize my son is screaming for me.

One night last week The King and I woke up in the middle of the night to Babboo screaming out for both of us. And like has become the tradition, The King ran to see what was wrong. Next thing I knew Babboo was snuggled in between us in our Big Bed. He’s always so warm and willing to snuggle up to one of us when he’s in bed with us. Both The King and I enjoy the occasional night of Babboo being added to our bed. Unfortunately having Babboo in bed with us means that he is woken up at the butt-crack of dawn when I get up for work. It makes his day at school long and doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll sleep better the next night.

Needless to say, the following night, when getting Babboo ready for bed he and I talked about how he’s a Big Boy now and needs to sleep in his crib and not cry to come into the Big Bed with Mommy and Daddy. I explained that his crib is much nicer for him and it’s where he needs to be at night. He listened to me as I talked and put his jammies on.

And then he said, “But The Guy scares me.”

“What guy?”

“The guy in my crib! He scares me.”

The air suddenly got heavier and Babboo’s bedroom seemed a little darker.

“There isn’t a guy in your crib. You don’t need to be scared.”

Babboo slowly walked over to his crib and pointed to the space between his crib and the wall.

“The guy lives right here.”

Not only was the bedroom now darker but I’m pretty sure I felt a cold draft hit me from underneath the crib. And then the lights flickered and I might have wet myself.

It was clear, by the look of sheer honesty and terror in Babboo’s eyes, that he believed what he was telling me.

I admit it, I was scared. There was no way I was looking under the crib to prove to my toddler that there was NO GUY LIVING UNDER HIS BED! And no matter how many times I told him, out loud with my voice cracking, that no guy lived between his crib and the wall did I believe what I was saying. Sure, I know there isn’t a man that secretly lives in my kid’s bedroom. I’m smart enough to know that’s true. But dude, what about a monster or a ghost or something else even creepier?

I’m the adult here and even I’m not convinced.

I assured him, with the most adult voice I could muster, that he was safe and that Mommy and Daddy would never let anything bad happen to him. And I told him that if he was truly scared in the middle of the night that all he needed to do was call for us (well, mostly for Daddy since I don’t seem to wake up) and we’d The King would come and get him. He seemed to understand what I was saying and I’m pretty sure he trusted what I was saying.

But here’s the thing, I’m a little freaked out by this. Here I am the adult and I’m just a little too uncomfortable with the fact that I’m not automatically assured that there isn’t something in our house. I mean, again, I know there isn’t a guy living in our house. And yet, I’m not 100% comfortable with the whole situation. It isn’t keeping me up at night, but it making my skin crawl a little when I stop and think about. Especially if I’m in his bedroom.

I guess I just assumed that the second a child passed through my own private birth canal that I’d become an adult that is confident, secure, and knowledgeable. I’d no longer be worried about noises in the night and shadows that seemed to move. I thought that once I was the parent all of my childish fears would vanish.

But they didn’t vanish. Apparently. And now I don’t know what this means. I hate that I now question my parents own confidence. Were they not convinced that nothing was living under my bed when I was Babboo’s age? Was my mom afraid on the nights that my dad was out of town for work? Did she sleep with a heavy flashlight like I’ve been known to do when The King’s out of town? Did my dad hate it when he had to go into our dark basement?

I guess most of us adults are just faking it. If we say we’re not afraid loud enough and enough times we might start to believe it ourselves. At least that’s what I’m hoping for.

And in the mean time, I’m still not looking under Babboo’s bed.

I haven’t been feeling so good lately. It’s probably a combination of a few different things. You know, things like returning home from our month long vacation, work stress, marriage stress, upcoming holiday stress, church responsibilities, my upcoming (fourth!) colonoscopy, Babboo’s new school…..blah, blah, blah…..

Stop talking Isabel.

Can I be honest here?

Okay, it’s the damn weather. I hate that I haven’t seen the sun in months weeks days. I’m cold all the time. I’m stuck in a office cubicle with horrible florescent lighting. I wake up in the dark and go home in the dark. I’m just feeling myself lately. Add all the other issues on top of my need for a little vitamin D and you get a very unhappy Isabel.

I’ve been dealing with these dreary feelings in the best and only way I know how. I’ve been self medicating.

It seems the only things that keep me going lately are Coke Zero (this stuff is awesome), documenting my daily work attire for the interweb, copious amounts of rice crispy treats, watching season two of “Dexter” on The King’s iPod, and buying new patio furniture at ridiculously low end of season prices at the local outlet mall.

Dreaming of being able to use the new furniture on our new deck NEXT YEAR makes me giddy with anticipation. Of course it’s about 350 days before I’ll get the chance to use them. But still, knowing the sun will shine again helps. A little.

Okay, this only helps a teeny tiny bit. In fact, come to think of it, this actually might be worse. Seeing the patio furniture sitting in our garage just mocking me every time I come home from work is pretty miserable.

Music also seems to be a way for me to self medicate. I was fortunate enough to attend my third Old 97’s concert of the summer the night before we left for our vacation to Europe. Not only was this an Old 97’s concert, but it was a secret concert. They were billed under a secret name and only true fans knew about the show. (True Old 97’s fan = ME!) I went to the concert alone since someone needed to stay home with Babboo. Thankfully I was recognized by a lovely pregnant lady (hi Sarah!) from the internet who so graciously let me hang out with her and her husband for the duration of the show. I eventually decided to forgo trying to get a good picture of Rhett Miller and not just some dude’s head and just enjoy the freakin’ show already.

It may have been over a month ago, but the thought of seeing another Old 97’s show still has me thrilled.

And although my bestest friend May doesn’t know the full extent of my inner dreariness she has helped to make me feel a little bit of sunshine with the thoughtful mix CD she sent me last week. It isn’t just the music on the CD that makes me happy, it’s the fact that I know May loves me and misses me just as much as I miss her. (Curse you Reno, Nevada.)

Although I do have to admit, the music on the “I miss Isabel so I made her a mix” CD is pretty darn awesome. I had forgotten how much I loved Camera Obscure. And I’ve long been a fan of Mates of State since seeing them live a few years ago. I’ve become even more of a fan since I recently found out they have a blog about touring with their two little girls.

So thanks to May for allowing a little bit of musical sunshine to enter into my cubicle each and every day. I don’t think you know how much this means to me.

And don’t worry, appointments have been made with real live doctors and actual medicinal help will be shortly administered to aid in the lack of sunshine in my life. In the mean time I’m going to try to find happiness anyway I can.

So tell me, how do you self-medicate?

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Did you see me over at Alpha Mom this week?!  If you missed it head over to read How to Make Dinner with a Toddler Under Foot (in five easy steps).