Dignity...

Remember that time I got REALLY mad (and a little queasy) at Brett Favre for being a cheating, scummy joke of a man? Yeah, me too. 

The other day, while doing really important web-based research wasting my life online, I came across this gem. And was once again floored by how much people,as a whole, could really so disappointing. 

The quick version? Former Giants player Tiki Barber, who is also an on-air correspondent for NBC Sports, cheated on his 8-month pregnant (WITH TWINS) wife of 11 years. With the 23 year old babysitter, a former intern for NBC. Who is now his girlfriend. 

Heart-breaking? This quote from  his 2007 memoir, "Tiki: My Life in the Game and Beyond," in which Barber described the example he wanted to set for his kids.

"I want to be an honorable man, because that's what I want them both to be," he wrote, noting, "My family is everything to me."

All the things I said to Brett- apply to Tiki. But reading about this, paired with recent discussions I’ve had due to the passing of Elizabeth Edwards & all the ridiculous things she got put through, got me to thinking. 

Yes, there is blame (quite a lot of it) that needs to be directed at the unfaithful party. But I’m starting to think that for every morally deficient, ego-inflated, unfaithful guy there is out there- that there is a least a handful of girls (because they certainly can’t be classified as adult women) with little concern for pregnant wives, the families they may be destroying and the kind of person they are,in turn, becoming.

As the mother of a daughter (one sure to be of the heart-breaking variety) I now feel a giant responsibility.  To raise her to have dignity. 

To understand that if someone is going to be unfaithful FOR you- there is not much to deter them from being unfaithful TO you. 

To want more for her life than to be somebody’s “other” woman. 

To have her realize (and believe, whole-heartedly) that she deserves someone who is so in love with her- and just her- that the whole world simply fades away. 

To be braver than I am, braver than I was, braver than many of the women I know. 

To understand that being alone, learning to love yourself, is better than being some body’s second choice. 

To believe in karma, or at least believe that whatever negative chaos you knowingly create in the universe by your selfishness- it is coming back to you. At least double. 

To recognize mistakes before she makes them, or at the very least, find a way to glean the positive from the mistakes you didn’t see coming. 

To know how to politely disagree & how to get angry, when the situation calls for it. Even if she’s angry at me.  

To not be intoxicated by all things that seem shiny and new & to recognize that sometimes, the things you have now just need a little polish.

To bounce back from the unexpected. 

To acknowledge her own struggles, but keep a sense of perspective. 

To be respectful. And kind.

And recognize that everybody has their battles & struggles- but no one can understand who goes on in intimate relationships but the two people involved- so keep your judgements to yourself. 

To be unafraid to love, but even less afraid to walk away. 

 If my daughter turns out to a better woman than I am- a stronger, more confident, fearless woman....

I'll know I've done my job. 

Free Ninety-Nine

So, let me be honest for a moment here. 

I had NO intention of sending out Christmas cards this year. The idea of creating them and hauling myself to the post office to mail them- terrified me. And paying for them? Well we've yet to tap into the natural resource of the money tree and I chose not having to be up to my elbows in Kraft macaroni and cheese until July over Christmas cards.


But then I was contacted by Shutterfly. For this fabulous promotion. They must of heard of my penchant for things that are FREE. I was psyched.


Let me recount briefly the Christmas card debacle that was Christmas 2009. I decided to create my cards in-store at Walmart. This was my first mistake. Even in early December, the place was a zoo. I had to wait for a kiosk and then, being true to my indecisive nature, spent an obscene amount of time debating over font colors and photo placement and choosing the exact phrase of cheer that I wanted the Lariviere-Cayer family to send out. When I finally finished, I received a print-out saying my product (of a simple 25 christmas cards) would be ready in 30 minutes. TWO HOURS later- I was still waiting. With my hungry, tired 6 month old. After unnecessary sass from a disgruntled employee & rallying around three other mothers of small children who were waiting with me- I demanded to speak with the manager (so very unlike me, but I was sweaty and stressed and my feet hurt). I ended up getting all my pictures for free. And when I returned to Walmart later in the week, the photo department was absolutely plastered with signs reading "Photos may not print in the provided time frame due to high volume sales". I felt victorious- I had big business shaking in their boots. I also vowed to NEVER buy cards from them again. I longingly perused sites like Shutterfly creating cards I knew I'd never order because I'm cheap. So when they offered me free cards as a blogger  (what? people read this thing?), I was beyond excited.


Shutterfly has hundreds of amazing Christmas card options. Personally?

I love me some polka-dots

Or maybe just some simple, straight-up Gracie girl...

                                                      

And these calendars?

I want one for my desk, like yesterday. 

Amazing options, I could waste my whole day playing around on their site. My final Christmas card creation will be kept top-secret, until I send them out (which will hopefully be before January), because obviously I'm kind of a big deal. 

I highly suggest you get creative & make some of your own- and be sure to send one to me! 

Baby Brain

    I've talked about guilt. I've talked about how much it hurts to pee after you have a baby (although I still believe there aren't enough words in the english language to adequately describe that). I've talked about feeling fat. Feeling sad. I've talked about being insanely in love with someone who can't even talk yet. 

               But there is something I haven't mentioned. And it's become a serious concern. 

It started when I was pregnant. 

The diagnosis?

(I'd like to imagine that any diagnosis would be more manageable if given by this delicious, purely fictional, medical professional. Just try to disagree with me). 

Baby brain.

This is a sweet, rather innocuous term for the terrorist takeover of brain cells that begins at conception. Friends lamented that they wished they had kept journals of the ridiculous things I said and did while pregnant. Like asking who the lead singer of the Dave Matthews Band was. Or claiming that the geographical location of Alaska was right by Hawaii. Just like it shows at the bottom of the map. Now, I'm not a MESNA member. But trust me...I'm smarter than that. 

     I assumed that, like my aversion to turkey & havarti sandwiches (which I used to LOVE by the way), like the nausea and the back pain and the uncontrollable, unpredictable tears, this unfortunate condition had a shelf life of (give or take) 9 months. That with the arrival of that beautiful baby- I would get my brain and body back. Wrong. On all counts. The only thing I'm not doing anymore on a consistent basis is hurling up my Cheerios. 

But the baby brain, now affectionally termed "Mommy Brain"...this is the most worrisome. I joke all the time that I only have enough space in my brain for Grace and some random information about speech therapy. I'm starting to think this is true. Evidenced by the fact that I recently used cooking spray instead of Windex to clean my bathroom mirror. That I've spent more than 5 minutes looking for the keys to my already running car. I can't even count the amount of times I've started to ask a question about something and then stopped, mid-query, when I realized how idiotic the question was. 

My only explanation is that I've donated a significant portion of my brain cells to Grace. And while I admit, her rapid acquisition of knowledge is pretty awesome (although all birds still say WOOF, unless they have yellow beaks, in which case they quack)..I'd really like my own brain back. It has been so consumed with the task of keeping another human being alive that any non-relevant information gets immediately stored in the back of my brain. You know...that place where you keep the name of your first grade teacher and the date of your parents wedding anniversary. I know enough to keep my hair away from an open flame, but I can't manage to find that safe spot where I put my digital camera until I've accused at least 3 people of stealing it. People used to jokingly refer to me as Andrew's secretary, because give me an important date or piece of information and not only did I remember..but I made sure that he did too. Which, take my word for it, is no easy feat. Now, I have to write things down in multiple locations to have any hope of actually remembering them at any point other than two weeks after they've happened.

I still cry at the drop of the hat. I didn't cry when Grace was born (mainly I think, because it happened too gosh darn fast..I know, poor me), but give me a birth sequence on 16 & Pregnant or a Baby Story..and I'm reduced to a blubbering mess. I have to concentrate really hard to not pee a little when I sneeze. The mere idea of a turkey & harvarti sandwich makes me queasy. 

All that? Those are things I can handle. 

But...

Brain? Short Term Memory? Filter that keeps me from saying embarrassingly stupid things?

I miss you. 

Please come back soon. Or I might start agreeing that birds say woof & penguins quack. And it won't be pretty. 

Consolation prize?

Being able to show photographs like these to future boyfriends...

Tis the season...

To be thankful.


Cliched, yes. But true. This post is a bit delayed, but the sentiments are the same. 


I'm thankful for friends. Who know where I've been. Who remind me where I'm going. Who sometimes lift me up, hold me up, keep me standing. And most importantly, who make me laugh when all I feel like doing is crying. For those friends who love & support me from miles away & minutes down the road. 


I'm thankful for having an extra dollar to put in the salvation army bin. 


For cold nights and a warm bed and good books. 


I'm thankful for coffee, wine and sometimes, tequila. Just being honest. 


For my parents. You are supposed to need them less as you "grow up", but I've found I need them now more than ever. For big things & little things. 


I'm thankful for Modern Family & Greys Anatomy. For giving me an excuse to spend time with some of the best ladies I know. To laugh. And sometimes, to eat really bad (read: gooooood) food. 


For moments of routine where I can just stop and...marvel. Like when we brush Gracie's teeth at night and we sing the same silly song together. Or while reading the same story every night for the eleventythousandth time, Grace giggles, right on cue. How did I get so lucky?


For yoga pants. 


For netflix instant stream and hulu, the poor man's DVR. 


For simple moments of pure thoughtfulness, like turning on the seat warmer on my side before I get in the car.


For Sunday morning coffee deliveries. We wait for that text to start our day and the company is just as anticipated and appreciated as the coffee itself. 


For hand-me-down expensive scented candles. A guilty pleasure I would never pay $25 for, which makes it feel that much more luxurious. 


For the memories I have of a wonderful childhood. I cherish these snippets, replay them in my head. If I listen hard enough, I can still hear my Nana's laugh. It's beautiful. And the more I work with children, the more I realize- it wasn't, or wont be,  this beautiful for everyone. 


For the cries of "it's Mama, it's Mama, that's Mama, Hiiiii Mama" that greet me when I pick up at daycare. Someday... she won't be so excited to see me. 


For football Sundays. Surrounded by my family, good food...watching the Patriots. It doesn't get much better. 


For a life, shaded with regrets, outlined in half-cooked dreams and big ideas and colored with a sometimes crazy, always beautiful here-and-now. 

You know what I'm mostly thankful for?

Shocker, huh?

But true. 

I wake up every morning, thanking my lucky stars that I was chosen to be that girl's mama. 

And trust me, SHE found ME, just when I needed her most. 

Gracie,

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for the way you rub my back when I ask. For the fact you already know that I'll let you stay up reading books with me for as long as you want. Thankful that even though you are a Daddy's girl, there are moments that nobody but Mama will do. I am thankful for your belly laughs. I am thankful for your sleepy, sweaty curls. I am thankful for your ever expanding vocabulary & how cute and sweet you sound when you say "tan you", with a rising intonation & half-hearted sign language accompanying it. I'm thankful for your mischievousness & the opportunity to watch you smile. I am thankful for the "soup" you make for me in empty containers and then lovingly blow on, so I don't burn my mouth. 

I am thankful for YOU. Just the way you are. 

Love you to the moon & back, 

Mama. 

What's eating me....

It's no secret that my brain and body harbor a little lot of anxiety. About creepy men hiding in the backseat of my car. About whether or not I remembered to unplug the hair straightener and if my house is going to go up in flames. About freak work place accidents happening to people I love. Except nobody that I love works in dangerous industries. (Although I think my Dad may wish he was part of the crew on The Deadliest Catch...) The last thing I needed to worry about was bacteria laden hamburgers and how my cheez-its are going to give me cancer. 

This anxiety is the reason I have, up until this point, resisted watching Robert Kenner's documentary "Food, Inc". I assumed that the film was going to disgust me and cause a full fledged hunger strike on my part, based in fear. I was wrong. 

"Food, Inc" is a documentary inspired by Michael Pollan's "The Omnivores Dilemma" and Eric Schlosser's "Fast Food Nation". The documentary is billed as "exposing America's industrialized food system & it's effect on our health, environment, economy & workers rights" This description doesn't do it justice. The film is enthralling & enlightening, but not in a way that is belittling.  It is not a walking PETA advertisement, doesn't foster guilt about eating corn-fed beef or not eating locally or organically. I highly encourage everybody to watch it, especially if you feel skeptical about the slowly growing movement of eating locally/organically (it's on Netflix's direct instant stream!)

Let me share with you some of the more shocking things I learned about where exactly our food comes from:

- Cows are not designed to digest corn. However, we feed them corn anyway because corn is cheap, easy and makes cows VERY fat. And what happens when cows are forced to eat corn? Their stomach becomes a breeding ground for E. Coli bacteria.  To combat this? Logical answer- switch back to a grass diet, which kills E Coli in only FIVE days. Nope.  Meat plants are "washing" ground beef in ammonia and chlorine before packaging. Sounds delicious, right?And not foolproof- just ask Barbara Kowalcyk, whose 2 1/2 year old son DIED from E Coli he contracted from ground beef. And WHO has authority to shut down meat packing plants for selling tainted meat. Not the USDA. In fact, not anyone. Awesome. 

- Twenty years ago, there were thousands of slaughter houses producing the meat that we eat. Now? There are 13 gigantic, mass-produced slaughter houses. And these mass-produced cows are often left standing knee-deep in their own manure. And productivity does not allow time for washing them after they’ve been slaughtered. Add that to the fact that each single hamburger generally contains meat from over 100 cattle- and that’s a whole lot of grossness. 

-The majority of mass-produced chickens are raised in complete darkness. Their breasts are so large they can’t even walk- although, they wouldn’t be allowed to anyway. The antibiotics that keep them breathing and alive in these conditions- are in every. single. bite. of your sandwich. And these chicken farmers contracted to companies like Tyson are forced to invest up to $500,000 a year to keep up with their “standards” or risk losing contracts and generally see returns less than $20,000. 

-In 1972, the FDA conducted over 500,000 food safety inspections. In 2006- there were only 9,164. During the Bush Administration, the head of the FDA was the  former executive VP of the National Food Processors Association and the chief of staff of the USDA was the former chief lobbyist of the beef industry. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but that feels a little fishy to me. 

-70% of processed food contains genetically modified ingredients. And there are no regulations that require documentation of this. Whatever your position on genetic modifications, we should have the right to KNOW what we’re eating. Currently, the FDA is debating whether or not to label milk & meat that comes from cloned animals. Right now they don’t. It just makes sense to me that consumers should be able to choose whether or not they want to eat a cloned steak. 

The most telling, chilling aspect? The silence. Not ONE major company- Tyson, Perdue etc would even TALK to the creators of Food Inc. And over 50 of them were contacted. 

I know it is difficult & inconvenient to change our ways. Economically- eating locally, organically- it’s not always easy or even possible. However, my hope is seeing this film really makes you think. Even if your thought is "I still don't care". The most common thing I hear when I start talking about these issues is "Well, we ate like this and we all turned out fine". Not really true. 15, 20 years ago...you weren't eating genetically modified food. And local farmers were able to make honest, decent livings without being strong-armed or steam-rolled by giant corporations who care more about profit than safety & workers rights.(These same companies also have a history of hiring illegal immigrants because there is no one making sure that they are treated fairly- but that is another soap-box conversation for another day). And this statement is also dependent on your definition of "fine". A nation-wide obesity epidemic because of the availability and affordability of processed, junky food. Diabetes. Even (some claim) autism.E Coli outbreaks everywhere-in peanut butter, spinach- the list is endless.  Doesn't seem so fine to me.  And although the information I've provided here is clearly one-sided and biased, "Food Inc" tried really hard not to be. As much as was possible with zero compliance from major food processors. 

I can't afford to eat exclusively organically or locally. I wish I could. So what's my plan? Shop on the periphery of the grocery store, as the most processed and modified foods lie buried in center aisles. Make informed, educated choices about what I chose to eat & feed my daughter (organic doesn't always equal BETTER). Actually look at the ingredients of my food.  Learn what fruits and vegetables are in season in this part of the country and chose those over strawberries in January (that's going to be a tough one). Visit some local winter's farmers markets and see what is affordable for me, so I can support local farmers and foster my community's economy at the same time. Making cooking fresh meals more of a priority, over convenience (also tough). If we got rid of the apathy and more people cared about these issues...perhaps local agriculture and organic food companies would be able to be more affordable. Seems simple, right?

So instead of feeling scared or anxious after watching this film- I feel empowered. To make healthy, safe choices. To educate other people, urge them to just watch & form their own opinions. Talking about this movie with people I know has sparked great, exciting & interesting conversations all on its own. I know where my food comes from- and although I may not be happy about it- knowledge is power, right? Organics is the fastest growing food segment, growing 20% annually- and if you listen hard enough, ignore the abundance of tie-dye and peace signs (got to love stereotyping, right?), forget the political views you may not share, a lot of what these people are saying just makes sense.

A good friend of mine pointed out to me, as I was spewing the virtues of this film, that I probably care so much because I have more than just myself to worry about these days. And it is very true. Plus this girl?

She loves some organic blueberries, flash frozen & ready to eat in November :)

Expectations...

 Expectations. 

We all have them. As a mom, I think back on my past expectations- for my baby, for myself...and I chuckle. No pacifiers? That lasted less than 48 hours. Back in pre-baby shape by the time Gracie was 9 months old? Puh-lease. 


But there has been one thing I've remained pretty adamant about. A parenting vow that I made a long time ago. My child would NEVER be one of those kids in restaurants. 


You know the kind of children I'm talking about. They clamber all over booths. They crawl all over the floor. They emit that high-pitched squeal only rivaled by dog-whistles. They whine. They serve as birth-control for other diners. 




Recently, I went out to lunch with a great friend of mine. Who happens to (thankfully) be a mom of an adorable well-behaved 6 month old little boy. And while her little angel coo-ed in his car seat...Grace was screeching. Trying to climb out of her high chair. Throwing breadsticks. 


Let me take a moment to say- that really is not standard Grace behavior. She's normally the kid at the restaurant who sits peacefully & charms the pants off everyone that passes. The most obnoxious thing she does is normally fixate her attention on a male in the room and insist on saying HI to him &waving 543464 times until she gets his undivided attention. Not unlike going out for drinks with certain friends from college, right?


Try as I might, I couldn't contain her. No amount of goldfish, board books or even the dreaded not normally seen in public pacifier kept her satisfied. Not even a real live BABY (she's got this strange obsession with all babies) caught her attention. I was really looking forward to catching up with the particular friend so I tried to just ignore Gracie's bad behavior. 


Which is about the time the looks started. Side-long glances from neighboring tables. Pitying stares from waitstaff. Its entirely possible that I was being a little paranoid- but all this (supposed) negative attention was making me sweat. I felt like my mommy skills were on display and I was failing miserably. I wanted to scream " But she doesn't watch any television!"..."I made all of her ORGANIC baby food, by hand!"..."She loves books and can count to three!"...just to defend myself. 


The friend I was with sensed the panic in my voice while I was trying to chat casually about what was going in my life & we started to double-team Gracie duty. We distracted her with a dancing baby. We barricaded her with chairs and tables and let her sit on the filthy dirty floor and look at a book. Which lasted all of 15 glorious seconds. We got lemon slices from the bar- because she loves lemons.A glass FULL of lemon slices. Which we encouraged her to eat with a chorus of "Mmmm LEMONS! SO delicious". I'm guessing this is the moment that the older woman at the next table was considering calling the higher powers to get my mommy license revoked ASAP. 


When we finally threw in the towel, when I looked at my friend whose beautiful baby was just barely starting to fuss and said...I think it's time to go...Grace stopped trying to squirm out of my arms like I was covered in porcupine quills & smelled like brussel sprouts. She cheerfully got her coat on & as we walked out of the restaurant, while I was trying to hide my face so no one could report me for my ineffective parenting skills, she smiled sweetly, waved at every patron of the restaurant, and said "Bye" in her innocent demure little voice. I muttered under my breath "ughnoonethinksyourecuterightnowyouruinedtheirpeacefullunchesandwerethrowingbreadsticksforpetessake". Which only served to make me look crazy. And certainly did not win me any mommy points. 


Expectations? They can't exist with toddlers. And the beautiful thing? If you let go of everything you were planning on.. life surprises you. It's the things I never expected of Gracie that have been the most wonderful. Her sense of humor. How adventurous she is, without being reckless. She displays none of the anxiety or trepidation that plagues my life & for that I am so grateful. She's surprising me everyday with the sort of person she's becoming. And projectile breadsticks aside, I couldn't be prouder to call her mine. 




After that atrocious display of bad behavior, on our walk to the car, Gracie grabbed my face and said "oooooh MAMA!" and planted a big sloppy kiss on me. My heart melted into a puddle and instantly, it was all forgotten. So forgotten in fact, that we're going to try to go out to lunch again today. Wish us luck.  

If you hear of a Mommy meltdown at a local pizza buffet? 

I swear, it wasn't me. 

Balancing Act...

The first symptom of pregnancy?


It's not morning sickness...

or weight gain..

or being tired all the time. Nope.





The first symptom of pregnancy? The gift of motherhood that keeps on giving?

Guilt.


Guilt about what irresponsible things you might have done before you knew you were pregnant. Guilt about every cup of coffee, ever diet soda you have while you're pregnant. Guilt about deli meat. Too much weight gain. Not enough weight gain. What you can eat. What you can't. Guilt about induction. Epidurals. C-sections.

Guilt about breast-feeding. Guilt about NOT breast-feeding. Guilt about pacifiers. Co-sleeping. Swaddling. Weight gain. Weight loss or lack of. Jaundice. Guilt about letting a baby cry it out, guilt about when to start solids, guilt about belly time. Guilt about daycare. Guilt about taking time for yourself.


I thought this guilt would subside as time went on. Truth is- it has just grown & evolved right along with my Gracie girl. There are new challenges everyday & if I let it- my guilt would consume me.

I've been going through some things lately, with school & my (sort-of almost) career. And although they seem to have resolved themselves at this point, after many sleepless nights, frantic (and appreciated) conversations with good friends and with my parents, it certainly got me thinking. I've felt pulled in a million different directions. And I've watched my priorities shift and struggled to set boundaries when I felt like everything was unstable. There have been (plenty of) moments when I've wanted to throw my hands up in the air and scream SURRENDER. Throw in the towel.

You know what keeps me going?

This girl. In the ultimate case of irony & contradiction- it is THIS girl who pushes me to succeed & causes me to simulatneously resent the need to do so.

I am nearing the age where people are starting to ( or at least toy with the idea) settle down. Get married. Have babies. I've actually heard people say that settling down is synonymous with settling. Forgoing their grander aspirations. Releasing dreams they had for themselves, as an individual. I want to know why. Why is it portrayed as SO hard to both succeed (in the more traditional sense of the word) and be a successful parent? Why does it feel so hard? It all cycles back to that guilt thing.

I will say this- I grew up with two parents who worked (and still do) very hard. Full time jobs. And I never felt neglected. Not once. I don't remember the number of business trips my dad had to go on, but I do remember the stories he tape-recorded for me, complete with my special lullaby & reminders to behave for my mom. I don't remember my mom sleeping through days because she worked nights, I don't remember her being as miserable when sleep-deprived as she does-but I do remember trips to the library and her unfailing presence at every school event.

I know that by saying "yes,  you win" to my work, to school- I'm ultimately saying YES to Grace's future. I have to constantly remind myself that while I may not be doing what feels best for me- I am doing what is best for her.

So this week? For me, it's all about balance. About my reaction to the events life throws at me. And these are things that ring true, parent or not. Life is about BALANCE. About realizing it's okay to have days where you are less than perfect.

I hereby swear to make the most of the time I get with my girl. Whether it's 14 hours or 2- they're all gold. My hope is she will remember splashing in the tub until my clothes are soaked and the bathroom floor rivals Lake George. That she will remember reading "Llama Llama Red Pajama" night after night. And that the moments where my head was buried in a textbook, where I was gone for 10 or 12 hours a day- I selfishly hope those moments slip through the cracks.

I know I have many friends, particularly those of us still in school, who are teetering on the edge of "real life". Waiting for that final push that catapults into the world of forty hour work weeks and salaries. And while I know it will get better- the pressure of exams, projects, meeting other peoples expectations constantly will subside, it is still going to be all about balance. Realizing that less that perfect is ok. That dishes might not get done so you can read that extra book at bedtime, or have that glass of wine that you so desperately need after a long week.

   We've all got balls to juggle. Kids or not, life is pretty much a circus act. And you know what?
                                                       It's nice to know I'm not alone.

On why having a fantasy football team is much like being in a bad relationship..

*No matter how great they're predicted to perform,they rarely live up to the hype

*You can't do a thing with them as soon as the football game is on

*It doesn't matter how many different types of guys you choose, they always end up disappointing you at one time or another. 

*No matter how hard you try or how nicely you ask- you just can't make them do anything. 

*You obsessively check your players stats, injury reports, and practice performance much like you might stalk facebook, send incessant text messages and call 84 times. In a row. 

*There are always false promises and unrealistic expectations. For days. 

*You catch yourself longingly looking at other teams rosters, wondering how you could have been so naive. 

*You must act  shocked when your sleeper pick's fantasy performance turns out to be the real-world equivalent of living in his parent's basement, under-employed, and still a college freshman at 27. But he had such POTENTIAL. 

*No matter how many times a player gets sent to the bench, he never learns his lesson until he's dropped from the team. 

*You find yourself counting on comebacks. But we all know the truth is, once a players performance begins to decline- it's game over. 

*You overlook a checkered past, full of less that brilliant off the field snafus and fumbles. And when that mid-season drug suspension comes into play, you are floored & devastated. And everyone in your life (or league) serves you up a big old "told you so". 

*You begin to act irrationally. You cheer when your home team quarterback gets sacked because your fantasy defense is the opposing team. You are subsequently filled with shame. Annnnnnd repeat. 

*You keep holding out hope that your star player will perform better next week...you refuse to trade him for fear that this will be his week, that he'll finally break out...and in the end, you're the one that looks like a fool for putting up with his sub-par performance for so long.

*You analyze every glance, post-game quote, absence from practice, missed series.. for days. You debate and agonize over your next move. You consult with your friends on what you should do. You search google for advice. Constantly. 

*There are always excuses. The other team had a break-out day. My ankle injury is flaring up. Coach pulled me out at the goal line. Blah, blah, blah. 

*You find a way to bring it up in every single conversation until everyone you know either a)avoids talking to you or b) rolls their eyes the second you open your mouth. 

*Their behavior  is often a complete mystery, whether it's because someone gets mad at you for no apparent reason or when they find a way to drop three passes in the end zone in one game. The goal is not a perfect season, just a winning one. Or so you keep telling yourself. Over and over again.

*You hope, you plan and you anticipate...but not everything (read: nothing) will go the way you want. 

The cuteness almost takes the sting away of a winless season.

And living with someone who is in the same league AND is undefeated. 

Almost.