Of Resolve.
New Year coming right up. For me that means resolutions. I love the idea of starting over. Mondays are mini-resolution days for me. Terrible weekend? Monday I'll start over and do things better. Last month sucked? Starting on the 1st everything will be better. Its a ridiculous notion I know. But it still calls to me. And the New Year is the ultimate chance to start over. Its a whole freaking new YEAR for crying out loud. So my list of resolutions is always long and complicated and ultimately doomed to fail. However, over the past several years I have made some that have stuck and so they dangle before me like a carrot, enticing me to try again this year. And so - here they are, For 2008 I resolve to:
1. Be nicer. Without the caveat that anyone else has to be smarter. . .I'm just going to try to be nicer.
2. Cut everyone a break now and then. I think this is part of #1, but it deserves its own number. I expect perfection of myself and just about everyone else I know so this includes cutting myself a break.
3. Save money. This is a regular on my list and honestly I'm always just happy if I don't end the year deeper in debt. But its always worth listing.
4. Tell F and Drama Queen and Pee Pot that I love them every single day at least twice. Its not hard with the kids - but yo - marriage is HARD and there are days where I'm sure I don't tell F enough what a super hero he is.
5. Exercise more and lose weight. I know - I'm a fitness professional (HA!) and so this should be a non-issue. However, it is an issue. I'd do Pilates and strength train all day long if I could - but cardio? Blegh. So run baby run (I've already done one more 5K and signed up for #3). So Cardio is on my list. As is eating a few more vegetables (French fries don't count dangit).
6. Talk to God every day. I'm still trying to figure out God and our relationship (or lack thereof). I have so many questions and issues with God - or are they just with religion? Either way there are parts of church that I love and parts that I loathe and thinking of them makes me boil. I need to work on that and like any relationship (see #4) conversation is key.
Hmmm - I think that does it. I'll try to let you know how I'm doing. .
Monday, December 31, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Run Baby Run
I hate running. I do. I hate the way I can feel my butt jiggle. I hate the way it makes me breathe. I hate the way the back of my throat feels when I run - like I need to cough - but can't. I hate running.
But - I know its good for me. I do a zillion other types of exercises, but running is what kicks my butt (literally sometimes) so I'm trying it. I've got stubborn weight that won't leave so I'm adding running to my list of Things To Do in an effort to lose the fat. So I started running. To force myself to really do it, I signed up for a 5K. And then coerced several friends to sign up for it as well (that way I can't back out).
I was more nervous about it than I originally thought. I had dreams about it. About being late. About getting there and discovering it’s a tri and not just a 5K. But I had locked myself into it now.
This morning I got up and got ready. Warm clothes. But not too warm. Protein bar and some OJ. Out the door.
I'm running with my best friend Banana. She's pregnant and still kicks my butt. I tell myself I have to keep her at least in my sights in case something happens to her. She's pregnant (I know I've mentioned that already) and I drug her to the thing . . .her husband would kill me if she got hurt. I force myself to stay close enough to her to see her. I curse her long legs that take a step for every three of mine. I keep running. I curse myself for choosing to do this. I PAID to do this? What was I thinking? I keep running. I curse an unknown person who picked this route of total ups and downs, hill after hill after hill of road to run. I curse myself again for the exercise I did yesterday and for agreeing to teach two more classes after I finish the run. I keep running. The half way point is up ahead with a cup of water and a smiling face who tells me I'm doing good. I laugh at her naiveté. I keep running. The hills back don't seem as horrible as they did on the first half (it was an out and back race) and I seem to breathe a bit easier. The back of my throat begins to feel raw though and I try breathing totally through my nose. It doesn't work. I keep running. Through an intersection, traffic is held up for me and I feel like I need to kick it up a notch so the person in the giant Suburban doesn't give up on me and decide to put me out of my misery by just rolling through the stop sign and over my body. I see the final turn ahead and Banana and I decide to push to the end. Up a hill (of course) and as we near the finish line we hear people cheering for us. Some of them I know. Some I don't. But they are cheering anyway. As we get closer I tell Banana to go ahead - I want her to win and take the prize in our age group. She crosses over 2 seconds ahead of me. She takes our age group and I am 2nd. We are 2nd and 3rd overall among women. We wait for our friends who haven't finished yet to come over. We cheer them on. Veritably - it is awesome.
I'm tired. I'm cold now that I'm not running anymore and my throat is causing me to cough and hack like a chain smoker. I drink water. And more water. I eat half a banana and a handful of nuts. We get someone to take our picture. I'm so stoked its insane. I did this? Me? How in the world could I have run a 5K? I'm not a runner. I hate running.
I'm already looking for the next one.
But - I know its good for me. I do a zillion other types of exercises, but running is what kicks my butt (literally sometimes) so I'm trying it. I've got stubborn weight that won't leave so I'm adding running to my list of Things To Do in an effort to lose the fat. So I started running. To force myself to really do it, I signed up for a 5K. And then coerced several friends to sign up for it as well (that way I can't back out).
I was more nervous about it than I originally thought. I had dreams about it. About being late. About getting there and discovering it’s a tri and not just a 5K. But I had locked myself into it now.
This morning I got up and got ready. Warm clothes. But not too warm. Protein bar and some OJ. Out the door.
I'm running with my best friend Banana. She's pregnant and still kicks my butt. I tell myself I have to keep her at least in my sights in case something happens to her. She's pregnant (I know I've mentioned that already) and I drug her to the thing . . .her husband would kill me if she got hurt. I force myself to stay close enough to her to see her. I curse her long legs that take a step for every three of mine. I keep running. I curse myself for choosing to do this. I PAID to do this? What was I thinking? I keep running. I curse an unknown person who picked this route of total ups and downs, hill after hill after hill of road to run. I curse myself again for the exercise I did yesterday and for agreeing to teach two more classes after I finish the run. I keep running. The half way point is up ahead with a cup of water and a smiling face who tells me I'm doing good. I laugh at her naiveté. I keep running. The hills back don't seem as horrible as they did on the first half (it was an out and back race) and I seem to breathe a bit easier. The back of my throat begins to feel raw though and I try breathing totally through my nose. It doesn't work. I keep running. Through an intersection, traffic is held up for me and I feel like I need to kick it up a notch so the person in the giant Suburban doesn't give up on me and decide to put me out of my misery by just rolling through the stop sign and over my body. I see the final turn ahead and Banana and I decide to push to the end. Up a hill (of course) and as we near the finish line we hear people cheering for us. Some of them I know. Some I don't. But they are cheering anyway. As we get closer I tell Banana to go ahead - I want her to win and take the prize in our age group. She crosses over 2 seconds ahead of me. She takes our age group and I am 2nd. We are 2nd and 3rd overall among women. We wait for our friends who haven't finished yet to come over. We cheer them on. Veritably - it is awesome.
I'm tired. I'm cold now that I'm not running anymore and my throat is causing me to cough and hack like a chain smoker. I drink water. And more water. I eat half a banana and a handful of nuts. We get someone to take our picture. I'm so stoked its insane. I did this? Me? How in the world could I have run a 5K? I'm not a runner. I hate running.
I'm already looking for the next one.
Marvin
Who is Marvin? He's that guy in Pulp Fiction who gets his head blown off in the back of the car and leads to "The Bonnie Situation". You remember, right? The back of the car looks like, well - like someones head was blown to bits in the back seat. And recently my car looked exactly the same.
We had a really fun day, me and the girls. Drama Queen had a day off of school and so the two of us, and Pee Pot, headed out for a day of girl stuff. Lunch out, shopping, just doing all the stuff girls do when they hang out. At the end of all of this, they were starting to get cranky with one another and I decided a snack would help us all. Hmmm- what to feed them. . .something healthy-ish, but not too expensive that they would still think was a treat. . . .SMOOTHIES. FUN! So I get the 3 of us 2 smoothies. One is tropical mango flavored and the other is pomagranete raspberry. The health nut in me - immediately goes WOO - antioxidants! So we drink our smoothies and continue shopping and then begin to head home. Still drinking our smoothies. While I'm driving, Pee Pot proceeds to take the lid off of the top of the smoothie. The Dark Purple One.
What follows is apparently her first "masterpiece" of contemporary art. She uses the straw to suck up some juiced (it is now totally melted) and then blow it out of the straw onto the seats around her. Leather seats. Drama Queen giggles. I smile up front, totally ignorant of the carnage behind me. Assuming they are playing well together for once. My stupidity reigns supreme. I see a drop of something hit my windshield. My brain says "bug" and I keep driving. Then a drop of something hits my arm. My brain says "blood" and I freak. I'm screaming at the girls - WHAT. IS. GOING. ON. BACK. THERE? Immediately Drama Queen rats out her sister in an effort to absolve herself of any wrongdoing. . . .
We arrive home and begin the long and drawn out cleaning process. Antioxidants have splattered literally over every surface of the back seat as well as the back of the front seat. I find drops on my dash board, drops in my hair, the girls look to be infected with chicken pox and the load of books and toys that reside in my car have also caught the infectious disease. It is, without a doubt, the stickiest, stained car since. . . .Marvin.
We had a really fun day, me and the girls. Drama Queen had a day off of school and so the two of us, and Pee Pot, headed out for a day of girl stuff. Lunch out, shopping, just doing all the stuff girls do when they hang out. At the end of all of this, they were starting to get cranky with one another and I decided a snack would help us all. Hmmm- what to feed them. . .something healthy-ish, but not too expensive that they would still think was a treat. . . .SMOOTHIES. FUN! So I get the 3 of us 2 smoothies. One is tropical mango flavored and the other is pomagranete raspberry. The health nut in me - immediately goes WOO - antioxidants! So we drink our smoothies and continue shopping and then begin to head home. Still drinking our smoothies. While I'm driving, Pee Pot proceeds to take the lid off of the top of the smoothie. The Dark Purple One.
What follows is apparently her first "masterpiece" of contemporary art. She uses the straw to suck up some juiced (it is now totally melted) and then blow it out of the straw onto the seats around her. Leather seats. Drama Queen giggles. I smile up front, totally ignorant of the carnage behind me. Assuming they are playing well together for once. My stupidity reigns supreme. I see a drop of something hit my windshield. My brain says "bug" and I keep driving. Then a drop of something hits my arm. My brain says "blood" and I freak. I'm screaming at the girls - WHAT. IS. GOING. ON. BACK. THERE? Immediately Drama Queen rats out her sister in an effort to absolve herself of any wrongdoing. . . .
We arrive home and begin the long and drawn out cleaning process. Antioxidants have splattered literally over every surface of the back seat as well as the back of the front seat. I find drops on my dash board, drops in my hair, the girls look to be infected with chicken pox and the load of books and toys that reside in my car have also caught the infectious disease. It is, without a doubt, the stickiest, stained car since. . . .Marvin.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
A Rose by any other name
Might smell as sweet, but a fine suit by Ralph Lifshitz? I don't think so.
I've been reading books on PR and branding and ran across this tidbit of info. Thought I'd share it with the mini-masses that read my blog.
I'm sorry, sir, but I Simply Must Know - is that a Lifshitz you are wearing?
I've been reading books on PR and branding and ran across this tidbit of info. Thought I'd share it with the mini-masses that read my blog.
I'm sorry, sir, but I Simply Must Know - is that a Lifshitz you are wearing?
Monday, September 24, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Eat your Frog!
So I've got a friend. . .and we'll call her Banana. Banana and I are great friends, with zillions of things in common. Strange obsession with organization - check. General rule follower - check. Loves books - check. And she once told me about a book, called "Eat That Frog", which is basically a book about how to stop procrastinating and get done the things you need to get done. I've never actually read this book, but the title and premise has always stayed with me. The idea is - if you have a laundry list of things you need to do and one is terrible and you hate the thought of doing it (for example, eating a frog), the best way to make progress through your list is to do the terrible thing first. So first thing in the morning, you get up and eat that frog. It will make your day go better after that as well as make you feel like you've accomplished something great. Some days for me, just getting out of bed is the frog I have to eat.
ANYWAY. I mentioned before I started my own business. And to say that it is slow going would be an insult to turles everywhere. I have one (that is 1, singular) client that has come to my studio. So I'm feeling moderately to severely bummed and monumentally stupid. But I'm trying hard not to give up and I know that advertising and networking is key. Which is something that I truly, truly suck at. Really. I can talk all day about someone else, something else - but tell me I've got to talk about how Fantastic I Am and how you Really Must Come See ME is my idea of horrible. That isn't to say I can't talk about ME - I can talk about a project I'm working on, something I've done or am doing. . .just not with the idea of Selling myself. Interviews or reviews of any type are nail-bitingly uncomfortable for me.
So now, what the heck does this have to do with eating my frog? Well, I joined the local chamber of commerce - lovely folks, really - and they recently had an "After Hours Get Together". Which was Luau themed. Really. So I go - BY MYSELF - to an event where I know absolutely NO ONE. I dress so that I look smoking hot, totally confident and in fantastic shape. I feel none of those things. I laugh at slightly inebrieted gentlemen smirking about getting "lae-ed". I introduce myself to random strangers only to discover they work at their jobs way too much to have time to work out. I tell people about how fantastic Pilates is for their spine, posture, balance and overall health. I nibble on strange foods and pretend I have to take a phone call in order to not look like a totally out-of-place nimwit. I win a doorprize - a book I already owned. I hand out business cards to people who show a flicker of interest in health and wellness. I take business cards from people. Right back pocket - my business cards. Left Back pocket - the cards of others. I pray I remember to take them all out before I wash my jeans. I wave goodbye to people whose names I do not remember, but to whom I have been introduced. I walk, head high, with purpose and confidence to my car, close the door behind me and exhale - realizing I have been practically holding my breath for 2 hours. Home I go.
And that my friends was my enormous, warty bull-frog that I ate. I couldn't do it first thing in the morning, but I did it, none-the-less. I was so FREAKING proud of myself. I don't know if anything will come of it or not (I had several people give me great tips, ideas and offer to take flyers to their offices).
So - have you eaten your frog today?
ANYWAY. I mentioned before I started my own business. And to say that it is slow going would be an insult to turles everywhere. I have one (that is 1, singular) client that has come to my studio. So I'm feeling moderately to severely bummed and monumentally stupid. But I'm trying hard not to give up and I know that advertising and networking is key. Which is something that I truly, truly suck at. Really. I can talk all day about someone else, something else - but tell me I've got to talk about how Fantastic I Am and how you Really Must Come See ME is my idea of horrible. That isn't to say I can't talk about ME - I can talk about a project I'm working on, something I've done or am doing. . .just not with the idea of Selling myself. Interviews or reviews of any type are nail-bitingly uncomfortable for me.
So now, what the heck does this have to do with eating my frog? Well, I joined the local chamber of commerce - lovely folks, really - and they recently had an "After Hours Get Together". Which was Luau themed. Really. So I go - BY MYSELF - to an event where I know absolutely NO ONE. I dress so that I look smoking hot, totally confident and in fantastic shape. I feel none of those things. I laugh at slightly inebrieted gentlemen smirking about getting "lae-ed". I introduce myself to random strangers only to discover they work at their jobs way too much to have time to work out. I tell people about how fantastic Pilates is for their spine, posture, balance and overall health. I nibble on strange foods and pretend I have to take a phone call in order to not look like a totally out-of-place nimwit. I win a doorprize - a book I already owned. I hand out business cards to people who show a flicker of interest in health and wellness. I take business cards from people. Right back pocket - my business cards. Left Back pocket - the cards of others. I pray I remember to take them all out before I wash my jeans. I wave goodbye to people whose names I do not remember, but to whom I have been introduced. I walk, head high, with purpose and confidence to my car, close the door behind me and exhale - realizing I have been practically holding my breath for 2 hours. Home I go.
And that my friends was my enormous, warty bull-frog that I ate. I couldn't do it first thing in the morning, but I did it, none-the-less. I was so FREAKING proud of myself. I don't know if anything will come of it or not (I had several people give me great tips, ideas and offer to take flyers to their offices).
So - have you eaten your frog today?
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
The end of the world as we know it
Remember that day? 6 Years ago - insane isn't it? I can literally close my eyes and remember every emotion I felt when I heard. Disbelief, shock, despair. I was 1 week past due with Drama Queen and I remember sitting at home with my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law just unable to tear myself away from the TV. Calling everyone I knew to make sure they were ok despite the fact that we live a thousand miles from Ground Zero. Praying that I wouldn't go into labor and my daughter have this infamous birthday. Crying myself to sleep positive that I'd made a huge mistake deciding to bring a child into this terrible, messed up, insane world.
Its crazy how different the world looked the next day. How different we acted. It was the end of the world as I knew it. But I sure as hell didn't feel fine. People were momentarily nicer, more caring, more polite. We took time to check on our friends and family, and reach out to those we didn't even know. But slowly - we became numb once again. Going past the 5 year mark last year seemed to signal something, an end of something. Its been more than 5 years, the remembrances are briefer, the number of American flags flying is smaller. Life has gone on. Its insane actually, how the world ended, and we kept going.
There is a blog I read constantly despite the fact that I've never met the author. She lives in New York and was actually in the financial district that day and watched the towers fall. This is her story - its a long read, but totally and completely worth it.
Its crazy how different the world looked the next day. How different we acted. It was the end of the world as I knew it. But I sure as hell didn't feel fine. People were momentarily nicer, more caring, more polite. We took time to check on our friends and family, and reach out to those we didn't even know. But slowly - we became numb once again. Going past the 5 year mark last year seemed to signal something, an end of something. Its been more than 5 years, the remembrances are briefer, the number of American flags flying is smaller. Life has gone on. Its insane actually, how the world ended, and we kept going.
There is a blog I read constantly despite the fact that I've never met the author. She lives in New York and was actually in the financial district that day and watched the towers fall. This is her story - its a long read, but totally and completely worth it.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Apocolypse Now #2
Signs that the end is Nigh
I have opened my own business. I swore I'd never. I don't want the hassle, the frustration, the responsibility. I just want to go work my job and leave in the afternoon and be done. But sometimes, life doesn't just throw you the lemons to make lemonade - sometimes the 5 lb bag of sugar and the glass pitcher hit you on the head as well.
I have opened my own business. I swore I'd never. I don't want the hassle, the frustration, the responsibility. I just want to go work my job and leave in the afternoon and be done. But sometimes, life doesn't just throw you the lemons to make lemonade - sometimes the 5 lb bag of sugar and the glass pitcher hit you on the head as well.
Sometimes the one who leaves for work
Gets the good end of the deal.
For the most part, as a "stay at home mom" (which somehow implies that I don't work, which irritates me to no end, and is the subject of an entirely different rant), I consider myself lucky. I don't get up at O-Dark-Thirty to sit in traffic on Hwy 400 and then spend the day in a small cube similar to that of a veal and deal with big business red tape or small business stupidity. I sleep a bit later. I get to watch my kids wake up and be snuggly. I get the good bye kisses as I drop Drama Queen off for school and the "I love you this much" smooches from Pee Pot for no real reason. For the most part - when it comes to F and I, he got the short end of this arrangement.
But on Tuesday, he was the lucky one. And I would have traded with him in less than .2 seconds.
I woke up a few minutes later than I should have and it made the morning a little crazy to begin with. However, I knew we could make up for the time if I just hurried. I woke up Drama Queen and moved her toward her bathroom to get ready. I headed to mine to brush my teeth. All is well - for about 35 seconds. Cue the screaming. "MOOOOOOOOM - you need to come here! I need you RIGHT NOW." Being as her name IS Drama Queen, I wasn't overly concerned. Yes, dear, be there in a second. NO - NOW. I enter the bathroom to find Drama Queen marooned on the potty with her feet off the floor staring at a small(ish) swarm of tiny black ants doing the cha-cha on the bathroom floor. Its like Mardi Gras for ants in the bathroom - someone left a small(ish -again) pile of cereal crumbs in the floor and they are partying like its 1999. One had colorful beads and was offering to flash the other ants for another string. Crumbs to the left - crumbs to the right, gonna stay up late and party all night! So I found the bug killer, and a roll of paper towels and proceeded to spray, and squash, and spray, and smoosh, and lift rugs and stools and spray and mush some more. At last they seemed to be all gone. At which point Drama Queen felt it as if she could finally feel safe enough to venture off of the potty.
And I ventured downstairs to make her lunch. This one portion of the morning was uneventful. But just as I start, I hear Pee Pot talking in her room. "Mommeeeee - I need to go potteeeeee". And the adventure begins anew. Pee Pot is potty training. Soon we will officially change her name to something more appropriate like "Pees in the Pot". But for now, we are at the stage where she goes if she is on the potty, but sometimes she goes even when she is not. And at night time - we are still in diapers. So I wasn't too concerned and just hollered back up the stairs - Ok sweetie - be right there. I finished making Drama Queen's lunch and headed up to check on her progress - diagnosis: slow. I fuss at her a bit to hurry up, what HAS she been doing (looking for more ants) and head into Pee Pots room. Before I even get the knob on her door turned, I know something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.
Its the smell that hits you first - a pungent odor of something I can't even begin to describe if you've never had a kid - poop. Not just regular poop - but poop that isn't in its localized, enclosed, able to be contained, um - container. And its not - localized, contained or enclosed. It is everywhere. Poo on the walls, poo in her hair, poo in the bed, poo in her hands. Everywhere - except the diaper. She has a handful in each hand and is looking at it like its some kind of amazing play-doh that she can't quite get to hold its shape. She looks up at me and says "Poopy Mommy" - with an absolute seriousness, that can only indicate she thinks I am either an absolute moron lacking the ability to identify such an object, or the look on my face has clued her in to the fact that I am in absolute shock - and lacking the ability to identify such an object.
This is not in the game plan for our morning schedule. A few minutes of oversleeping - yes, a fuss over what clothes to wear - yes, ants in the bathroom, not really - but we'll handle it. My youngest child debuting her fantastic artistic poo abilities - NOT REMOTELY IN THE SCHEDULE. I look at my watch - I have 10 min to get these kids out the door before Drama Queen is late. I scoop up Pee Pot and drop her in the tub, while screaming at Drama Queen to hurry it up, brush her teeth, brush her hair and find her shoes. I grab the hand soap off the counter and proceed to lather, rinse, repeat all of Pee Pots body in about 30 seconds while the water just runs over her - no time to fill up the tub, just let the water run like some sort of defective shower over her hands and toes. Pick her up, sniff - still smells like poo. Soap her up again and yell at Drama Queen again. Pick her up, sniff - less like poo, and we've got to go now.
Dry her off, toss a dress on her, and grab Drama Queen.
Where are your shoes I ask?
Today is Tennis Shoe Day she says. I need help.
Too bad I reply - wear your crocs (yes they are ugly terrible shoe-like creatures that should never grace the foot of an adult outside of gardening and boating, but they are awesome in a time crunch with kids).
MOOOOOOM - its a pattern, yesterday I wore crocs - today is tennis shoes.
Too bad. Crocs again. Out the door.
Don't forget your backpack and your lunch.
Hush - you'll eat what I packed, its fine.
Pee Pot, don't stop to pick that up - go go go.
I dropped of Drama Queen at 7:59 - one minute later and we'd have officially been "late". I'm exhausted, frazzled, drained. And my day is just beginning.
For the most part, as a "stay at home mom" (which somehow implies that I don't work, which irritates me to no end, and is the subject of an entirely different rant), I consider myself lucky. I don't get up at O-Dark-Thirty to sit in traffic on Hwy 400 and then spend the day in a small cube similar to that of a veal and deal with big business red tape or small business stupidity. I sleep a bit later. I get to watch my kids wake up and be snuggly. I get the good bye kisses as I drop Drama Queen off for school and the "I love you this much" smooches from Pee Pot for no real reason. For the most part - when it comes to F and I, he got the short end of this arrangement.
But on Tuesday, he was the lucky one. And I would have traded with him in less than .2 seconds.
I woke up a few minutes later than I should have and it made the morning a little crazy to begin with. However, I knew we could make up for the time if I just hurried. I woke up Drama Queen and moved her toward her bathroom to get ready. I headed to mine to brush my teeth. All is well - for about 35 seconds. Cue the screaming. "MOOOOOOOOM - you need to come here! I need you RIGHT NOW." Being as her name IS Drama Queen, I wasn't overly concerned. Yes, dear, be there in a second. NO - NOW. I enter the bathroom to find Drama Queen marooned on the potty with her feet off the floor staring at a small(ish) swarm of tiny black ants doing the cha-cha on the bathroom floor. Its like Mardi Gras for ants in the bathroom - someone left a small(ish -again) pile of cereal crumbs in the floor and they are partying like its 1999. One had colorful beads and was offering to flash the other ants for another string. Crumbs to the left - crumbs to the right, gonna stay up late and party all night! So I found the bug killer, and a roll of paper towels and proceeded to spray, and squash, and spray, and smoosh, and lift rugs and stools and spray and mush some more. At last they seemed to be all gone. At which point Drama Queen felt it as if she could finally feel safe enough to venture off of the potty.
And I ventured downstairs to make her lunch. This one portion of the morning was uneventful. But just as I start, I hear Pee Pot talking in her room. "Mommeeeee - I need to go potteeeeee". And the adventure begins anew. Pee Pot is potty training. Soon we will officially change her name to something more appropriate like "Pees in the Pot". But for now, we are at the stage where she goes if she is on the potty, but sometimes she goes even when she is not. And at night time - we are still in diapers. So I wasn't too concerned and just hollered back up the stairs - Ok sweetie - be right there. I finished making Drama Queen's lunch and headed up to check on her progress - diagnosis: slow. I fuss at her a bit to hurry up, what HAS she been doing (looking for more ants) and head into Pee Pots room. Before I even get the knob on her door turned, I know something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.
Its the smell that hits you first - a pungent odor of something I can't even begin to describe if you've never had a kid - poop. Not just regular poop - but poop that isn't in its localized, enclosed, able to be contained, um - container. And its not - localized, contained or enclosed. It is everywhere. Poo on the walls, poo in her hair, poo in the bed, poo in her hands. Everywhere - except the diaper. She has a handful in each hand and is looking at it like its some kind of amazing play-doh that she can't quite get to hold its shape. She looks up at me and says "Poopy Mommy" - with an absolute seriousness, that can only indicate she thinks I am either an absolute moron lacking the ability to identify such an object, or the look on my face has clued her in to the fact that I am in absolute shock - and lacking the ability to identify such an object.
This is not in the game plan for our morning schedule. A few minutes of oversleeping - yes, a fuss over what clothes to wear - yes, ants in the bathroom, not really - but we'll handle it. My youngest child debuting her fantastic artistic poo abilities - NOT REMOTELY IN THE SCHEDULE. I look at my watch - I have 10 min to get these kids out the door before Drama Queen is late. I scoop up Pee Pot and drop her in the tub, while screaming at Drama Queen to hurry it up, brush her teeth, brush her hair and find her shoes. I grab the hand soap off the counter and proceed to lather, rinse, repeat all of Pee Pots body in about 30 seconds while the water just runs over her - no time to fill up the tub, just let the water run like some sort of defective shower over her hands and toes. Pick her up, sniff - still smells like poo. Soap her up again and yell at Drama Queen again. Pick her up, sniff - less like poo, and we've got to go now.
Dry her off, toss a dress on her, and grab Drama Queen.
Where are your shoes I ask?
Today is Tennis Shoe Day she says. I need help.
Too bad I reply - wear your crocs (yes they are ugly terrible shoe-like creatures that should never grace the foot of an adult outside of gardening and boating, but they are awesome in a time crunch with kids).
MOOOOOOM - its a pattern, yesterday I wore crocs - today is tennis shoes.
Too bad. Crocs again. Out the door.
Don't forget your backpack and your lunch.
Hush - you'll eat what I packed, its fine.
Pee Pot, don't stop to pick that up - go go go.
I dropped of Drama Queen at 7:59 - one minute later and we'd have officially been "late". I'm exhausted, frazzled, drained. And my day is just beginning.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Apocalypse Now #1
Signs that the end is nigh
In my plant bed. . .in north Georgia. . . .I have a wild CACTUS growing.
In my plant bed. . .in north Georgia. . . .I have a wild CACTUS growing.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
The whole is not equal to the sum of its parts
Its actually much much less.
Just in case you ever find yourself with an unbelievably strong urge for chocolate and a pantry devoid of m-n-m's - DO NOT fool yourself into thinking that a slather of just-ok-left-over-from-making-cupcakes-chocolate frosting smeared onto a kind-of-stale-and-not-very-appetizing-in-the-first-place cookie is going to actually be pretty good. Its not. Its not even remotely good. It just leaves with a stronger desire for good chocolate compounded by your desire to get that rank taste out of your mouth.
Ordinary Idiot - saving your taste buds from culinary insanity - all in a day's work.
Just in case you ever find yourself with an unbelievably strong urge for chocolate and a pantry devoid of m-n-m's - DO NOT fool yourself into thinking that a slather of just-ok-left-over-from-making-cupcakes-chocolate frosting smeared onto a kind-of-stale-and-not-very-appetizing-in-the-first-place cookie is going to actually be pretty good. Its not. Its not even remotely good. It just leaves with a stronger desire for good chocolate compounded by your desire to get that rank taste out of your mouth.
Ordinary Idiot - saving your taste buds from culinary insanity - all in a day's work.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
CSI: Homeschooling
***Autopsy report may contain graphic details and be tedious reading. Discretion is advised***
So the autopsy report is in and I'm finally feeling comfortable enough to write about this. When we finally finished school I wanted to rush right in and tell you all about it. How terrible it was, how frustrating, how totally unbelievabley RELIEVED I was that it was over. But I couldn't. I felt all of those things, but was almost ashamed to admit it. I mean, isn't it the awesomest to be part of helping your child learn to read? To begin to understand math and watch her blossom just as her science projects grew into a plant with a flower? How could I not love that? How could it have not been the perfect experience? And as I type this - I'm still not sure, how all of that wasn't true for me. It just wasn't.
I started homeschooling Drama Queen initially for two reasons. Reason #1 - her birthday precludes her from going to public schools for another year. She was SO ready for school though - already knew all her letters and numbers and was adding and was amazingly curious about everything. How could I force her to wait another year? Reason #2 - I wanted to be a stay at home mom and that meant a pretty big paycut for us - big enough we could no longer afford the private school we had been planning to send her to. So, homeschooling it was. I didn't start out doing it out of a great desire to keep her with me, or because I hate public schools, or want to guard her against the evils of learing about evolution. But I was going to do it. And like everything else I've ever faced in life, I was positive that I could do this. It was kindergarten right? All finger painting and eating glue with a few little lessons thrown in. But something in my genetic code made that impossible for me. I set out with lessons planned for all the following subjects:
Reading
Writing
Math
Science
History
Bible
Art/Music/Spanish/Computers
PE
I understand that she's only 5, but its never too early to learn right? I mean, I tried to make the lessons fun - but apparently I am the Anti-Fun incarnate. I'm not creative like that - I tried so hard, but nothing I was planning was really fun. She tried so hard - but she was in fun withdrawal and so she got antsy, unable to pay attention and stopped trying. I tried to make her try, I got frustrated, she got frustrated, I couldn't believe how much she wasn't even trying to try, she couldn't believe that I wanted her to try more than she was trying. . .. Reading that last sentence still doesn't represent the frustration I felt every day. And when in April my wonderful husband and I started talking about baby #3 possibilies I lost it. Melted down to an extreme state of emotional goo that could only rant about How In The World Was I Going To Do This If We Had 3 Kids.
And so, I found a private school that we can afford and enrolled the Drama Queen for next year. Instantly I felt like a new woman - a new, relieved woman, albeit a relieved woman who had to admit she couldn't do everything. I felt like I could breathe, but it was the breath of a newly captured soldier who has realized he is going to live, but is still defeated. Part of me is still rebeling at the idea that I couldn't do this! I have friends - lots of friends - who homeschool and LOVE it. They encouraged me to do this, that it was the awesomest and most rewarding thing. They are all awesome women, but they aren't smarter than me or better than me (although they may be more fun than me). WHY? HOW? Wa-HUH? Why can't I do it?
In the end, it may not matter exactly why it wouldn't work for me, but here are a few reasons I've decided to pin the blame on in an effort to absolve myself from the guilt.
Reason #1 - I did, in all honesty, put too much pressure on myself and Drama Queen to not only succeed at homeschooling, but to astound. I wanted everyone who ever met her to be blown away by all that she knew and could do for her young age. I wanted to one day be able to put her in public school and have them tell me she was way beyond her grade level. Don't get me wrong, I still want her to be smart (and she is) but it was a pride thing for me, I wanted to be able to smugly smile at everyone who noticed her superior intellect and tell them, yes, I taught her all that.
Reason #2 - I am too busy. All women are too busy, its somehow connected to those chromosones that make us female but apparently I am TOO too busy. Every day I taught Drama Queen, chased Pee Pot, did the dishes, fed the dogs, swept the floors, washed laundry, folded laundry, wiped counters, cooked breakfast and lunch, put up toys, broke up fights, and kissed boo-boos. And that was just until lunch time. After lunch I put Pee Pot down for a nap, put Drama Queen in front of a movie or a book and logged into work where I basically wrote code, put out fires, listened to people whine or gripe, answered emails, responded to phone calls for 4 hours - all while still trying to pick up toys, wash and fold laundry, break up fights and kiss boo-boos. Then when F got home we would try to work in the yard or around the house until it was time for dinner although most days in that timeframe we also took Drama Queen to TaeKwonDo, I taught Aerobics classes or James had band practice, we went to Bible Study or to the Chiropractor and bought groceries. After the kids went to bed I would try to finish my work on the computer, finish hanging clothes, finish the dishes, and spend 2.5 seconds of quality time with my husband. And if for even one day I let any of those things fall to the side - BAM we were out of clean socks, out of clean forks, over run by toys, or dealing with screaming employers.
Reason #3 - my husband. Before you fall out of your chair that I'm blaming my husband for my failures, let me clarify what I mean. F works hard, alot, a long time, doing tedious work that he doesn't really like that allows me to stay home with the kids. His job is very structured and he is a very responsible employee - he doesn't come in late or leave early. He doesn't try to work from home knowing that he won't get nearly as much done. He works. Hard. All of my girlfriends who homeschool - they have husbands with flexible jobs. Their husbands are in the ministry or are self-employed or work from home or whatever, so that they can take the kids for a day or so if mom needs a break. If mom is sick, they can take over. If mom is on the brink of pulling her hair out and eating it - they can step in. They don't have to work a specific schedule, they have the flexibility to help with the homeschooling. My husband just doesn't have that. And on those days when I found myself wanting to crawl into bed and let someone else just deal with it - he couldn't. Not because he didn't want to help - but because he couldn't. And not having that support available when I really needed it, was a death blow to my homeschooling experience.
So its dead. I'll post again in a day or so with the wake and funeral details - now that the cause of death has been determined and I've had a while to cope with the loss, its easier to look back and remember the good times and I'll share some of those with you as well.
Sorry for the length of this report - if you are actually still reading at this point let me know and I'll mail you a cookie.
So the autopsy report is in and I'm finally feeling comfortable enough to write about this. When we finally finished school I wanted to rush right in and tell you all about it. How terrible it was, how frustrating, how totally unbelievabley RELIEVED I was that it was over. But I couldn't. I felt all of those things, but was almost ashamed to admit it. I mean, isn't it the awesomest to be part of helping your child learn to read? To begin to understand math and watch her blossom just as her science projects grew into a plant with a flower? How could I not love that? How could it have not been the perfect experience? And as I type this - I'm still not sure, how all of that wasn't true for me. It just wasn't.
I started homeschooling Drama Queen initially for two reasons. Reason #1 - her birthday precludes her from going to public schools for another year. She was SO ready for school though - already knew all her letters and numbers and was adding and was amazingly curious about everything. How could I force her to wait another year? Reason #2 - I wanted to be a stay at home mom and that meant a pretty big paycut for us - big enough we could no longer afford the private school we had been planning to send her to. So, homeschooling it was. I didn't start out doing it out of a great desire to keep her with me, or because I hate public schools, or want to guard her against the evils of learing about evolution. But I was going to do it. And like everything else I've ever faced in life, I was positive that I could do this. It was kindergarten right? All finger painting and eating glue with a few little lessons thrown in. But something in my genetic code made that impossible for me. I set out with lessons planned for all the following subjects:
Reading
Writing
Math
Science
History
Bible
Art/Music/Spanish/Computers
PE
I understand that she's only 5, but its never too early to learn right? I mean, I tried to make the lessons fun - but apparently I am the Anti-Fun incarnate. I'm not creative like that - I tried so hard, but nothing I was planning was really fun. She tried so hard - but she was in fun withdrawal and so she got antsy, unable to pay attention and stopped trying. I tried to make her try, I got frustrated, she got frustrated, I couldn't believe how much she wasn't even trying to try, she couldn't believe that I wanted her to try more than she was trying. . .. Reading that last sentence still doesn't represent the frustration I felt every day. And when in April my wonderful husband and I started talking about baby #3 possibilies I lost it. Melted down to an extreme state of emotional goo that could only rant about How In The World Was I Going To Do This If We Had 3 Kids.
And so, I found a private school that we can afford and enrolled the Drama Queen for next year. Instantly I felt like a new woman - a new, relieved woman, albeit a relieved woman who had to admit she couldn't do everything. I felt like I could breathe, but it was the breath of a newly captured soldier who has realized he is going to live, but is still defeated. Part of me is still rebeling at the idea that I couldn't do this! I have friends - lots of friends - who homeschool and LOVE it. They encouraged me to do this, that it was the awesomest and most rewarding thing. They are all awesome women, but they aren't smarter than me or better than me (although they may be more fun than me). WHY? HOW? Wa-HUH? Why can't I do it?
In the end, it may not matter exactly why it wouldn't work for me, but here are a few reasons I've decided to pin the blame on in an effort to absolve myself from the guilt.
Reason #1 - I did, in all honesty, put too much pressure on myself and Drama Queen to not only succeed at homeschooling, but to astound. I wanted everyone who ever met her to be blown away by all that she knew and could do for her young age. I wanted to one day be able to put her in public school and have them tell me she was way beyond her grade level. Don't get me wrong, I still want her to be smart (and she is) but it was a pride thing for me, I wanted to be able to smugly smile at everyone who noticed her superior intellect and tell them, yes, I taught her all that.
Reason #2 - I am too busy. All women are too busy, its somehow connected to those chromosones that make us female but apparently I am TOO too busy. Every day I taught Drama Queen, chased Pee Pot, did the dishes, fed the dogs, swept the floors, washed laundry, folded laundry, wiped counters, cooked breakfast and lunch, put up toys, broke up fights, and kissed boo-boos. And that was just until lunch time. After lunch I put Pee Pot down for a nap, put Drama Queen in front of a movie or a book and logged into work where I basically wrote code, put out fires, listened to people whine or gripe, answered emails, responded to phone calls for 4 hours - all while still trying to pick up toys, wash and fold laundry, break up fights and kiss boo-boos. Then when F got home we would try to work in the yard or around the house until it was time for dinner although most days in that timeframe we also took Drama Queen to TaeKwonDo, I taught Aerobics classes or James had band practice, we went to Bible Study or to the Chiropractor and bought groceries. After the kids went to bed I would try to finish my work on the computer, finish hanging clothes, finish the dishes, and spend 2.5 seconds of quality time with my husband. And if for even one day I let any of those things fall to the side - BAM we were out of clean socks, out of clean forks, over run by toys, or dealing with screaming employers.
Reason #3 - my husband. Before you fall out of your chair that I'm blaming my husband for my failures, let me clarify what I mean. F works hard, alot, a long time, doing tedious work that he doesn't really like that allows me to stay home with the kids. His job is very structured and he is a very responsible employee - he doesn't come in late or leave early. He doesn't try to work from home knowing that he won't get nearly as much done. He works. Hard. All of my girlfriends who homeschool - they have husbands with flexible jobs. Their husbands are in the ministry or are self-employed or work from home or whatever, so that they can take the kids for a day or so if mom needs a break. If mom is sick, they can take over. If mom is on the brink of pulling her hair out and eating it - they can step in. They don't have to work a specific schedule, they have the flexibility to help with the homeschooling. My husband just doesn't have that. And on those days when I found myself wanting to crawl into bed and let someone else just deal with it - he couldn't. Not because he didn't want to help - but because he couldn't. And not having that support available when I really needed it, was a death blow to my homeschooling experience.
So its dead. I'll post again in a day or so with the wake and funeral details - now that the cause of death has been determined and I've had a while to cope with the loss, its easier to look back and remember the good times and I'll share some of those with you as well.
Sorry for the length of this report - if you are actually still reading at this point let me know and I'll mail you a cookie.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Deadliest Catch
First off - a confession - I kind of love this show. But I love any of the "reality" shows on the Discovery Channel. Did you know its a Biblical show? Really. The underlying message is from Luke 5. This is the passage where the fishermen have fished all night and caught nothing, but are told in the morning by Jesus to cast their nets again and suddenly they are overwhelmed with fish - the nets begin to break, they call their friends for help, but even that is not enough and the boats begin to sink. The message? Sometimes, when you go all in, when you really listen to the captain and put all your fishing nets on His side of the boat, things get a bit crazy. It can be dangerous - doing what He says, "fishing" that intensely. But the pay-off, just like on the show, is crazy awesome.
So a little more than 2 weeks ago, I went fishing. I put my resume out there - sending it directly to three gyms. The one I really wanted to hear from - I heard nothing. I was so bummed. So frustrated. One I really knew nothing about however, called me right away. This guy wanted to start offering aerobics at his sports facility and the idea sounded awesome. I'd be in charge of the whole deal - teaching, running the business, marketing - the whole enchilada. To me - that sounds great! But the location was kinda far away, and I was a little reluctant because I didn't know the guy at all. But it caused me to realize and officially recognize an idea that had been running through my brain for a while. Why not do my own thing? Start my own pilates studio - make my own hours, run the business by my ideas and philosophies? And stepping out on faith I contacted someone I know and inquired about renting his martial arts studio on days he doesn't use it. The fish start coming in - in under a week I'm in the middle of ironing out the details to open my own place in the fall.
Meanwhile at gym #3 they are looking at my resume and a few days ago, they called me. They want me to start teaching aerobics ans doing personal training as early as the first of June. I make my own schedule - childcare is on site and when a client asks for personal training, they put them in contact with me and I make it work with my timeframe. And its less than 10 miles away. More fish.
Then a local senior citizens group calls me looking for an instructor for their fall semester aerobics class - paying waaaaay more an hour than I make doing anything now. More fish.
Then a local spa calls me asking if I'd be interested in teaching pilates classes to their clients as part of their spa package. More fish.
Guys? My nets are so full that they are breaking. I'm afraid my boat is about to sink. I'm dizzy with the smell, startled by the listing of the boat, overwhelmed by the sheer number God has put in my nets and trying desperately to trust Him that this is His plan. 2 weeks and this is what has been caught in my nets. I'm literally seasick with the commotion in my life and wondering. . .is it possible I could JUST do this?
So a little more than 2 weeks ago, I went fishing. I put my resume out there - sending it directly to three gyms. The one I really wanted to hear from - I heard nothing. I was so bummed. So frustrated. One I really knew nothing about however, called me right away. This guy wanted to start offering aerobics at his sports facility and the idea sounded awesome. I'd be in charge of the whole deal - teaching, running the business, marketing - the whole enchilada. To me - that sounds great! But the location was kinda far away, and I was a little reluctant because I didn't know the guy at all. But it caused me to realize and officially recognize an idea that had been running through my brain for a while. Why not do my own thing? Start my own pilates studio - make my own hours, run the business by my ideas and philosophies? And stepping out on faith I contacted someone I know and inquired about renting his martial arts studio on days he doesn't use it. The fish start coming in - in under a week I'm in the middle of ironing out the details to open my own place in the fall.
Meanwhile at gym #3 they are looking at my resume and a few days ago, they called me. They want me to start teaching aerobics ans doing personal training as early as the first of June. I make my own schedule - childcare is on site and when a client asks for personal training, they put them in contact with me and I make it work with my timeframe. And its less than 10 miles away. More fish.
Then a local senior citizens group calls me looking for an instructor for their fall semester aerobics class - paying waaaaay more an hour than I make doing anything now. More fish.
Then a local spa calls me asking if I'd be interested in teaching pilates classes to their clients as part of their spa package. More fish.
Guys? My nets are so full that they are breaking. I'm afraid my boat is about to sink. I'm dizzy with the smell, startled by the listing of the boat, overwhelmed by the sheer number God has put in my nets and trying desperately to trust Him that this is His plan. 2 weeks and this is what has been caught in my nets. I'm literally seasick with the commotion in my life and wondering. . .is it possible I could JUST do this?
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Excuse me, I believe you have my stapler...
And I've got a case of the Mondays. Except that its Wednesday and I've had this case of Mondays for a full two weeks.
I love the movie Office Space - and if you've ever worked in a cube farm spending hours staring at those insane gray walls I bet the movie is strangely resonant with you as well. I love Milton and his crazy babble - and I totally relate to getting attached to your office supplies (HANDS OFF MY POST IT NOTES EVERYONE). I love how everyone with even a modicum of intelligence really hates their job although on differing levels. I love the idea of walking into work with a drill and knocking down my cube wall. But I never do (I promise!) But the premise that really hits me of that movie is this: If you had a million dollars - what would you do? Would you continue to work in the job you are in now? Think about it. . . .if money wasn't an issue how do you picture yourself living your life?
When I think about that - I can guaran-freaking-tee I wouldn't be doing what I do now. No doubts - I'm blessed to have the ability to work from home. I'm blessed to have a job that pays moderately well. But the corporate tape, the mind-numbing meetings and training sessions, the sheer insanity of some of the process - Blech. The work itself isn't so bad - not loads and loads of fun, but tolerable. And the people I work with and for are often the only redeeming quality. But overall - no way.
So what would I do? Would I just stay home and be a mommy? I don't think so. I love my children - love them so much, that I cannot imagine how horrible their life would be if I stayed home with them all the time without some sort of outlet. I'm not built that way and I don't have the patience (look for upcoming blog entries on my homeschool experience dying an agonizing death). And looking for outlets that didn't involve me making some sort of money. . .would probably end up with me spending that million in a heartbeat.
If I could do whatever I wanted - I would work at a gym/own a gym/teach and train. I love the endorphin rush of working out. I love the smiles on people's faces when they've worked out and enjoyed themselves at the same time. I love feeling my best and knowing that I look my best and am healthy and vibrant. I love helping other people find that feeling. But generally - teaching one class a week at a gym or fitness center barely pays for the gas to get there and the childcare I incurred.
And this is why I have a case of the Mondays on this obviously-not-a-Monday-Wednesday. Because I want to do that. I want my job to be fun, to be enjoyable, to have purpose and excitement. And for almost 2 weeks I've been stirring an idea around in my brain. . . .. what if. . .what if. . . .what if. . . I just did it? Summer is here. Homeschooling is over (GLORY!) and I've got a bit more time in the mornings. . . maybe I could start teaching somewhere, working somewhere, doing something towards my dream?
My band teacher in high school used to tell us - there comes a time where you have to decide. . .you have to make a choice and begin your action. Its time to fish or cut bait.
My fitness instructor resume went out to 3 local gyms today. Talk to you guys later - I'm going fishing.
I love the movie Office Space - and if you've ever worked in a cube farm spending hours staring at those insane gray walls I bet the movie is strangely resonant with you as well. I love Milton and his crazy babble - and I totally relate to getting attached to your office supplies (HANDS OFF MY POST IT NOTES EVERYONE). I love how everyone with even a modicum of intelligence really hates their job although on differing levels. I love the idea of walking into work with a drill and knocking down my cube wall. But I never do (I promise!) But the premise that really hits me of that movie is this: If you had a million dollars - what would you do? Would you continue to work in the job you are in now? Think about it. . . .if money wasn't an issue how do you picture yourself living your life?
When I think about that - I can guaran-freaking-tee I wouldn't be doing what I do now. No doubts - I'm blessed to have the ability to work from home. I'm blessed to have a job that pays moderately well. But the corporate tape, the mind-numbing meetings and training sessions, the sheer insanity of some of the process - Blech. The work itself isn't so bad - not loads and loads of fun, but tolerable. And the people I work with and for are often the only redeeming quality. But overall - no way.
So what would I do? Would I just stay home and be a mommy? I don't think so. I love my children - love them so much, that I cannot imagine how horrible their life would be if I stayed home with them all the time without some sort of outlet. I'm not built that way and I don't have the patience (look for upcoming blog entries on my homeschool experience dying an agonizing death). And looking for outlets that didn't involve me making some sort of money. . .would probably end up with me spending that million in a heartbeat.
If I could do whatever I wanted - I would work at a gym/own a gym/teach and train. I love the endorphin rush of working out. I love the smiles on people's faces when they've worked out and enjoyed themselves at the same time. I love feeling my best and knowing that I look my best and am healthy and vibrant. I love helping other people find that feeling. But generally - teaching one class a week at a gym or fitness center barely pays for the gas to get there and the childcare I incurred.
And this is why I have a case of the Mondays on this obviously-not-a-Monday-Wednesday. Because I want to do that. I want my job to be fun, to be enjoyable, to have purpose and excitement. And for almost 2 weeks I've been stirring an idea around in my brain. . . .. what if. . .what if. . . .what if. . . I just did it? Summer is here. Homeschooling is over (GLORY!) and I've got a bit more time in the mornings. . . maybe I could start teaching somewhere, working somewhere, doing something towards my dream?
My band teacher in high school used to tell us - there comes a time where you have to decide. . .you have to make a choice and begin your action. Its time to fish or cut bait.
My fitness instructor resume went out to 3 local gyms today. Talk to you guys later - I'm going fishing.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Misery
There are things in life that occasionally cause me to think - "Now this is just pure misery". The zillionth load of laundry. Cleaning up after the babysitter leaves a mess. Working outside in the July heat. Being 8 months pregnant in the July heat. But today - today topped all of those things.
Today was the dentist. A little backstory - I hate the dentist. Hate. It. Enormously. I had a ton of dental work done when I was younger and have a severe strong internal link between dental work and anxiety. None of my work was exceptionally painful - just everytime I went I was fussed at "You don't floss enough", given something disgusting to gargle, given a shot, had a tooth pulled, had molds made where I felt like I was choking on the substance in my throat, something uncomfortable and irritating. Add that to looooooong visits where I stayed in the chair for 4+ hours for fittings and refittings and the fact that my dentist - while good, wasn't exactly child-friendly and just thinking of going to the dentist causes my stomach to knot and contract and my head to throb. Lovely - ain't it?
So I rarely go. Like once every 3 years or so - normally only because something hurts to the point that I can't put it off anymore. I've discovered that a root canal is not the torturous event I'd imagined it to be, and I'd rather have one of those than a simple cleaning/filling visit. But, with my children I was determined that they wouldn't have this irrational fear. My kids would like the dentist.
It took me a while to find one that I liked - and its a great place. Tailored totally toward kids, the waiting room is open and light and painted like a forest with books and a movie playing and video games. Drama Queen really likes it. She's been twice before for cleanings and its gone very well. The hygenists and assistants tell her they are going to make her teeth shine with princess sparkles and they give her prizes when she leaves. Last week we went for her cleaning and she enjoyed it - but then they gave us the news. They had found. A. Cavity.
So today we went back to have it filled. They gave her laughing gas which for some reason didn't seem to work - she wasn't getting enough to have any effect. Which means she felt it when they gave her the novicaine. And she began to scream. And cry. I held her hand and talked her through it and tried to get her to calm down. But there was no calming to be done. "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts really bad mommy." "Mommy I need you - hold my hand." She cried and I told her that now - it wouldn't hurt anymore. She wouldn't be able to feel anything after this. But either she could - or she thought she could. She screamed and cried when they put the ring on her tooth, she cried when they did the "rain coat" - after each thing they did she would say "Are you done?" and then cry when they said no. Eventually they had to put her in a "Papoose". Basically a full body straight jacket to keep her from moving and hurting either herself or the dentist. But it was sheer torture for me. Now I couldn't touch her - I was relegated to the back of the room while they continued to work on her. One little cavity - so much torment. Now she cried and screamed continually. The dentist tried to get her to calm down and was working as fast as she could to finish up. And I stood helplessly by listening to her cries. Holding back my own tears so she wouldn't see my pain. So she would only see her mommy being brave. But it was pure misery. Seeing my child in pain, hearing her cry out for me, crying for it to be over and having to stand aside, not being able to comfort her, not being able to help her. Pure misery.
Later I held her and told her I loved her, and let her see me cry so she would know I didn't like watching that, letting her know that I loved her. Then we went for ice cream. She is almost over it by now - her cheek almost returning to its normal smiley state, her mind almost letting her think of other things. I hope that she doesn't remember much about this later and that it is a long long long time before we have to have another cavity filled and that by then she will have forgotten this completely.
I can only imagine how horrible it would be to have to watch that same scene under different circumstances - when a child is truly in danger, in true pain, and to stand by and watch your child, that you love and want only to protect and comfort and only want to experience joy and laughter, and not be able to reach out and comfort.
Oh God - the misery.
Today was the dentist. A little backstory - I hate the dentist. Hate. It. Enormously. I had a ton of dental work done when I was younger and have a severe strong internal link between dental work and anxiety. None of my work was exceptionally painful - just everytime I went I was fussed at "You don't floss enough", given something disgusting to gargle, given a shot, had a tooth pulled, had molds made where I felt like I was choking on the substance in my throat, something uncomfortable and irritating. Add that to looooooong visits where I stayed in the chair for 4+ hours for fittings and refittings and the fact that my dentist - while good, wasn't exactly child-friendly and just thinking of going to the dentist causes my stomach to knot and contract and my head to throb. Lovely - ain't it?
So I rarely go. Like once every 3 years or so - normally only because something hurts to the point that I can't put it off anymore. I've discovered that a root canal is not the torturous event I'd imagined it to be, and I'd rather have one of those than a simple cleaning/filling visit. But, with my children I was determined that they wouldn't have this irrational fear. My kids would like the dentist.
It took me a while to find one that I liked - and its a great place. Tailored totally toward kids, the waiting room is open and light and painted like a forest with books and a movie playing and video games. Drama Queen really likes it. She's been twice before for cleanings and its gone very well. The hygenists and assistants tell her they are going to make her teeth shine with princess sparkles and they give her prizes when she leaves. Last week we went for her cleaning and she enjoyed it - but then they gave us the news. They had found. A. Cavity.
So today we went back to have it filled. They gave her laughing gas which for some reason didn't seem to work - she wasn't getting enough to have any effect. Which means she felt it when they gave her the novicaine. And she began to scream. And cry. I held her hand and talked her through it and tried to get her to calm down. But there was no calming to be done. "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts really bad mommy." "Mommy I need you - hold my hand." She cried and I told her that now - it wouldn't hurt anymore. She wouldn't be able to feel anything after this. But either she could - or she thought she could. She screamed and cried when they put the ring on her tooth, she cried when they did the "rain coat" - after each thing they did she would say "Are you done?" and then cry when they said no. Eventually they had to put her in a "Papoose". Basically a full body straight jacket to keep her from moving and hurting either herself or the dentist. But it was sheer torture for me. Now I couldn't touch her - I was relegated to the back of the room while they continued to work on her. One little cavity - so much torment. Now she cried and screamed continually. The dentist tried to get her to calm down and was working as fast as she could to finish up. And I stood helplessly by listening to her cries. Holding back my own tears so she wouldn't see my pain. So she would only see her mommy being brave. But it was pure misery. Seeing my child in pain, hearing her cry out for me, crying for it to be over and having to stand aside, not being able to comfort her, not being able to help her. Pure misery.
Later I held her and told her I loved her, and let her see me cry so she would know I didn't like watching that, letting her know that I loved her. Then we went for ice cream. She is almost over it by now - her cheek almost returning to its normal smiley state, her mind almost letting her think of other things. I hope that she doesn't remember much about this later and that it is a long long long time before we have to have another cavity filled and that by then she will have forgotten this completely.
I can only imagine how horrible it would be to have to watch that same scene under different circumstances - when a child is truly in danger, in true pain, and to stand by and watch your child, that you love and want only to protect and comfort and only want to experience joy and laughter, and not be able to reach out and comfort.
Oh God - the misery.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Thanks for Nothing
So remember before - when I talked about the oxygen mask thing? Apparently my husband was listening. Because this past weekend - he gave me nothing. I mean, not that he didn't give me anything - he gave me nothing. He planned a weekend away for the two of us, took care of child care, planned some super relaxing stuff and some time for nothing. It was awesome. I had a personal yoga class and an hour massage followed by a nap and dinner at a really nice restaurant.
And then? I curled up in a rocking chair on the back porch, wrapped up in a blanket, read a book and listened to the rain hitting the tin roof overhead. It was almost surreal. I can't remember the last time I simply had nothing to do. I listened to the tree frogs calling out to each other as the rain drummed overhead, consumed by a book that I had bought the day before. It wasn't even a spectacular book - following two friends from college through out their life. But it was mine for the moment - a story I could read without a purpose, without a study that followed it, a lesson plan to write, a moral to teach from. I wallowed in the luxuriousness of it all - I felt pampered, indulgent.
Earlier in the day I had laid in a restorative bridge pose and imagined a clear brilliant blue sky and placed my stresses from the past and my worries for the future on imagined clouds and watched as the wind blew them away. I breathed in with the air the things that make me smile and exhaled the things that form my frowns. I had laid in corpse pose and focused on only the sound of my breath and movement of my rib cage. I had placed my hands in namaste and extended a thought of thankfulness and love to myself for attending the class, to my husband and his sister for planning my day, for my friends for watching my children, to the world and the events that had aligned to make it all possible. I marveled at the serenity within me - I felt renewed and almost ethereal, as my instructor said - this was the real me.
Then the massage, where a lovely woman worked the kinks out of my neck and back and shoulders and massaged lotion into my skin in a room warm with lavendar scents and hospitality. We chatted amicably initially but as she worked we fell into a comfortable silence and I found myself almost dozing. When I left my skin was soft and warm, my muscles were relaxed and I felt as though I could simply melt into a small puddle as I didn't have the tension necessary to remain upright.
Later that night, after all of this- I laid in my husband's arms and thought of the day and again I felt all of these things - warm and relaxed, renewed and ethereal, pampered and indulgent. But most of all - I felt appreciated, important and loved.
So darling? Thanks for nothing.
And then? I curled up in a rocking chair on the back porch, wrapped up in a blanket, read a book and listened to the rain hitting the tin roof overhead. It was almost surreal. I can't remember the last time I simply had nothing to do. I listened to the tree frogs calling out to each other as the rain drummed overhead, consumed by a book that I had bought the day before. It wasn't even a spectacular book - following two friends from college through out their life. But it was mine for the moment - a story I could read without a purpose, without a study that followed it, a lesson plan to write, a moral to teach from. I wallowed in the luxuriousness of it all - I felt pampered, indulgent.
Earlier in the day I had laid in a restorative bridge pose and imagined a clear brilliant blue sky and placed my stresses from the past and my worries for the future on imagined clouds and watched as the wind blew them away. I breathed in with the air the things that make me smile and exhaled the things that form my frowns. I had laid in corpse pose and focused on only the sound of my breath and movement of my rib cage. I had placed my hands in namaste and extended a thought of thankfulness and love to myself for attending the class, to my husband and his sister for planning my day, for my friends for watching my children, to the world and the events that had aligned to make it all possible. I marveled at the serenity within me - I felt renewed and almost ethereal, as my instructor said - this was the real me.
Then the massage, where a lovely woman worked the kinks out of my neck and back and shoulders and massaged lotion into my skin in a room warm with lavendar scents and hospitality. We chatted amicably initially but as she worked we fell into a comfortable silence and I found myself almost dozing. When I left my skin was soft and warm, my muscles were relaxed and I felt as though I could simply melt into a small puddle as I didn't have the tension necessary to remain upright.
Later that night, after all of this- I laid in my husband's arms and thought of the day and again I felt all of these things - warm and relaxed, renewed and ethereal, pampered and indulgent. But most of all - I felt appreciated, important and loved.
So darling? Thanks for nothing.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Smells like Teen Spirit
Wintermint actually. Its a very pleasant scent - kind of minty - but not too much eucalyptus - just a hint of sweet. And its my toilet.
Really. I have a thing about having a clean potty - it probably comes from never knowing exactly when and what PeePot is going to decide to put in there next. And that I'll get to fish out. Sometimes its a whole roll of paper. Sometimes its a toy. Sometimes its her toothbrush. Sometimes she just thinks its fun to play and splash in. I know - just close the stupid door already. And I really do try to remember. But with a 5 year old and 3 bathrooms in the house - its rare that all three doors are closed. And with said 5 year old and PeePot using those 3 toilets, they can get nasty pretty fast. So I like to clean it pretty frequently.
And I like to clean it even more often now. I've always used this and its ok. Not super fantastic but clean and convinent. But last time I was buying cleaners at Home Depot (I know - random.) they didn't have that - so I bought this instead. Not only does it clean like really really well - it smells like wintermint. So now my toilets smell like wintermint. I don't shill products. I'm really not a name brand whore. But seriously guys - minty toilets? Is that not the awesomest?
Really. I have a thing about having a clean potty - it probably comes from never knowing exactly when and what PeePot is going to decide to put in there next. And that I'll get to fish out. Sometimes its a whole roll of paper. Sometimes its a toy. Sometimes its her toothbrush. Sometimes she just thinks its fun to play and splash in. I know - just close the stupid door already. And I really do try to remember. But with a 5 year old and 3 bathrooms in the house - its rare that all three doors are closed. And with said 5 year old and PeePot using those 3 toilets, they can get nasty pretty fast. So I like to clean it pretty frequently.
And I like to clean it even more often now. I've always used this and its ok. Not super fantastic but clean and convinent. But last time I was buying cleaners at Home Depot (I know - random.) they didn't have that - so I bought this instead. Not only does it clean like really really well - it smells like wintermint. So now my toilets smell like wintermint. I don't shill products. I'm really not a name brand whore. But seriously guys - minty toilets? Is that not the awesomest?
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
The first step is admitting you have a problem
Hi, my name is Ordinary Idiot and I have a problem.
I actually have several. But the one I'm discussing now is my small cleaning supply/organizational supply problem. I'm not sure why - but I LOVE files, notepads, small baskets, big baskets, rubbermaid bins, a place for everything and everything in its place. And spray bottles, scrub brushes, mops, dusters, disinfectants, grease cutters, bleach and vacuums. You would think with all this that my house would be clutter free and a place that germs and dust FEARED. The mommy germs would tuck the smaller germs in at night and tell them stories of the HORROR that would await them should they venture into the house of Ordinary Idiot.
However, the real story is a bit different, my house is neat enough although with two kids "clutter-free" is dream. Its also clean enough but I still continue to covet the newest organizational tools and cleaners. Last night I ventured into the new Bed Bath and Beyond in my fantastic suburb and was like an addict on a high. So much organizational goodness. Racks for purses, shoes, zip bins for clothes, shelves, hangers, baskets, bins, drawer organizers. . .Did you know they make thingies that expand to any size drawer and forms multiple tiny diamond shape compartments so that you can put socks, ties, whatever in an individualized hole? Is that not the most awesomest thing you've heard in a while? And washable microfiber dusters - kind of like a swiffer - but reusable! SWEET! So I was there to buy a few things for a friend that another friend and I were helping organize a closet. And I found lots that I wanted. But the biggest thing I discovered that I wanted - I found at my friends house. A label maker. It was her husband's and I was GIDDY with the idea of using it. I labeled tons of stuff and, and, and. . .a place for everything and everything in its place!!!! So, now I want a label maker.
This label maker to be precise . Isn't it amazing? Wouldn't you love to have all sorts of things labeled in your house? Your pantry? Your computer desk drawers? Your sewing box? Your rubbermaid bins smushed in your basement?
No? Well you are just crazy. I bet you don't want one of these either.
I actually have several. But the one I'm discussing now is my small cleaning supply/organizational supply problem. I'm not sure why - but I LOVE files, notepads, small baskets, big baskets, rubbermaid bins, a place for everything and everything in its place. And spray bottles, scrub brushes, mops, dusters, disinfectants, grease cutters, bleach and vacuums. You would think with all this that my house would be clutter free and a place that germs and dust FEARED. The mommy germs would tuck the smaller germs in at night and tell them stories of the HORROR that would await them should they venture into the house of Ordinary Idiot.
However, the real story is a bit different, my house is neat enough although with two kids "clutter-free" is dream. Its also clean enough but I still continue to covet the newest organizational tools and cleaners. Last night I ventured into the new Bed Bath and Beyond in my fantastic suburb and was like an addict on a high. So much organizational goodness. Racks for purses, shoes, zip bins for clothes, shelves, hangers, baskets, bins, drawer organizers. . .Did you know they make thingies that expand to any size drawer and forms multiple tiny diamond shape compartments so that you can put socks, ties, whatever in an individualized hole? Is that not the most awesomest thing you've heard in a while? And washable microfiber dusters - kind of like a swiffer - but reusable! SWEET! So I was there to buy a few things for a friend that another friend and I were helping organize a closet. And I found lots that I wanted. But the biggest thing I discovered that I wanted - I found at my friends house. A label maker. It was her husband's and I was GIDDY with the idea of using it. I labeled tons of stuff and, and, and. . .a place for everything and everything in its place!!!! So, now I want a label maker.
This label maker to be precise . Isn't it amazing? Wouldn't you love to have all sorts of things labeled in your house? Your pantry? Your computer desk drawers? Your sewing box? Your rubbermaid bins smushed in your basement?
No? Well you are just crazy. I bet you don't want one of these either.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Please Secure Your Oxygen Mask
Before attempting to assist anyone else.
I know we've all heard this when we took a flight somewhere as part of the pre-flight safety instructions given to us by the flight attendants. As a mom, it would be my natural reaction to get an oxygen mask on my kids first and worry about myself later. But the fact is, doing so would probably cost me my life and possibly their lives as well. Here is the science behind that safety tid-bit. When a plane has a decompression problem and the oxygen masks drop, its because the oxygen level in the plane has gotten too low. And without oxygen you will become confused, disoriented, and eventually pass out. You basically have 15 to 20 seconds before you'll become too disoriented to be able to figure out how to put your oxygen mask on. So lets say you grab a mask and put it on your kid, your kid struggles a bit because "WHAT IS MOMMY DOING?" and it takes you 15 seconds to get it on your child. Now you are becoming confused. What was I doing? Why? Why is everyone wearing those masks? Who put that mask on my child? Lets take it off.
And Boom Goes the Dynamite. You and your child will soon pass out and eventually, without enough oxygen, the brain shuts down completely.
So um, what does this have to do with today? Because I'm certainly not on a plane. The fact is, that we too often try to do everything for everybody else and forget to take care of ourselves. Especially as a mom. We work hard to make sure everyone has healthy meals, enough sleep, proper clothing, a good education, quality time with us, time outside in the sun, a bath, hair brushed, at church, safe car seats, creative outlets, play time with friends, the openess to ask us questions, the love to feel secure.
And that is just for our kids. Then we try to help our spouses, our friends, our non-immediate family and we run out of time before we are done helping everyone. We find ourselves at the end of the day disoriented, confused, exhausted and shutting down.
The fact is we NEED "me time". Time to do nothing, time to do something that is important to you. Time to recharge, collect our thoughts and calm our spirits. "BUT THERE ISN'T TIME!" we all wail. I'm too busy, too tired, too. . .whatever. The fact is there is time. We just have have to learn to adjust our schedules to put ourselves in there. First. I know there is a part of the mommy in me recoiling at the selfishness of it all. I'm clutching my pearls in shock that someone would ever advise a mother to put herself first, in front of her kids. But the truth is - we have to. Without that metaphorical oxygen mask on, we aren't the mothers we are supposed to be. We begin running around in a tizzy trying to do too much to help others when we would be much more efficient, focused, high quality super moms if we could just figure out how to breathe.
I know we've all heard this when we took a flight somewhere as part of the pre-flight safety instructions given to us by the flight attendants. As a mom, it would be my natural reaction to get an oxygen mask on my kids first and worry about myself later. But the fact is, doing so would probably cost me my life and possibly their lives as well. Here is the science behind that safety tid-bit. When a plane has a decompression problem and the oxygen masks drop, its because the oxygen level in the plane has gotten too low. And without oxygen you will become confused, disoriented, and eventually pass out. You basically have 15 to 20 seconds before you'll become too disoriented to be able to figure out how to put your oxygen mask on. So lets say you grab a mask and put it on your kid, your kid struggles a bit because "WHAT IS MOMMY DOING?" and it takes you 15 seconds to get it on your child. Now you are becoming confused. What was I doing? Why? Why is everyone wearing those masks? Who put that mask on my child? Lets take it off.
And Boom Goes the Dynamite. You and your child will soon pass out and eventually, without enough oxygen, the brain shuts down completely.
So um, what does this have to do with today? Because I'm certainly not on a plane. The fact is, that we too often try to do everything for everybody else and forget to take care of ourselves. Especially as a mom. We work hard to make sure everyone has healthy meals, enough sleep, proper clothing, a good education, quality time with us, time outside in the sun, a bath, hair brushed, at church, safe car seats, creative outlets, play time with friends, the openess to ask us questions, the love to feel secure.
And that is just for our kids. Then we try to help our spouses, our friends, our non-immediate family and we run out of time before we are done helping everyone. We find ourselves at the end of the day disoriented, confused, exhausted and shutting down.
The fact is we NEED "me time". Time to do nothing, time to do something that is important to you. Time to recharge, collect our thoughts and calm our spirits. "BUT THERE ISN'T TIME!" we all wail. I'm too busy, too tired, too. . .whatever. The fact is there is time. We just have have to learn to adjust our schedules to put ourselves in there. First. I know there is a part of the mommy in me recoiling at the selfishness of it all. I'm clutching my pearls in shock that someone would ever advise a mother to put herself first, in front of her kids. But the truth is - we have to. Without that metaphorical oxygen mask on, we aren't the mothers we are supposed to be. We begin running around in a tizzy trying to do too much to help others when we would be much more efficient, focused, high quality super moms if we could just figure out how to breathe.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Kill the little devil!
My daughter is bright and inquisitive. She wants to know how everything works and how things are made and why is this like this. I feel like I spend my days fielding questions from out of the far left portion of her brain.
How are clocks made? (I don't know)
Why does water look blue in the lake but not in my cup? (it has to do with the reflection of the sky and the length of light waves)
How did the baby get in there? (God put it there) How will it get out? (The doctors will take it out)
Do you think cats like cat food? Or would they rather eat pizza? (i have no clue and we aren't going to offer them the pizza)
But occasionally she asks things that really make me start to think. . .
Mommy, how did the devil become the devil? If he was a bad angel, and God kicked him out of heaven, why didn't God just kill him?
I gave her the pat answer. . . God wanted us to "want" to do his will, not do good because we didn't have a choice. And Satan provides that choice.
She accepted it - but it really made me start to think. Why did God allow him to go free? Why not kill him and keep us from a life of pain, suffering and consequences? Did he really want our freely given love so much that he was willing to loose so many in exchange?
How are clocks made? (I don't know)
Why does water look blue in the lake but not in my cup? (it has to do with the reflection of the sky and the length of light waves)
How did the baby get in there? (God put it there) How will it get out? (The doctors will take it out)
Do you think cats like cat food? Or would they rather eat pizza? (i have no clue and we aren't going to offer them the pizza)
But occasionally she asks things that really make me start to think. . .
Mommy, how did the devil become the devil? If he was a bad angel, and God kicked him out of heaven, why didn't God just kill him?
I gave her the pat answer. . . God wanted us to "want" to do his will, not do good because we didn't have a choice. And Satan provides that choice.
She accepted it - but it really made me start to think. Why did God allow him to go free? Why not kill him and keep us from a life of pain, suffering and consequences? Did he really want our freely given love so much that he was willing to loose so many in exchange?
Monday, March 19, 2007
What if your Life Didn't Suck?
That is the title of my pastor's upcoming sermon for Easter morning. What if? What if your life didn't suck? What if you could be truly happy? What if you could find purpose and meaning and fulfillment? The message is aimed at getting those who aren't Christian's interested in coming to church. But I'm finding that just the title and purpose are applying to me. As a Christian, do I ACT like my life doesn't suck? I am totally guilty of complaining about the things in my life. . .housework, kids, work, marriage - how should I have been behaving? There is a fine line between being optimistic and being fake. How are you? I'm great - if I was any better it would be a crime. or I'm ok. or I'm really struggling with X right now. What is the right answer? Is it being fake to tell people I'm ok if I'm not in an effort to convince them that my life doesn't suck? Is it better to be honest and real and tell them what I'm dealing with? I'm thinking its attitude specific. Its ok for me to be honest and real and tell people about my struggles - but I need to make sure that I continue to be real and express my belief that God will carry me through it.
Suck - Term of general disparagement, indicating the subject or situation has no redeeming qualities. Does my life have NO REDEEMING QUALITIES? Absolutely not. Despite my penchant for complaining, my life has abundant goodness. And overall - my life has hope - God is going to be there for me. God is going to comfort me. Life won't always be full of sweet chocolately goodness - but He will always hold me.
And BTW - Jesus would totally say "suck". He was on the fringe, a radical, living with and dealing with ordinary people all the time. I'm sure he spoke in ways they could understand. That is why there are parables. . . .I can just picture Jesus saying "I came so that your life wouldn't suck"
Suck - Term of general disparagement, indicating the subject or situation has no redeeming qualities. Does my life have NO REDEEMING QUALITIES? Absolutely not. Despite my penchant for complaining, my life has abundant goodness. And overall - my life has hope - God is going to be there for me. God is going to comfort me. Life won't always be full of sweet chocolately goodness - but He will always hold me.
And BTW - Jesus would totally say "suck". He was on the fringe, a radical, living with and dealing with ordinary people all the time. I'm sure he spoke in ways they could understand. That is why there are parables. . . .I can just picture Jesus saying "I came so that your life wouldn't suck"
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Chants and Rants
Daylight Savings - what a load of garbage. I love love love the fall time change, my "woo!" gland goes into overdrive at the thought of an extra hour of sleep. But this one stinks. Loosing that hour seems so unfair somehow. And despite all my plans to get the kids in bed early, and get myself in bed early - it doesn't happen. Ever. So tonight, I'm still up, waiting for a cheesecake to come out of the oven so I can go to bed. And my brain is mumbling that its really almost 1 am. Booooooooo.
But I'm still riding my "hope high" from the doctor's visit on Friday. Yes - I did it - I actually did go see the doctor and stand on the scale despite my weight. And I told him all about being tired, and my dreams and he seems to think its a sleep problem, not a deficiency problem (iron, b12, hormonal or otherwise). So he started me on some meds and I took half of one last night and my dreams? They weren't as crazy as before. I was still looking for stuff, but I was finding some of it. AND I was finding it at the beach! (Maybe this dream means I need to take a vacation. . . .hmmmm) True - I spent the first part of today in a dizzy fog, but hopefully that will pass as my body adjusts. So to sum up: Wooooo! for medicine. Booooooo! for Daylight Savings.
But I'm still riding my "hope high" from the doctor's visit on Friday. Yes - I did it - I actually did go see the doctor and stand on the scale despite my weight. And I told him all about being tired, and my dreams and he seems to think its a sleep problem, not a deficiency problem (iron, b12, hormonal or otherwise). So he started me on some meds and I took half of one last night and my dreams? They weren't as crazy as before. I was still looking for stuff, but I was finding some of it. AND I was finding it at the beach! (Maybe this dream means I need to take a vacation. . . .hmmmm) True - I spent the first part of today in a dizzy fog, but hopefully that will pass as my body adjusts. So to sum up: Wooooo! for medicine. Booooooo! for Daylight Savings.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
REM - Stand in the place where I live.
So life continues with its unabashed craziness. Both of my kids have come down with strep so I'm sending out a big old "thank you" to the parent who refuses to keep their kid home from church when they are sick - you have caused me to think outside the box as far as childcare goes this week, as well as discover just how miserable DramaQueen can be when her fever reaches over 102.5. Its these wonderful creative and enlightening moments that cause me to think of you and wonder if you are sleeping well tonight. May you enjoy a life of bad hair days.
But with a few doses of that magical elixir known as Penicillin, we are on the road to recovery and looking forward to a night of sleeping again. And I have suddenly become full, nay flush with hope. Because I have made a decision. A decision that I have been pondering for several months - and this is where this post goes from normal woman makes decision - to 9 miles of crazy woman shows her obsessive disorder's impact on her life. And this monumental decision is - TO GO TO THE DOCTOR. I'm really and truly beyond exhausted and I've been this way for several months. Lets say a minimum of 90 consecutive days of exhaustion because I can't sleep worth a phooey. I can GO to sleep without any problem. Generally the problem is I can go to sleep even if its not an appropriate time. . .like when I'm sitting at my computer working, or when I've only been out of bed for an hour, or um. . .driving my car. And I can stay asleep for as long as the kids will let me - and sometimes even past that point. But I don't rest when I'm asleep. I have crazy chaotic dreams that cause me to be just as exhausted when I wake up as I was the night before. Like - serious crazy crazy.
I'm in the grocery store. I'm looking for an extremely large container of chocolate so I can make fudge. Lots of fudge. The store doesn't have the brand I'm looking for and I'm searching everywhere. There are other brands, but for some reason I simply cannot make the fudge with the other brands. I'm searching through huge buckets of chocolate for the kind I need and all of a sudden I'm panicking because the horses won't have enough fudge. Because now there is a stable (in the grocery store!) with horses that I'm trying to get ready for a big storm - get blankets and blinders and I know nothing about horses so its just weird stuff that I'm trying to put on the horses and lead them into the underground storm shelter before the hurricane hits. They are generally not wanting to go into this weird bomb/fallout shelter that I'm trying to drag them into and the people around me are getting agitated over the horses and its starting to storm and the power goes out and rain starts falling through the roof onto our heads and I have to just forget the horses and run into the shelter myself. Above me I can hear the horses running around and neighing in fear and chaos and I'm guilty guilty guilty that I didn't get them down there and there is a loud roar that I think is the hurricane but I turn around and its a race car. Lots of race cars - my husband is driving one and Dude is driving another one and Ahh-nald is driving another one. My husband and Dude are trying to beat Ahh-nald because he is evil.
And then I mercifully wake up. So, after spending months of having dreams like this (not exactly - just generally chaos, stress, guilt, huh? type dreams) I'm very very tired. And our Bible study this week was on work and rest and one of the questions was "Do you get enough rest?" My answer was an emphatic "NO!" and I was shocked to discover that most other people in the group answered that they might be tired for a short time, but generally feel OK and rested. Do you mean that being exhausted isn't just a by-product of being an adult? REALLY? So at the urging of my friends I made an appt with my doctor. The really huge news - I'm going to the doctor KNOWING that I'm overweight. Normally I refuse to go in until I get down past my "Oh Crap" number - but when I called to make the appointment, he could see me on Friday. Like in 2 days. There is no way I'll be down to reasonable by then. But I'm going anyway. Wish me luck. And Sleep.
But with a few doses of that magical elixir known as Penicillin, we are on the road to recovery and looking forward to a night of sleeping again. And I have suddenly become full, nay flush with hope. Because I have made a decision. A decision that I have been pondering for several months - and this is where this post goes from normal woman makes decision - to 9 miles of crazy woman shows her obsessive disorder's impact on her life. And this monumental decision is - TO GO TO THE DOCTOR. I'm really and truly beyond exhausted and I've been this way for several months. Lets say a minimum of 90 consecutive days of exhaustion because I can't sleep worth a phooey. I can GO to sleep without any problem. Generally the problem is I can go to sleep even if its not an appropriate time. . .like when I'm sitting at my computer working, or when I've only been out of bed for an hour, or um. . .driving my car. And I can stay asleep for as long as the kids will let me - and sometimes even past that point. But I don't rest when I'm asleep. I have crazy chaotic dreams that cause me to be just as exhausted when I wake up as I was the night before. Like - serious crazy crazy.
I'm in the grocery store. I'm looking for an extremely large container of chocolate so I can make fudge. Lots of fudge. The store doesn't have the brand I'm looking for and I'm searching everywhere. There are other brands, but for some reason I simply cannot make the fudge with the other brands. I'm searching through huge buckets of chocolate for the kind I need and all of a sudden I'm panicking because the horses won't have enough fudge. Because now there is a stable (in the grocery store!) with horses that I'm trying to get ready for a big storm - get blankets and blinders and I know nothing about horses so its just weird stuff that I'm trying to put on the horses and lead them into the underground storm shelter before the hurricane hits. They are generally not wanting to go into this weird bomb/fallout shelter that I'm trying to drag them into and the people around me are getting agitated over the horses and its starting to storm and the power goes out and rain starts falling through the roof onto our heads and I have to just forget the horses and run into the shelter myself. Above me I can hear the horses running around and neighing in fear and chaos and I'm guilty guilty guilty that I didn't get them down there and there is a loud roar that I think is the hurricane but I turn around and its a race car. Lots of race cars - my husband is driving one and Dude is driving another one and Ahh-nald is driving another one. My husband and Dude are trying to beat Ahh-nald because he is evil.
And then I mercifully wake up. So, after spending months of having dreams like this (not exactly - just generally chaos, stress, guilt, huh? type dreams) I'm very very tired. And our Bible study this week was on work and rest and one of the questions was "Do you get enough rest?" My answer was an emphatic "NO!" and I was shocked to discover that most other people in the group answered that they might be tired for a short time, but generally feel OK and rested. Do you mean that being exhausted isn't just a by-product of being an adult? REALLY? So at the urging of my friends I made an appt with my doctor. The really huge news - I'm going to the doctor KNOWING that I'm overweight. Normally I refuse to go in until I get down past my "Oh Crap" number - but when I called to make the appointment, he could see me on Friday. Like in 2 days. There is no way I'll be down to reasonable by then. But I'm going anyway. Wish me luck. And Sleep.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
3 is a magic number
School house rock - I can hum the tune almost in my sleep - but for me 3 is not a magic number. My "magic" number is higher - but still unattainably low. And despite knowing better, despite intellectually knowing that its not healthy to worship or offer up sacrifices to the scale goddess (because it is a goddess - only a female would be that truly hateful and moody) - I do. I tiptoe to the thing every morning - hoping that if I sneak up on it unexpectedly it might be startled into revealing a lower number. I'm stripped naked - having gone to the bathroom, before I eat breakfast and before I shower; convinced that all of these things cause my weight to be lower. I step on it and say a little prayer that the indiscretions of yesterday won't show up this morning. But they always do.
My magic number is the one that in my brain would be THE perfect weight - but I have another important number as well - the "oh crap" number. Generally its the number that causes me to freak out, to fast, to eat only raw vegetables and to begin exercising with the determination of an iron man competitor. But for the last year, it hasn't. It hasn't caused the panic and racing heart. I still hate it. Hate it with a passion and out loud I say "I've got to do something" but it just hasn't kicked my butt into gear and I've been waffley about actually following a strict diet and fitness routine. Don't get me wrong - I think about what I eat (obsessively - see blog description) and I work out at least 3 times a week. But its a half hearted effort - something I'm doing out of my crazy need to feel like I'm doing something - not out of a real hope for results or change. Something I do so that I can say hopelessly - "I don't know why I'm not losing weight. . .I work out". But this morning. . .the "oh crap" number was far behind me and the "Holy Mother of GOD howDidThisHappen None of my pants are going to fit" number appeared on the screen.
Holy Mother of God - how did this happen? None of my pants are going to fit.
My magic number is the one that in my brain would be THE perfect weight - but I have another important number as well - the "oh crap" number. Generally its the number that causes me to freak out, to fast, to eat only raw vegetables and to begin exercising with the determination of an iron man competitor. But for the last year, it hasn't. It hasn't caused the panic and racing heart. I still hate it. Hate it with a passion and out loud I say "I've got to do something" but it just hasn't kicked my butt into gear and I've been waffley about actually following a strict diet and fitness routine. Don't get me wrong - I think about what I eat (obsessively - see blog description) and I work out at least 3 times a week. But its a half hearted effort - something I'm doing out of my crazy need to feel like I'm doing something - not out of a real hope for results or change. Something I do so that I can say hopelessly - "I don't know why I'm not losing weight. . .I work out". But this morning. . .the "oh crap" number was far behind me and the "Holy Mother of GOD howDidThisHappen None of my pants are going to fit" number appeared on the screen.
Holy Mother of God - how did this happen? None of my pants are going to fit.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Raindrops on roses
Its been a bear of a day. Hectic although also productive. And now I'm trying to get the kids in bed - we are trying to wean PeePot from her pacifier at bedtime and so she's fussing nonstop instead of sleeping, DramaQueen has misplaced her "lovie" and is upset about that. In an attempt to find my peaceful place this morning I started a list - with all apologies to Julie Andrews - and I've continued it throughout the day.
Saturday morning snuggles with the whole family
Being able to see the steam in the shower
Freshly baked cookies
A fresh blank notebook (any office supplies really)
A good math problem
A new recipe that turns out fantastic
F's hair, PeePot's hair, DramaQueen's hair
A rainy afternoon with a good book, a cup of hot cider and a nap
My iPod
My Tivo
F and PeePot and DramaQueen
Watching DramaQueen read
PeePot saying "Mommy - Hold You"
A shiny clean kitchen sink
Saturday morning snuggles with the whole family
Being able to see the steam in the shower
Freshly baked cookies
A fresh blank notebook (any office supplies really)
A good math problem
A new recipe that turns out fantastic
F's hair, PeePot's hair, DramaQueen's hair
A rainy afternoon with a good book, a cup of hot cider and a nap
My iPod
My Tivo
F and PeePot and DramaQueen
Watching DramaQueen read
PeePot saying "Mommy - Hold You"
A shiny clean kitchen sink
Friday, March 2, 2007
Will the dishes please shut up
So its 10:30 or so at night, its been a busy day and a crazier week. The kids are in bed, F and I just finished a movie and he headed up to bed. I'm very very tired. But the dishes are calling me. Really - I can hear them calling "Ordinary Idiot we are dirrrrrrrty. You cannot leave us in the sink all night long. We'll breed diseases and bugs will come live in your house. Come wash us before going to bed."
Your dishes don't talk to you? Mine do - but they are decidedly nocturnal. They only feel up for conversation when I'm thinking of going to bed. I'm tired (did I already mention that?) and I know that they will be waiting for me in the morning. I'll wish they were clean in the morning when I wake up. But worse than that, I really have trouble sleeping with dirty dishes in the kitchen. I'll wake up some nights after loading the dishwasher and going to bed and realize with a start that I forgot to start it. So I crawl out of bed to start the dishwasher at 2 AM so that I can sleep better.
Some evenings I attack the dishes aggressively - rinsing off everyone's dinner dishes as soon as they put the last bite in their mouth. Getting irritated with F when he has a soda after supper and puts the dirty glass in my CLEAN sink. But some nights, especially on the weekends, the family just sits around the table after dinner chatting and laughing and then all of a sudden the kids are tired and its time for bed and upstairs for diaper changes and pjs and bedtime hugs and then I'm suddenly without the motivation to do more than walk past the kitchen with a guilty look on my way to the sofa or the computer.
But the dishes don't forget about me - they wait patiently until my eyelids start to fall and then they engage in a shouting match with the bed - each warring to get my attention and win the battle over where I will choose to go first.
Maybe I need sleeping pills. Maybe I need earplugs.
Your dishes don't talk to you? Mine do - but they are decidedly nocturnal. They only feel up for conversation when I'm thinking of going to bed. I'm tired (did I already mention that?) and I know that they will be waiting for me in the morning. I'll wish they were clean in the morning when I wake up. But worse than that, I really have trouble sleeping with dirty dishes in the kitchen. I'll wake up some nights after loading the dishwasher and going to bed and realize with a start that I forgot to start it. So I crawl out of bed to start the dishwasher at 2 AM so that I can sleep better.
Some evenings I attack the dishes aggressively - rinsing off everyone's dinner dishes as soon as they put the last bite in their mouth. Getting irritated with F when he has a soda after supper and puts the dirty glass in my CLEAN sink. But some nights, especially on the weekends, the family just sits around the table after dinner chatting and laughing and then all of a sudden the kids are tired and its time for bed and upstairs for diaper changes and pjs and bedtime hugs and then I'm suddenly without the motivation to do more than walk past the kitchen with a guilty look on my way to the sofa or the computer.
But the dishes don't forget about me - they wait patiently until my eyelids start to fall and then they engage in a shouting match with the bed - each warring to get my attention and win the battle over where I will choose to go first.
Maybe I need sleeping pills. Maybe I need earplugs.
If you've got the money honey
I just want to know how you got it. Not to be all nosey or whatever, but these people who live in mansions by the lake and drive crazy expensive cars - or maybe they don't drive them, but they own them and have people to drive them around - WHAT do you do for a living? Are you secretly a drug czar? Are you selling your brain to science? Did you invent tupperware? I just want to know - because F and I make good money - we don't really want for anything - but we are never going to have that lifestyle.
And I guess I don't really want all of it. I just want to not have to worry about it so much anymore. I don't want it to consume my dreams and I don't want to sprout ulcers when I view our checking account balance. I'd like to believe that one day it'll just be a "thing" - like every other thing in life. Its there but not all consuming.
What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and forfeit his soul? Mark 8:36
I'm not all about money - really I'm not. And as much as this post seems like I totally am completely absorbed by it - I try not to be. Its just weighing on me lately. Trying to figure out how to be the best mom and wife and employee all at the same time and GEEZ is that hard. I'm juggling raw eggs and they just keep hitting the floor - kerrrsplattttt - and raw egg goo is spackling my pants legs and little pieces of shell is getting stuck in my hair and not a single drop is landing in the bowl where I'm trying to make a cake. I just want to feel like I'm making progress.
And I guess I don't really want all of it. I just want to not have to worry about it so much anymore. I don't want it to consume my dreams and I don't want to sprout ulcers when I view our checking account balance. I'd like to believe that one day it'll just be a "thing" - like every other thing in life. Its there but not all consuming.
What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and forfeit his soul? Mark 8:36
I'm not all about money - really I'm not. And as much as this post seems like I totally am completely absorbed by it - I try not to be. Its just weighing on me lately. Trying to figure out how to be the best mom and wife and employee all at the same time and GEEZ is that hard. I'm juggling raw eggs and they just keep hitting the floor - kerrrsplattttt - and raw egg goo is spackling my pants legs and little pieces of shell is getting stuck in my hair and not a single drop is landing in the bowl where I'm trying to make a cake. I just want to feel like I'm making progress.
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