Well, there is for sure something to be said about being able to get out of the house quickly in an emergency. Like say, your house is on fire. You certainly don't want to be stuck in your pajamas with your teeth unbrushed and your hair a greasy mess if it happens to already be 10:30 am and it's because you're just being super lazy. Nope, you want to run out of your house with your designer jeans on, accessorized, blow dryed, and with mascara in place. And of course the kiddos need to be dressed to the nines as well. Now, if it's 3 am, well, that's an entirely different matter. I'm pretty sure it would be odd to not be in pajamas at that hour. But we're talking about 10:30 am here. I think most of my neighbors are ready to hit the town by 7 am. I however, I'm a lollygagger. We mill around the house in our PJs with crazy hair until we're pretty much forced out of the house because Young Man starts kindergarten at 12:30 every day. I have never been much of a morning person. Sure I get out of bed, but it's real hard for me to feel motivated before noon. I'm sure that will all change when Young Man starts all day school next year, but for now, why rock the boat?
So it's 10:30 am and we are, as usual, all in our pajamas having *just* had breakfast. The kids were playing in Young Man's room together. I was NOT on facebook , I swear. I was...uh, doing laundry. Yeah, I was catching up on laundry when suddenly I hear the Princess say to Young Man, "Can you get the lego out of my nose?". And she sounded just a little panicky. Now Young Man responded very appropriately with, "No way, I'm not sticking my finger in your nose!". So then of course I was heading in there faster than you can say "Jiminychristmas" and verified that yes, I could see just the tiniest bit of white plastic up her nostril. So it was off to the Pediatrician we went. Oh great.
Now remember I said that none of us was in a state to be seen in public. So I took the fastest shower I have ever taken in my life (and managed to wash my hair, I was so proud of myself). My legs are looking pretty hairy due to not having any time to shave them, but hey, it's winter and we're in pants every day. Within 20 minutes, we were all dressed and rushing out the door. I wouldn't say I was exactly presentable. I was wearing Husband's baggy butt sweat pants and an old pink hoodie with my wet hair pulled up in a wet bun with a scrunchie (shudder), but like I said, I WAS clean. If I were one of my many lovely and stylish neighbors, I would have already been dressed and ready to go, looking hot at the Pediatrician's office rather than like frumpy mom. But oh well, that extra hour of sleep was probably worth it :).
So the Pediatrician took about 5 minutes with some pretty wicked looking instruments and popped the lego out. He asked if I wanted it back and I, of course, asked him to just throw it away with the crinkly paper after he finished thoroughly checking her every other orifice above the neck. Princess hated the whole process as you can imagine. I'm pretty sure she won't be putting anything else up her nose for awhile. So a lesson has been learned by both Princess and by myself. Princess learned that foreign objects don't go up noses or in ears or mouths. I have learned that there is something to be said for getting out of bed at the crack of dawn to dress nicely and do my hair. You really just never know what is going to happen and what will force you out of the house before you are "dressed".
December 16, 2009
December 14, 2009
The Gift of Life
So I was sitting in Relief Society (for those not in the know, that is one hour in our 3 hour block of church where the women folk meet) a few Sundays ago perusing through the various sign up sheets. I was having the usual monolog in my head: "Do I want to volunteer for opening or closing prayer? Really? I hate to answer a question with a question, but are you really asking me that?"; "Am I interested in a scrapbooking class? Absolutely nope."; "Would I be willing to volunteer in Primary (kids Sunday school) if needed? HAHAHAHAHAHA..oh wait, they're serious. So nope."; "Can I take a meal to so and so this week? Only if they want to die on top of the hard times they are already suffering, or want pizza"; "Would I like to donate blood at the ward blood drive? Heck no". Oh wait. Donate blood? I've never done that before. Hmm, maybe it would be kind of fun. And so went my thought process until I actually found myself signing my name next to one of the open time slots. I think some otherworldly force temporarily took control of my hand and signed my name. So then I had an appointment...
So the magic day of giving of my own precious bodily fluids arrived, faster than I thought it would, and I actually felt beholden to the promise I made when I signed my name on the sheet. Before I knew it, it was 5:50 and time for me to leave for the place where this donation was to take place. I was nervous before I even left the house. By the time I got there, I was positively pukey with anticipation. If you can believe it, there was actually a line of people willing to do this, so I had to wait about 40 minutes before my number was up...I mean called. While I was waiting I made the mistake of glancing around at the numerous beds which contained people hooked up to tubes that led to clear plastic bags that were in various states of being filled, with blood. Yes, the bags are actually clear. And yes, they actually have the people right out in the open. You know, just to chase off at least 75% of the first timers who show up to "do the right thing". But I didn't run. No sirree, I stayed right where I was. I think my face might have changed to a frightening shade of vampire white though, because a couple of the people I was waiting with asked me if I was okay.
So then my number was called and I was led into a small booth with black sheets all the way around it. Why choose the color black anyway? I mean, it's kind of morbid. But I digress. So there was just enough room for me, a small table with a computer at it, and the nurse who was sitting in front of the computer. She proceeded to ask me all kinds of questions and if I weren't donating blood to some other person which made the questions relevant, I would have been offended. And just for the record, no, I've never had any experimental vaccines, sex with men who have had sex with other men, lived in the UK for 3 months or more between the years of 1986 and 1996, had syphilis, or any other manner of awful sounding conditions. And yes, if you are reading this, I guess I have given away that I do in fact weigh more than 110 pounds. Dang, my secret is out.
So anyway, reading down the list of 1,000,000,001 reasons why a person can not donate blood, I felt sure I would come across something that would disqualify me. Then I would be able to leave with my head held high and a halo over my head anyway because, well, I would have tried. It wouldn't be my fault they didn't want my blood. But alas, I am clean enough for the Red Cross, and there was nothing to disqualify me. Not even my traitorous blood pressure felt like being traitorous. For the first time in my entire life, it was completely normal in a medical situation. Sheesh, how unreliable. So then the nurse did something completely unforgivable in my book...she actually pricked my finger. And it hurt! I nearly shed tears over it but since black sheets don't actually muffle sound, I felt embarrassed and didn't cry. And yes, my iron levels were "excellent". Absolutely, perfectly high. My level was 15, and it only needs to be 12. So I was officially cleared and led to the table like a sacrificial lamb.
I climbed onto the table, making jokes like I usually do when I'm nervous. I tried to make myself comfortable but my feet were slightly above head level and the nurse wouldn't let me cross my legs, so that was a battle lost before I really even began to fight it. Oh yeah, and of course there was the, "Oh my good grief that thing is huge!!" needle they so delicately shoved into my vein after a relaxing betadine bath for my arm. I'm not kidding folks, it is a big needle. It's long, yes, but the most scary part is the girth of the needle. It is made to drain blood, and fast. As soon as they put it in my vein, my blood was flowing like beer at a frat party. Oh yes, let the party begin. It took 7 minutes and 34 seconds to drain away a pint of my blood. And apparently it will take up to 5 weeks for my body to replace those lost red blood cells. That's an awful lot of time for replacing something that took only 7 minutes to give away.
They gave me a sticker, some juice, and a cookie. I felt an awful lot like a kid must feel after they've been to the pediatrician to get shots. The sticker really just doesn't make it feel worth it. Now if they'd given me a sucker, I might have felt differently :). So why did I do it? I'm not sure, really. All I can say is that it really wasn't all that bad (except for that dang finger prick) and I felt pretty normal the next day. And well, I guess I did feel pretty good about myself and my "gift". I think I left the building looking a little like this. But don't worry, it didn't last long...
So the magic day of giving of my own precious bodily fluids arrived, faster than I thought it would, and I actually felt beholden to the promise I made when I signed my name on the sheet. Before I knew it, it was 5:50 and time for me to leave for the place where this donation was to take place. I was nervous before I even left the house. By the time I got there, I was positively pukey with anticipation. If you can believe it, there was actually a line of people willing to do this, so I had to wait about 40 minutes before my number was up...I mean called. While I was waiting I made the mistake of glancing around at the numerous beds which contained people hooked up to tubes that led to clear plastic bags that were in various states of being filled, with blood. Yes, the bags are actually clear. And yes, they actually have the people right out in the open. You know, just to chase off at least 75% of the first timers who show up to "do the right thing". But I didn't run. No sirree, I stayed right where I was. I think my face might have changed to a frightening shade of vampire white though, because a couple of the people I was waiting with asked me if I was okay.
So then my number was called and I was led into a small booth with black sheets all the way around it. Why choose the color black anyway? I mean, it's kind of morbid. But I digress. So there was just enough room for me, a small table with a computer at it, and the nurse who was sitting in front of the computer. She proceeded to ask me all kinds of questions and if I weren't donating blood to some other person which made the questions relevant, I would have been offended. And just for the record, no, I've never had any experimental vaccines, sex with men who have had sex with other men, lived in the UK for 3 months or more between the years of 1986 and 1996, had syphilis, or any other manner of awful sounding conditions. And yes, if you are reading this, I guess I have given away that I do in fact weigh more than 110 pounds. Dang, my secret is out.
So anyway, reading down the list of 1,000,000,001 reasons why a person can not donate blood, I felt sure I would come across something that would disqualify me. Then I would be able to leave with my head held high and a halo over my head anyway because, well, I would have tried. It wouldn't be my fault they didn't want my blood. But alas, I am clean enough for the Red Cross, and there was nothing to disqualify me. Not even my traitorous blood pressure felt like being traitorous. For the first time in my entire life, it was completely normal in a medical situation. Sheesh, how unreliable. So then the nurse did something completely unforgivable in my book...she actually pricked my finger. And it hurt! I nearly shed tears over it but since black sheets don't actually muffle sound, I felt embarrassed and didn't cry. And yes, my iron levels were "excellent". Absolutely, perfectly high. My level was 15, and it only needs to be 12. So I was officially cleared and led to the table like a sacrificial lamb.
I climbed onto the table, making jokes like I usually do when I'm nervous. I tried to make myself comfortable but my feet were slightly above head level and the nurse wouldn't let me cross my legs, so that was a battle lost before I really even began to fight it. Oh yeah, and of course there was the, "Oh my good grief that thing is huge!!" needle they so delicately shoved into my vein after a relaxing betadine bath for my arm. I'm not kidding folks, it is a big needle. It's long, yes, but the most scary part is the girth of the needle. It is made to drain blood, and fast. As soon as they put it in my vein, my blood was flowing like beer at a frat party. Oh yes, let the party begin. It took 7 minutes and 34 seconds to drain away a pint of my blood. And apparently it will take up to 5 weeks for my body to replace those lost red blood cells. That's an awful lot of time for replacing something that took only 7 minutes to give away.
They gave me a sticker, some juice, and a cookie. I felt an awful lot like a kid must feel after they've been to the pediatrician to get shots. The sticker really just doesn't make it feel worth it. Now if they'd given me a sucker, I might have felt differently :). So why did I do it? I'm not sure, really. All I can say is that it really wasn't all that bad (except for that dang finger prick) and I felt pretty normal the next day. And well, I guess I did feel pretty good about myself and my "gift". I think I left the building looking a little like this. But don't worry, it didn't last long...
December 08, 2009
Differences
I've been thinking lately. And my thoughts have been kind of troubled. I'm sure you might have guessed lately that I've been feeling "down". I hate to burden you with it, but then again, I'm just writing down my thoughts, it's up to you if you allow them to burden you :). I think being a mom is the hardest thing in the world. Every single day I feel like quitting. Like throwing my hands up in the air and saying, "forget it". But you can't do that when you're a mom. You can't quit. It's the one job that you absolutely cannot turn in your letter of resignation. The second that Mr. Sperm was introduced to Miss Egg, I was beholden to the little zygote. And I don't regret it, that joining of DNA that resulted in 2 wonderful children (though not at the same time). But that doesn't mean that I don't doubt myself.
I'm not going to lie to you, I feel like a lousy mom. If my kids grow up to be a couple of Mansens, well, it's not their fault. It's up to me to mold their little minds, to shape the people that they will become. And it is such a burden, trying to make decent human beings. Every day I feel like ultimately, I will fail them. I especially feel like I will fail Young Man. His particular DNA came with a special set of circumstances. If you know Young Man, you know he's different. You'd call him charming, but you'd also call him quirky. He is absolutely unique. He is who he is, which is unlike most of the little kids we come across in our lives. I can appreciate this. But unfortunately, the world we live in and anything "different" often do not mesh. People don't understand Young Man, and to tell you the truth, I do not understand him either.
If you have one of these unique kids, then you know what I'm talking about. You know how I feel. If you don't, well, then you'd probably tell me to just "get over it". I knew from the time he was 2 years old of his differences. And I spent at least 2 years trying to convince myself that it was all in my head. I desperately sought for people to tell me I was nuts, that there was nothing different there. But Young Man didn't speak until he was 3, and then it was this strange kind of echolalia that made the hairs on my arms stand up for quite awhile. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he walked up to me one day and literally spoke a complete, complex sentence that was an original thought. His speech therapist was floored. I was elated. He was finally "normal". But you know what, he was still who he was, just with the ability to tell me about it.
I have utterly failed him already because I cannot just accept him the way he is. I struggle every.single.day with my immense guilt and the hate I feel for myself when I get embarrassed at something he does rather that support him. I am his advocate, but here I am hiding under a rock. Have you gathered yet how very painful this is. It is awful. Thankfully he is fine and has not yet felt the sting of the world. But I am shouldering a burden that is going to crush me very soon. And you know the worst part, I feel completely alone. I am wallowing in misery, guilt, and complete confusion, and I am looking for a hand up. Anything. He has trouble socializing with other kids, and unfortunately, he is not given the chance to practice.
I know this sounds bad. Trust me, I know. I guess I hope that someone out there will read this, someone who feels the way I do, and she will not feel alone. She'll know that she's not the only one in the world feeling such terrible things. She'll know she's not the only mother out there that cannot seem to stop mourning the loss of a child she never had. I don't know what it's like to have a "normal" little boy. I don't know what it's like to have a child that other children like to play with and invite to birthday parties. Princess is too young to have really had any of these experiences yet.
You know, I never talk about this. And the few times I've gotten up the guts to mention it, I really only scratch the surface. I cannot fathom the depth of my sadness over this. He is healthy, he is beautiful, he is wonderful and smart. So what is my problem? I cannot help but fear that his will be a life filled with judgement and rejection. And I ache to think of my beautiful little boy feeling desperately alone. So there is one thing I'm working on and it is that he may never, ever think for one second that he is not completely loved and accepted by me. His Mother.
I'm not going to lie to you, I feel like a lousy mom. If my kids grow up to be a couple of Mansens, well, it's not their fault. It's up to me to mold their little minds, to shape the people that they will become. And it is such a burden, trying to make decent human beings. Every day I feel like ultimately, I will fail them. I especially feel like I will fail Young Man. His particular DNA came with a special set of circumstances. If you know Young Man, you know he's different. You'd call him charming, but you'd also call him quirky. He is absolutely unique. He is who he is, which is unlike most of the little kids we come across in our lives. I can appreciate this. But unfortunately, the world we live in and anything "different" often do not mesh. People don't understand Young Man, and to tell you the truth, I do not understand him either.
If you have one of these unique kids, then you know what I'm talking about. You know how I feel. If you don't, well, then you'd probably tell me to just "get over it". I knew from the time he was 2 years old of his differences. And I spent at least 2 years trying to convince myself that it was all in my head. I desperately sought for people to tell me I was nuts, that there was nothing different there. But Young Man didn't speak until he was 3, and then it was this strange kind of echolalia that made the hairs on my arms stand up for quite awhile. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he walked up to me one day and literally spoke a complete, complex sentence that was an original thought. His speech therapist was floored. I was elated. He was finally "normal". But you know what, he was still who he was, just with the ability to tell me about it.
I have utterly failed him already because I cannot just accept him the way he is. I struggle every.single.day with my immense guilt and the hate I feel for myself when I get embarrassed at something he does rather that support him. I am his advocate, but here I am hiding under a rock. Have you gathered yet how very painful this is. It is awful. Thankfully he is fine and has not yet felt the sting of the world. But I am shouldering a burden that is going to crush me very soon. And you know the worst part, I feel completely alone. I am wallowing in misery, guilt, and complete confusion, and I am looking for a hand up. Anything. He has trouble socializing with other kids, and unfortunately, he is not given the chance to practice.
I know this sounds bad. Trust me, I know. I guess I hope that someone out there will read this, someone who feels the way I do, and she will not feel alone. She'll know that she's not the only one in the world feeling such terrible things. She'll know she's not the only mother out there that cannot seem to stop mourning the loss of a child she never had. I don't know what it's like to have a "normal" little boy. I don't know what it's like to have a child that other children like to play with and invite to birthday parties. Princess is too young to have really had any of these experiences yet.
You know, I never talk about this. And the few times I've gotten up the guts to mention it, I really only scratch the surface. I cannot fathom the depth of my sadness over this. He is healthy, he is beautiful, he is wonderful and smart. So what is my problem? I cannot help but fear that his will be a life filled with judgement and rejection. And I ache to think of my beautiful little boy feeling desperately alone. So there is one thing I'm working on and it is that he may never, ever think for one second that he is not completely loved and accepted by me. His Mother.
December 05, 2009
Let's play catch-up...
Folks, I left you on a sad note last I wrote and I do apologize. But as I'm sure you are aware, life just isn't all sunshine, roses, and unicorns. But wouldn't that be great if it were? I mean really, that would rock. My unicorn would be pure white with a pink tail and mane, and of course would have a garland of baby pink roses wrapped around her neck. Oh, and I of course would ride her with no saddle or bridle, she would simply read the subtle movements of my super long, very slim thighs. Oh, no wait, she would read my mind. That's better huh? Our minds would be linked together in some kind of other worldly, Rainbow Brite, virginal kind of way. But hey, like I said, no unicorns. And sometimes we get rain and poopy diapers instead of sunshine and roses. I'm just not perpetually happy all the time but I sure as heck do wish I were.
Just what in the world have we been up to anyway? Well, a whole lot of the same stuff we're always up to. I know, I know, you were expecting exotic travel, stories of hobknobbing with glamorous celebrities, and the spending of copious amounts of money on children's clothing weren't you. Okay, well, I have been up to a little bit of the latter, to my husband's irritation, but the kids sure are lookin' sharp this winter ;). So anyway, I'm just going to post some pics of things we've done lately and sort of leave it at that. Lame, I know. But I promise I'll dazzle you with some super witty and intelligent post at some point in the near future...
We went to Aspen Grove in the mountains where we played a lot of volleyball with the whole extended family, Princess nearly lost a hand to a hungry bear, and Young Man picked his nose and did sweet Kung Fu moves...a lot...
Oh and of course I ran around looking like Bigfoot in my enormous pink sweat shirt and absolutely no make-up, but was still lookin' cute just because of the cute vibes that ooze off of Princess onto whoever happens to be near her...
We've done a lot of playing...
We trick or treated and nearly died of body wide shock from all the sugar we ingested...
Princess suffered the dreaded stomach virus (and the rest of us too!)...
And the kids have become better friends nearly every.single.day.
So that's a little photo fun for ya! I hope you enjoyed it :).
P.S. The husband does exist, I promise! Unfortunately there just happened to be no pictures of him in the computer files I was accessing for this post. I was simply too lazy to go looking around for one with him in it.
Oh wait...here's one. He's holding Princess and her best buddy, cousin E :).
Just what in the world have we been up to anyway? Well, a whole lot of the same stuff we're always up to. I know, I know, you were expecting exotic travel, stories of hobknobbing with glamorous celebrities, and the spending of copious amounts of money on children's clothing weren't you. Okay, well, I have been up to a little bit of the latter, to my husband's irritation, but the kids sure are lookin' sharp this winter ;). So anyway, I'm just going to post some pics of things we've done lately and sort of leave it at that. Lame, I know. But I promise I'll dazzle you with some super witty and intelligent post at some point in the near future...
We went to Aspen Grove in the mountains where we played a lot of volleyball with the whole extended family, Princess nearly lost a hand to a hungry bear, and Young Man picked his nose and did sweet Kung Fu moves...a lot...
Oh and of course I ran around looking like Bigfoot in my enormous pink sweat shirt and absolutely no make-up, but was still lookin' cute just because of the cute vibes that ooze off of Princess onto whoever happens to be near her...
We've done a lot of playing...
We trick or treated and nearly died of body wide shock from all the sugar we ingested...
Princess suffered the dreaded stomach virus (and the rest of us too!)...
And the kids have become better friends nearly every.single.day.
So that's a little photo fun for ya! I hope you enjoyed it :).P.S. The husband does exist, I promise! Unfortunately there just happened to be no pictures of him in the computer files I was accessing for this post. I was simply too lazy to go looking around for one with him in it.
Oh wait...here's one. He's holding Princess and her best buddy, cousin E :).
November 25, 2009
Grief
I've been thinking about suicide. Not about committing it (I promise!) but about suicide in general. Not so long ago one of the people most dear to me in the world committed suicide. He was my brother, my friend, my listener, my family...my Eric. I got a call from my Mom at 7 am and I knew before I even answered the phone that it was going to be terrible news. I'm not a morning person, my Mom knows this, she would never call that early except to deliver a devastating blow. I answered the phone and Mom was crying. Crap. "Oh yeah, this is going to be bad", I thought for a split second before she said, "Eric is dead. He's dead, he killed himself last night". The floor dropped out from under me in an instant. Eric? "Eric who?", I irrationally thought to myself. It was my moment of denial, my precious split second where my mind wouldn't even accept that my brother had killed himself. It was someone else, some other Eric, and not one that I even knew. "He shot himself", was the only other thing my Mom said because shortly thereafter I hung up, and shaking hard turned to Joe and told him the news before I couldn't even speak anymore. I spent the entire day in some state of crying. Either just finishing up a round of tears, just starting one, or right in the middle with my head pounding and my nose flowing. I spent the next day exactly the same way. And I couldn't stop the terrible images in my head. For some reason my imagination would not stop torturing me by playing the whole scenario over and over in my mind.
Terrible questions occurred to me, questions I would never ask and I was sure that I did NOT want to know. "Did it hurt? Was it instant? Was he crying? Was he at peace with his decision?" Awful things that I'll never know and I'm sure I'm better off for it. That day Eric removed himself from my world, from our world. And it was violent, tragic, and just plain unacceptable. What do you do when one of the people you love most in the world actually puts a gun to his chest and pulls the trigger? I'll tell you, you spend countless days, weeks, then months feeling just fine one minute and then having it come and bite you in the arse while you're driving to the grocery store. I have arrived at many destinations in tears because of a song on the radio, on my iPod, something I've seen that jogs the sleeping monster in my head back into awareness, and I must sit in my car until I feel calm again. It's a sad existence. I was pushed into a very dark place that day my Mom gave me the news, and I have so far been unable to fully come back from it.
I went home to Texas for his funeral last February. And the whole experience felt like it was happening to someone else. I felt sort of detached from everything. At his viewing I couldn't bear to look at him or touch him. I spent the entire 2 or 3 hours standing as far from his coffin as I could and averting my eyes when I was forced to stand near him. I hate to cry in front of other people and I knew that if I saw more of him than an accidental glance afforded, that I would break down into a sobbing mess. I haven't been back to Texas since. And that is unusual. I generally visit several times per year. I'm going back for the first time since Eric died this December, and I'm absolutely dreading it. I'm mad at Texas for even continuing to exist without Eric there too. I'm afraid everything will look and feel different being there and knowing that he's not breathing the same star-spangled air as I am. Only 1/3 of Eric is still even in Texas. He was cremated and his biological mother took 1/3 back to Virginia, while his wife planned to scatter 1/3 of him in the ocean, and my Mom, Eric's beloved adopted Mom, took the other 1/3 to hold for safe keeping. Just until Eric's wife decides what to do with the rest.
There were so many things I loved about Eric. And I loved him so much, so many of us did. My senior year I had a guy ask me to prom and I said "yes". I got a dress, made an appointment to have my hair and makeup done professionally, and got myself all excited. Just a couple of days before the prom my date had bad news. He couldn't go anymore, but he was really sorry. I guess he had gotten himself into some kind of trouble and his parents wouldn't allow him to go anymore. I was so upset, as you can probably imagine. My Mom told Eric what had happened, and guess what he did. He rented a tuxedo the day of the prom and he took me himself. No one knew he was my brother because he was quite a bit older and never went to my highschool, and we looked nothing alike because we weren't biologically related. So everyone thought I brought a really cool, older guy to the prom. That's just the kind of guy he was.
I'm sorry to be a downer, but it's on my mind. Eric left behind a sweet wife and a wonderful son. He left behind my other brother, who was his best friend in the world. And he left me behind, something I haven't quite forgiven him for. Why do people do things like this, you ask? I think you might as well ask what the purpose of life is, for all the clarity you'll get in answer. When you boil everything down and stop asking questions that really have no answers, you're left with a hole. A big, gaping hole that is filled with nothing but the substanceless feelings of remorse, sorrow, and how much you miss him.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find a bucket of ice cream...
Terrible questions occurred to me, questions I would never ask and I was sure that I did NOT want to know. "Did it hurt? Was it instant? Was he crying? Was he at peace with his decision?" Awful things that I'll never know and I'm sure I'm better off for it. That day Eric removed himself from my world, from our world. And it was violent, tragic, and just plain unacceptable. What do you do when one of the people you love most in the world actually puts a gun to his chest and pulls the trigger? I'll tell you, you spend countless days, weeks, then months feeling just fine one minute and then having it come and bite you in the arse while you're driving to the grocery store. I have arrived at many destinations in tears because of a song on the radio, on my iPod, something I've seen that jogs the sleeping monster in my head back into awareness, and I must sit in my car until I feel calm again. It's a sad existence. I was pushed into a very dark place that day my Mom gave me the news, and I have so far been unable to fully come back from it.
I went home to Texas for his funeral last February. And the whole experience felt like it was happening to someone else. I felt sort of detached from everything. At his viewing I couldn't bear to look at him or touch him. I spent the entire 2 or 3 hours standing as far from his coffin as I could and averting my eyes when I was forced to stand near him. I hate to cry in front of other people and I knew that if I saw more of him than an accidental glance afforded, that I would break down into a sobbing mess. I haven't been back to Texas since. And that is unusual. I generally visit several times per year. I'm going back for the first time since Eric died this December, and I'm absolutely dreading it. I'm mad at Texas for even continuing to exist without Eric there too. I'm afraid everything will look and feel different being there and knowing that he's not breathing the same star-spangled air as I am. Only 1/3 of Eric is still even in Texas. He was cremated and his biological mother took 1/3 back to Virginia, while his wife planned to scatter 1/3 of him in the ocean, and my Mom, Eric's beloved adopted Mom, took the other 1/3 to hold for safe keeping. Just until Eric's wife decides what to do with the rest.
There were so many things I loved about Eric. And I loved him so much, so many of us did. My senior year I had a guy ask me to prom and I said "yes". I got a dress, made an appointment to have my hair and makeup done professionally, and got myself all excited. Just a couple of days before the prom my date had bad news. He couldn't go anymore, but he was really sorry. I guess he had gotten himself into some kind of trouble and his parents wouldn't allow him to go anymore. I was so upset, as you can probably imagine. My Mom told Eric what had happened, and guess what he did. He rented a tuxedo the day of the prom and he took me himself. No one knew he was my brother because he was quite a bit older and never went to my highschool, and we looked nothing alike because we weren't biologically related. So everyone thought I brought a really cool, older guy to the prom. That's just the kind of guy he was.
I'm sorry to be a downer, but it's on my mind. Eric left behind a sweet wife and a wonderful son. He left behind my other brother, who was his best friend in the world. And he left me behind, something I haven't quite forgiven him for. Why do people do things like this, you ask? I think you might as well ask what the purpose of life is, for all the clarity you'll get in answer. When you boil everything down and stop asking questions that really have no answers, you're left with a hole. A big, gaping hole that is filled with nothing but the substanceless feelings of remorse, sorrow, and how much you miss him.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find a bucket of ice cream...
September 28, 2009
Sa-Wimming!
So lately I've worried a lot about the safety of my kids around water. I mean, Princess is only 2 and no one expects her to swim yet and Young Man wouldn't even willingly stick his face in the water. If we tried to get him to he reacted as if we were asking him to lower his face into a vat of acid. I decided that just wouldn't do, nope, not at all, and I arranged for them to have swim lessons. And by swim lessons I'm talking about private, boot-camp tough love style, one on one, pay through the nose and argue with husband about it, lessons. I found a fantastic gal who with her daughters provides private lessons in 20 minute increments from her own pool in her own back yard. She's all certified and stuff too! So husband and I mortgaged our house and embarked upon an adventure with the kiddos of them learning how to at least not drown (I'm just kidding about our house, the lessons aren't THAT expensive :)...but trust me, this gal's a good deal and lessons with her and her girls are worth every.single.penny. You will get results!). At first, the kids didn't find it very adventurous at all....they found it to be more like torture, maybe something along the lines of water boarding. But here we are a month later of nearly every single day lessons, and they are both swimming (yes, even Princess!). Young Man will be able to join the swim team next week he has progressed so much with learning not only survival, but his strokes as well.
Now the goal with Princess (for me anyway) was never really learning to actually swim, but to survive if she were to fall into a pool or a body of water unnoticed somewhere. It happens you know, and even to responsible, vigilante parents. And those little toddlers tend to sink like stones cause they don't even know to not breathe when they are underwater and they panic and suck in tons of water. Princess learned to flip to her back and float from any underwater position. She was made to dive and jump off the side and taught to hold her breath, allow her body to float to the surface, and flip on her back to rest and breathe. Then she was taught to kick to the side of the pool, flip over, and grab the side to be pulled out or crawl out on her own. She has mastered these skills. Lately she's started to learn to swim by "pancaking" or rolling to her back to rest and breathe and then back to her front to swim a couple of feet, before rolling back to her back to rest and breathe...and rinse and repeat and eventually she will make it to the stairs or the side of the pool. It's such a neat thing to watch your child learn life skills such as surviving in the water. And while she's not ready for water skiing, I feel confident that should I ever turn my back for a second and she slips or falls into water, she will be able to keep herself from drowning long enough to be noticed and saved (and I sincerely hope that we never get to find out just how great her newly learned survival skills are). Heck, by next summer, I think she'll be swimming just like any older kid.
Young Man is of course a pro already :)
I know Princess looks unhappy in this last picture, but these were taken nearly 2 weeks ago, when "swimming" was known only as "torture" to her. She has since come to love her swimming lessons and her instructor. In fact, just today while being buckled into her seat to leave for swimming lessons, she said: "I be brave, put my face in the water and reach the wall"....and so she did.
Now the goal with Princess (for me anyway) was never really learning to actually swim, but to survive if she were to fall into a pool or a body of water unnoticed somewhere. It happens you know, and even to responsible, vigilante parents. And those little toddlers tend to sink like stones cause they don't even know to not breathe when they are underwater and they panic and suck in tons of water. Princess learned to flip to her back and float from any underwater position. She was made to dive and jump off the side and taught to hold her breath, allow her body to float to the surface, and flip on her back to rest and breathe. Then she was taught to kick to the side of the pool, flip over, and grab the side to be pulled out or crawl out on her own. She has mastered these skills. Lately she's started to learn to swim by "pancaking" or rolling to her back to rest and breathe and then back to her front to swim a couple of feet, before rolling back to her back to rest and breathe...and rinse and repeat and eventually she will make it to the stairs or the side of the pool. It's such a neat thing to watch your child learn life skills such as surviving in the water. And while she's not ready for water skiing, I feel confident that should I ever turn my back for a second and she slips or falls into water, she will be able to keep herself from drowning long enough to be noticed and saved (and I sincerely hope that we never get to find out just how great her newly learned survival skills are). Heck, by next summer, I think she'll be swimming just like any older kid.
Young Man is of course a pro already :)
I know Princess looks unhappy in this last picture, but these were taken nearly 2 weeks ago, when "swimming" was known only as "torture" to her. She has since come to love her swimming lessons and her instructor. In fact, just today while being buckled into her seat to leave for swimming lessons, she said: "I be brave, put my face in the water and reach the wall"....and so she did.
September 18, 2009
What the hayfever?!
It just so happens that it's getting to be my most favorite time of year again. I can smell the change all around me, feel it in the crisp night air, and I swear I can almost taste it. The changing of the seasons is absolutely palpable to me and I always find it very exciting. I'm a four season kind of gal and I think that's because I get bored easily and don't like things to just stay the same. I find I am pretty fickle with my four seasonal friends and tend to get "sick" of them each after they've been visiting for awhile. In short, I'm always ready to move on and never willing to stay stuck in one season. However, the season I would tolerate sticking around longer than it's allotted 3 months, if I had to, is Fall.
Oh my gosh, I just can't even put into words how much I love the color changing leaves that eventually give up their tenuous hold on the tree and fall gracefully to the ground for pissed off parents to rake up and gleeful children to make messes of their piles. And seriously, the excitement of Fall is just the best thing ever to me. When I was a kid, I was always SO excited to start a new school year. I couldn't wait to get to Walmart or Target with my Mom and buy all kinds of new school supplies. I eagerly anticipated charming my new teachers and relished the thought of being on the honor roll every single quarter. Yeah, I was a dork. And no, that hasn't really changed at all. Adulthood seems only to have made me more awkward. But I digress, we're talking about Fall here and not awkward adults.
I still absolutely LOVE Halloween and Thanksgiving. I stopped dressing up a long time ago, but I love to live through my childrens' excitement on that most hallowed of evenings, the night of trick-or-treating. The boy is really getting to the age that he just appreciates Halloween so much, and last year was the first time he looked forward to it. Two months beforehand he had decided what he was going to be, much like this year. And two months beforehand, he began to get excited over the massive quantities of candy he knew would be dumped into his bag, much like this year as well. And I'm a traditionalist. I believe in the door to door panhandling for candy by children everywhere one night a year. None of that ridiculous"trunk-or-treat", hey let's make the fat kids fatter by not even requiring them to walk 0.04 miles for their bag full of candy, business. I worked for my Halloween loot as a kid. I'm pretty sure my group of friends and I canvassed 10 miles worth of neighborhoods before we called it quits as porch lights everywhere began to be dimmed and shut off for the night. Of course, in my day (like I'm so old) :), there weren't razor blades, poison, and condoms shoved into my bag and would be pedophiles were not nearly so brave as they are now about snatching up potential victims. I'm sure that has detracted from the trick-or-treating experience quite a bit. But that's another post as well.
I could also go on and on about Thanksgiving, but I'll keep it short and just say that I love the food and the family togetherness. I'm pretty sure we've discussed before that I'm a food-driven person. It's pretty much a miracle that I don't weigh 500 pounds. And I really just picked that number out of the air because I'm pretty sure I don't have any readers that might just happen to weigh that much. I think it's still pretty rare to weigh 500 pounds despite the obesity epidemic that has overtaken our nation. BUT again, I digress, that's another post.
And finally, about that title. Because I'm sure by now you are thinking, "why the heck is the title about hayfever?". Well, I'll tell ya. I have the absolute worst allergies in the late summer to early fall time period. I mean for real. I overnight become this throat scratching (which makes a horrid noise by the way-husband loves it), ear wiggling (helps with the throat issue), snotty-nosed, stuffed up, miserable person. For the last 3 years in a row I have shown up on my doctor's doorstep with a sinus infection and double ear infections all at the same time. And each year he gives me a steroid shot and an admonishment to come to him "before it gets so bad" the next year. Well guess what? I haven't gone yet and I'm just about ready for that annual steroid shot and round of antibiotics. But I comfort myself by watching the leaves change, smelling the wonderful aromas of approaching fall (when my nose isn't too stuffed up), and knowing that nothing is ever in stasis. For all things, there is a time and a season. The allergies are not going to last forever :).
P.S. Can I just say, I find it hilarious that someone arrived on my blog by doing a google search for "what is dog spit used for". Ah, now that gave me a smile :)!
Oh my gosh, I just can't even put into words how much I love the color changing leaves that eventually give up their tenuous hold on the tree and fall gracefully to the ground for pissed off parents to rake up and gleeful children to make messes of their piles. And seriously, the excitement of Fall is just the best thing ever to me. When I was a kid, I was always SO excited to start a new school year. I couldn't wait to get to Walmart or Target with my Mom and buy all kinds of new school supplies. I eagerly anticipated charming my new teachers and relished the thought of being on the honor roll every single quarter. Yeah, I was a dork. And no, that hasn't really changed at all. Adulthood seems only to have made me more awkward. But I digress, we're talking about Fall here and not awkward adults.
I still absolutely LOVE Halloween and Thanksgiving. I stopped dressing up a long time ago, but I love to live through my childrens' excitement on that most hallowed of evenings, the night of trick-or-treating. The boy is really getting to the age that he just appreciates Halloween so much, and last year was the first time he looked forward to it. Two months beforehand he had decided what he was going to be, much like this year. And two months beforehand, he began to get excited over the massive quantities of candy he knew would be dumped into his bag, much like this year as well. And I'm a traditionalist. I believe in the door to door panhandling for candy by children everywhere one night a year. None of that ridiculous"trunk-or-treat", hey let's make the fat kids fatter by not even requiring them to walk 0.04 miles for their bag full of candy, business. I worked for my Halloween loot as a kid. I'm pretty sure my group of friends and I canvassed 10 miles worth of neighborhoods before we called it quits as porch lights everywhere began to be dimmed and shut off for the night. Of course, in my day (like I'm so old) :), there weren't razor blades, poison, and condoms shoved into my bag and would be pedophiles were not nearly so brave as they are now about snatching up potential victims. I'm sure that has detracted from the trick-or-treating experience quite a bit. But that's another post as well.
I could also go on and on about Thanksgiving, but I'll keep it short and just say that I love the food and the family togetherness. I'm pretty sure we've discussed before that I'm a food-driven person. It's pretty much a miracle that I don't weigh 500 pounds. And I really just picked that number out of the air because I'm pretty sure I don't have any readers that might just happen to weigh that much. I think it's still pretty rare to weigh 500 pounds despite the obesity epidemic that has overtaken our nation. BUT again, I digress, that's another post.
And finally, about that title. Because I'm sure by now you are thinking, "why the heck is the title about hayfever?". Well, I'll tell ya. I have the absolute worst allergies in the late summer to early fall time period. I mean for real. I overnight become this throat scratching (which makes a horrid noise by the way-husband loves it), ear wiggling (helps with the throat issue), snotty-nosed, stuffed up, miserable person. For the last 3 years in a row I have shown up on my doctor's doorstep with a sinus infection and double ear infections all at the same time. And each year he gives me a steroid shot and an admonishment to come to him "before it gets so bad" the next year. Well guess what? I haven't gone yet and I'm just about ready for that annual steroid shot and round of antibiotics. But I comfort myself by watching the leaves change, smelling the wonderful aromas of approaching fall (when my nose isn't too stuffed up), and knowing that nothing is ever in stasis. For all things, there is a time and a season. The allergies are not going to last forever :).
P.S. Can I just say, I find it hilarious that someone arrived on my blog by doing a google search for "what is dog spit used for". Ah, now that gave me a smile :)!
August 19, 2009
So it's your birthday...
I passed yet another milestone on Monday, August 17. I turned 31. Blahhh, I hate to be cliche, but I also really hate to see that number after the words "I turned" in regards to myself. I cannot believe that I am SO old. And it doesn't help that two haircuts ago my 24 year old sister-in-law exclaimed in a somewhat dismayed voice as she was cutting my hair, "Oh, I found a gray hair". So there you have it. Pretty soon I'll be a mammogram gettin, colonoscopy havin, cholesterol testin, menopausal, gray-haired fool. The husband says I'll still be sexy, but I know that he is bound by the eternal covenants we made to each other to always find me sexy and desireable :). Yeah, that's what the temple sealer said....I swear! I feel the desire to bring another child into the world just to test that my aging ovaries and womb still function, that they haven't given up on new life yet. But maybe that's not a good reason to have another kid...I don't know, I'll have to give it some serious thought :).
My family did their absolute best to help me pass the day with at least some aspect of pleasantness. I didn't feel much like celebrating, but husband talked me into organizing an adults only dinner at a nice restaurant with ice cream cake afterwards. It turned out to be a good decision and a lot of fun. We were missing some of my favorite people (shout out to T and M, my parents, and friend L) but other than that, I was with most of my most loved peeps, and we had one heck of a great conversation that will stick with me for quite awhile. And yep, you know me well if you guessed that the words vagina, puke, and "all you can eat" were a part of that most illuminating conversation. My only regret was when sister-in-law L said "vagina" really loudly in the quiet restaurant and there were two young boys sitting right behind our table. I'm pretty sure their mom ushured them out of there overly quickly on our account. And I would have done the same, yessiree, I don't blame their Mother one little bit.
But back to reminiscing. I really can't believe that 31 years have passed since the day I came screaming into this world. My Mom was absolutely sure I was a boy and had a hard time believing that I was indeed a little girl even when she was presented with the evidence. She had lost a little girl before I was born and figured she would not get the chance to raise another gal. I can't believe it's been 7 1/2 years since I met and married husband. I can't believe that I had my first baby 5 1/2 years ago and that next week I will be taking Young Man to Kindergarten. I'm pretty sure he was born just yesterday. And on that note, wasn't Princess who just looked at me while drinking a glass of water and said "Water soooo good Mommy" in her breathless, sweet voice, just born yesterday as well? Wait a minute, how the heck did I end up with 2 kids already?? I was just turning 18 years old and getting dropped off at the college dorm for my freshman year of college, standing and waving goodbye to my parents while my Mom cried and I tried really hard not to. And seriously, how is it that college is long over, because I still feel like an awkward highschool girl trying hard to fit in.
I tell you, time passes. And the more milestones you cross, the faster it goes. It won't be long before Young Man and Princess are begging to use the car and arguing with me over the fact that I won't allow them to date until they are 30, and the days of hello kitty rain boots and transfomers will be long over. I try harder and harder to hold onto every single moment because I am starting to realize that they all pass so quickly. It's true(though an overused and slightly cheesy saying) that moments really are like sand and they just slip right through our fingers. It seriously brings tears to my eyes to think how far I've traveled from childhood and how it all passed as quickly as it did. Just the other day, I was swimming at the pool with my dad and I swore I could breathe under water. I was convinced, and I thought I had the coolest special ability ever. It was just the other day, and I was 7 years old.
My family did their absolute best to help me pass the day with at least some aspect of pleasantness. I didn't feel much like celebrating, but husband talked me into organizing an adults only dinner at a nice restaurant with ice cream cake afterwards. It turned out to be a good decision and a lot of fun. We were missing some of my favorite people (shout out to T and M, my parents, and friend L) but other than that, I was with most of my most loved peeps, and we had one heck of a great conversation that will stick with me for quite awhile. And yep, you know me well if you guessed that the words vagina, puke, and "all you can eat" were a part of that most illuminating conversation. My only regret was when sister-in-law L said "vagina" really loudly in the quiet restaurant and there were two young boys sitting right behind our table. I'm pretty sure their mom ushured them out of there overly quickly on our account. And I would have done the same, yessiree, I don't blame their Mother one little bit.
But back to reminiscing. I really can't believe that 31 years have passed since the day I came screaming into this world. My Mom was absolutely sure I was a boy and had a hard time believing that I was indeed a little girl even when she was presented with the evidence. She had lost a little girl before I was born and figured she would not get the chance to raise another gal. I can't believe it's been 7 1/2 years since I met and married husband. I can't believe that I had my first baby 5 1/2 years ago and that next week I will be taking Young Man to Kindergarten. I'm pretty sure he was born just yesterday. And on that note, wasn't Princess who just looked at me while drinking a glass of water and said "Water soooo good Mommy" in her breathless, sweet voice, just born yesterday as well? Wait a minute, how the heck did I end up with 2 kids already?? I was just turning 18 years old and getting dropped off at the college dorm for my freshman year of college, standing and waving goodbye to my parents while my Mom cried and I tried really hard not to. And seriously, how is it that college is long over, because I still feel like an awkward highschool girl trying hard to fit in.
I tell you, time passes. And the more milestones you cross, the faster it goes. It won't be long before Young Man and Princess are begging to use the car and arguing with me over the fact that I won't allow them to date until they are 30, and the days of hello kitty rain boots and transfomers will be long over. I try harder and harder to hold onto every single moment because I am starting to realize that they all pass so quickly. It's true(though an overused and slightly cheesy saying) that moments really are like sand and they just slip right through our fingers. It seriously brings tears to my eyes to think how far I've traveled from childhood and how it all passed as quickly as it did. Just the other day, I was swimming at the pool with my dad and I swore I could breathe under water. I was convinced, and I thought I had the coolest special ability ever. It was just the other day, and I was 7 years old.
August 04, 2009
Had to Share
My neice, baby I, was blessed this past Sunday and we had a lovely get together with all the various family members at Grandma R's house (she's nearly 100 and doesn't look a day over 80 :), but don't tell her I told you that!). My sister-in-law and her husband, we'll call them S and S, were taking pictures of everyone. They are both really good at taking pictures and have the bonus of having a really nice camera. They managed to get a shot of the princess swinging that I just had to share. Isn't it beautiful?
Oh, and by the way, my husband once swang on this very same swing as a youngling himself. Ya, it's that old. And nope, it didn't break :).
July 31, 2009
A Funk
Well, it's finally happened to me this summer. I have slipped into a "funk". I've been in it for a couple of weeks now. I can't seem to get much done, I'm not very motivated to accomplish my "to do" list. I also get upset over small things and worry nearly constantly about things that I cannot control. You know, you've been there.
And isn't it funny how when we slip into these less than ideal moods, old Murphy's Law seems to just follow us around, ready to pounce at any moment. Seriously, bad things seem to happen with much higher frequency when I feel the least like I can handle them. Why can't they happen during the times that I feel so much more capable, upbeat, and prepared? Perhaps it's just my perception and the annoying, bad things do happen when I'm feeling great, I just notice them less because I have a brighter outlook. Where is the little fairy that flies around sprinkling happy dust over me? I think she's been on vacation for a couple of weeks.
So I'll give you a very small sampling of some of the more recent incidents that have made my "funk" even worse. The other day the princess and the young man were playing outside and I was happily harvesting my garden. After awhile I thought it was too hot, so I brought my little chicks into the house to cool off and have some juice. I noticed that the princess had gotten dirty, just a little smudge of mud on her leg. It was tiny, really, nothing to bother too much with. So I licked my finger and rubbed it off. Only, a tiny little bit remained so I licked my finger again and wiped the rest of it off. Suddenly, and with a fair amount of horror, it dawned on me that the princess had at one point picked up the little shovel we keep outside and tried to play with it. Can you guess what we do with that little shovel? I'll give you a hint. Remember that big dog I mentioned in my last post? Ya, we use that shovel as our "pooper scooper". So I gave my finger the old sniff test and yep, it smelled just like dog poo. So, I officially licked dog poo. How disgusting is that. At some point in time this will seem as funny to me as it no doubt does to you, but first I need to finish my deworming treatments with the local veterinarian.
So now on to the second incident. I was happily having a late morning snooze yesterday as the young man played with his legos and the princess had not yet woken up for the day (she sleeps in while young man is a total early bird). I awoke completely confused by the fact that I had been asleep. Well, owing to the fact that I was very befuddled, only half awake, and resting my hand directly under my jaw and chin...I completely twisted my own neck when I went to raise my arms over my head to stretch. Literally, my hand caught under my chin and I twisted my own neck too far in one direction. I heard a sickening sort of wet tearing noise and thought "okay, that can't be good". I felt a sharp pain and stood up to assess the damage. Within about 3 minutes I could not move my neck in any direction. It hurt so badly that I was actually in tears. I cried like a baby as I called husband at work and told him to please hurry home. He took me to the doctor, who prescribed narcotics, heat, and rest before he even examined me, assuming by my story that I couldn't have injured myself that badly. I mean, it's not like I fell down the stairs, he said. After an examination, he was quite surprised that I had managed to actually shift one of those little vertebrae in my neck over to the side. There was a gap where there should have been bone. So he sent me over to the hospital for further testing, and I am taking my pain meds and waiting to hear back on how badly I damaged my own neck.
So I tell ya folks, you best get yourself in a better mood if you're feeling down at all. Cause, old Murphy has no sympathy whatsoever for those of us feeling down. In fact, I think he gets a sick sort of joy from pouncing when we feel we are least able to handle him.
And isn't it funny how when we slip into these less than ideal moods, old Murphy's Law seems to just follow us around, ready to pounce at any moment. Seriously, bad things seem to happen with much higher frequency when I feel the least like I can handle them. Why can't they happen during the times that I feel so much more capable, upbeat, and prepared? Perhaps it's just my perception and the annoying, bad things do happen when I'm feeling great, I just notice them less because I have a brighter outlook. Where is the little fairy that flies around sprinkling happy dust over me? I think she's been on vacation for a couple of weeks.
So I'll give you a very small sampling of some of the more recent incidents that have made my "funk" even worse. The other day the princess and the young man were playing outside and I was happily harvesting my garden. After awhile I thought it was too hot, so I brought my little chicks into the house to cool off and have some juice. I noticed that the princess had gotten dirty, just a little smudge of mud on her leg. It was tiny, really, nothing to bother too much with. So I licked my finger and rubbed it off. Only, a tiny little bit remained so I licked my finger again and wiped the rest of it off. Suddenly, and with a fair amount of horror, it dawned on me that the princess had at one point picked up the little shovel we keep outside and tried to play with it. Can you guess what we do with that little shovel? I'll give you a hint. Remember that big dog I mentioned in my last post? Ya, we use that shovel as our "pooper scooper". So I gave my finger the old sniff test and yep, it smelled just like dog poo. So, I officially licked dog poo. How disgusting is that. At some point in time this will seem as funny to me as it no doubt does to you, but first I need to finish my deworming treatments with the local veterinarian.
So now on to the second incident. I was happily having a late morning snooze yesterday as the young man played with his legos and the princess had not yet woken up for the day (she sleeps in while young man is a total early bird). I awoke completely confused by the fact that I had been asleep. Well, owing to the fact that I was very befuddled, only half awake, and resting my hand directly under my jaw and chin...I completely twisted my own neck when I went to raise my arms over my head to stretch. Literally, my hand caught under my chin and I twisted my own neck too far in one direction. I heard a sickening sort of wet tearing noise and thought "okay, that can't be good". I felt a sharp pain and stood up to assess the damage. Within about 3 minutes I could not move my neck in any direction. It hurt so badly that I was actually in tears. I cried like a baby as I called husband at work and told him to please hurry home. He took me to the doctor, who prescribed narcotics, heat, and rest before he even examined me, assuming by my story that I couldn't have injured myself that badly. I mean, it's not like I fell down the stairs, he said. After an examination, he was quite surprised that I had managed to actually shift one of those little vertebrae in my neck over to the side. There was a gap where there should have been bone. So he sent me over to the hospital for further testing, and I am taking my pain meds and waiting to hear back on how badly I damaged my own neck.
So I tell ya folks, you best get yourself in a better mood if you're feeling down at all. Cause, old Murphy has no sympathy whatsoever for those of us feeling down. In fact, I think he gets a sick sort of joy from pouncing when we feel we are least able to handle him.
July 24, 2009
White Lies and Dog Spit
So do you ever lie to your kids, just a little, when you think it's for their own good? Cause, sometimes I do. I also occasionally tell little white lies when I am feeling sort of lazy and backed into a corner. You know, it goes something like: "Mom, can we go to the park, you said we were done working in the house (said by young man)", to which I might reply, "Um, no, today's not a good day babe, Mommy's gout is really acting up again". Which would work like a charm because his burning curiosity over what exactly gout is would completely distract him from his original query. I don't even know what gout is, but I do know it is something that would really incite the curiosity of a 5 year old boy.
So the other day the young man asked for a peanut butter and honey sandwich, to which I promptly obliged. But then he decided that he "had to finish this level of Lego Indiana Jones" before he could eat the sandwich. So there it sat for about 30 minutes, up on the high counter, looking all lonely and forlorn in front of young man's empty stool. Apparently our dog, Sonya (who is really big), also thought the sandwich looked lonely and forlorn, and too delicious to resist. So while I sat blogging, I heard the unmistakable sound of a plate banging on a granite surface and the jingle of collar tags hitting each other. I deduced in a milisecond what was happening and yelled: "SONYA, DROP IT!!", and so she did, immediately and out of fear for her life. I walked into the kitchen, picked up the completely intact sandwich off the floor and sat it back on the plate. The only damage it sustained were some deep puncture wounds inflicted by Sonya's large teeth, but it was otherwise whole.
So then young man says to me: "Mommy, now I need a new sandwich, Sonya ate mine", and his little bottom lip was trembling with sadness. I started to agree when I realized that we were out of honey, I had used the last of it on the sandwich that nearly became dog food. And if you know young man at all, you know that peanut butter and jelly is nearly as bad as torture by a 10 foot tall closet monster that is forcing him to eat any kind of food besides peanut butter and honey or crackers (yeah, he really enjoys a wide range of food). So I did what any Mom would do (what, you wouldn't?) to cheer up my on the verge of tears boy. I pulled off a tiny corner of the crust and said "now you can eat it, Sonya only had this one little part in her mouth". He happily picked up his sandwich to begin eating, but not before he questioned, "why are there holes in it?". I thought for maybe one second before I said, "I must have punched holes in the bread with my fingers when I picked it up off the floor". Yep, he bought it hook, line, and sinker, and polished off his sandwich like a starving little man. I mean, have you ever known anyone who died or even got sick from a little dog spit? I have never met such a person.
So the other day the young man asked for a peanut butter and honey sandwich, to which I promptly obliged. But then he decided that he "had to finish this level of Lego Indiana Jones" before he could eat the sandwich. So there it sat for about 30 minutes, up on the high counter, looking all lonely and forlorn in front of young man's empty stool. Apparently our dog, Sonya (who is really big), also thought the sandwich looked lonely and forlorn, and too delicious to resist. So while I sat blogging, I heard the unmistakable sound of a plate banging on a granite surface and the jingle of collar tags hitting each other. I deduced in a milisecond what was happening and yelled: "SONYA, DROP IT!!", and so she did, immediately and out of fear for her life. I walked into the kitchen, picked up the completely intact sandwich off the floor and sat it back on the plate. The only damage it sustained were some deep puncture wounds inflicted by Sonya's large teeth, but it was otherwise whole.
So then young man says to me: "Mommy, now I need a new sandwich, Sonya ate mine", and his little bottom lip was trembling with sadness. I started to agree when I realized that we were out of honey, I had used the last of it on the sandwich that nearly became dog food. And if you know young man at all, you know that peanut butter and jelly is nearly as bad as torture by a 10 foot tall closet monster that is forcing him to eat any kind of food besides peanut butter and honey or crackers (yeah, he really enjoys a wide range of food). So I did what any Mom would do (what, you wouldn't?) to cheer up my on the verge of tears boy. I pulled off a tiny corner of the crust and said "now you can eat it, Sonya only had this one little part in her mouth". He happily picked up his sandwich to begin eating, but not before he questioned, "why are there holes in it?". I thought for maybe one second before I said, "I must have punched holes in the bread with my fingers when I picked it up off the floor". Yep, he bought it hook, line, and sinker, and polished off his sandwich like a starving little man. I mean, have you ever known anyone who died or even got sick from a little dog spit? I have never met such a person.
July 20, 2009
The Boy Who Lived and The Girl Who Could Run
So, we saw Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince on Friday, and can I just say it was one of the nicest dates we've had in a long while. We had dinner with some of my favorite peeps, M and T, S and S, and he who must not be named (I can't say who the last person was in our group, I promised I wouldn't). We ate at Red Robin where I devoured a ridiculously fattening, delicious, make you have a heart attack just reading the nutritional information if you are so inclined, BBQ burger with little fried onion shoe strings on it. Oh my, it was wonderful. As were the bottomless french fries....yum. I threw caution to the wind and didn't "count points" eating dinner that night (a Weight Watchers thing) because if I had, I would have ended up depressed and would have starved myself the next two days to make up for it. Sometimes folks, it's just better to lie to yourself. After stuffing ourselves silly, we all headed over to the theater for a little 'Arry Po'er. I had an ice cream cone, albeit a child size ice cream cone (told ya I wasn't counting) with my movie and it was just fantastic too. Can you tell that I'm a really food driven person? Cause, I am.
As for the movie, it was really good. As usual, I couldn't help pointing out to husband every little deviation from the books, especially since I just finished reading all the books for, oh, about the 7th time through. I think from now on that I should avoid reading books before I see the movie. I'm sure I would have liked the movie better had I not just read the book. They threw a few little scenes in that weren't even in the book and that sort of annoyed me and left a few things out that I felt were pretty essential to the storyline. But what can ya do folks? I guess I have to leave it in the hands of the directors, as much as that might pain me :). Suffice it to say though, that the movie was well done and we all liked it.
Now for some more good news. I can run again, hallelujah! Oh yes, my knee has mostly repaired itself, mostly. After a failed attempt at running on Saturday, where my friend E drove all the way from a different city to run 5 miles with me and I was only able to run about 1 mile and walk the other 4, it seemed a lot better the next day. So really all I needed was 9 days off, enough ibuprofen to burn a hole in my stomach, lots of frozen peas and corn, a highly embarrassing knee brace, and a slightly awkward gait to run 4 miles the other night. That's right, I ran a mere 4 miles on Monday, slowly and painstakingly, but I ran it. Looks like I'm back in the game, until my next injury.
As for the movie, it was really good. As usual, I couldn't help pointing out to husband every little deviation from the books, especially since I just finished reading all the books for, oh, about the 7th time through. I think from now on that I should avoid reading books before I see the movie. I'm sure I would have liked the movie better had I not just read the book. They threw a few little scenes in that weren't even in the book and that sort of annoyed me and left a few things out that I felt were pretty essential to the storyline. But what can ya do folks? I guess I have to leave it in the hands of the directors, as much as that might pain me :). Suffice it to say though, that the movie was well done and we all liked it.
Now for some more good news. I can run again, hallelujah! Oh yes, my knee has mostly repaired itself, mostly. After a failed attempt at running on Saturday, where my friend E drove all the way from a different city to run 5 miles with me and I was only able to run about 1 mile and walk the other 4, it seemed a lot better the next day. So really all I needed was 9 days off, enough ibuprofen to burn a hole in my stomach, lots of frozen peas and corn, a highly embarrassing knee brace, and a slightly awkward gait to run 4 miles the other night. That's right, I ran a mere 4 miles on Monday, slowly and painstakingly, but I ran it. Looks like I'm back in the game, until my next injury.
July 15, 2009
The Birds and The Bees
I knew this day would come. Dreaded it, actually. The day my sweet, innocent, tender little man came into the world, I can remember thinking; "someday, he's going to ask me about s.e.x., and someday, he'll have it". Eeek! I know! What a horrible thought, but ya know, I'm always looking forward. Now he's only 5, so don't get all worried about the having it part, cause, I think we're still at least a good, oh, 25 years away from that milestone (a parent can only hope). But the subject has now officially been broached in our household. One of my most tremendous fears has come to pass. And I've spent a lot of time worrying about what I would say when he started asking questions. I've also spent a lot of time trying to convince husband that he should be the one answering questions, since he's a boy too (yeah- trying to shirk my duty, I know). "I'll take the girl", I say, but I know that when she starts to become curious, it'll be just as dreadful.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with the "birds and the bees" and I do think that children should be taught by their parents on these matters, but that does NOT make it any easier to do. It's like when I was 12 and I stole a chap stick from a drug store. I felt so guilty right away, in fact, my intestines still squirm with guilt when I think about it to this day. I was told the best way to feel better would be to take the chap stick back. I couldn't do it, I was too afraid so I just threw it in the trash. I can't throw my childrens' sex education in the trash however much I wish I could. *sigh*. I knew I would have to face it someday.
So this is how it all went down. I was folding a pile of laundry in the living room, underwear in fact. The young man came in looking perplexed. I'm sure his thought process was something along the lines of; where his latest lego creation had gone to, how cool transformers are, when in the world would Cyberchase be on TV again, how the bad guys are so much more cool than the good guys (Megatron obsession over here), and how perhaps I wouldn't do a sniff check on his undies at bedtime and find out that he'd wet them just a little bit because he got too into building things with his legos to take a potty break in time like he does every.single.day.....you know, normal 5 year old boy stuff. I just know he wasn't actually thinking about, well, you know. I think it was the panic induced by the wetting his pants a bit thought, or maybe just that too many little boy concerns flooded his mind all at once, but the effect was a temporary, heart stopping, panic inducing, oral diarrhea that produced the question: "Mommyhowdobabiesgetoutofyourtummy?", said real quick-like. "What sweetie", was all I could muster for a good 5 seconds that seemed like 10 minutes. Oh I'd heard him the first time alright, but I was simply hoping that perhaps I had heard him wrong and he'd actually asked something like: "Mommycantyouanddaddyhaveanotherbaby?" (cause he really wants a little brother, sisters are "the worst" apparently).
My mouth went real dry all of a sudden and I needed a really big glass of water so that I could regain my ability to swallow correctly. My stomach started doing horrible, nausea inducing flip-flops, and I'm pretty sure I was breathing faster than is necessary during casual conversation. Two seconds passed, then 5 seconds, then my palms started sweating and I silently cursed husband for being at work. The thought crossed my mind that we were at the tip of the sex iceburg with the baby question and that global warming was melting that iceburg into nothing. "What do I say.....I mean, holy heck, what do I say?!". So I came up with this: "Well young man, the mommy goes to the hospital and the doctor helps the baby come out", to which he replied "okay" and skipped off looking so much more at ease. Ba-rilliant! Success! And he was satisfied with that tiny, harmless little bit of information. Someday the big talk is coming, I know it, I can feel it. And when we do talk, he'll probably roll his eyes and tell us he'd known about "that" since he was 3. Until then, less is definitely more.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with the "birds and the bees" and I do think that children should be taught by their parents on these matters, but that does NOT make it any easier to do. It's like when I was 12 and I stole a chap stick from a drug store. I felt so guilty right away, in fact, my intestines still squirm with guilt when I think about it to this day. I was told the best way to feel better would be to take the chap stick back. I couldn't do it, I was too afraid so I just threw it in the trash. I can't throw my childrens' sex education in the trash however much I wish I could. *sigh*. I knew I would have to face it someday.
So this is how it all went down. I was folding a pile of laundry in the living room, underwear in fact. The young man came in looking perplexed. I'm sure his thought process was something along the lines of; where his latest lego creation had gone to, how cool transformers are, when in the world would Cyberchase be on TV again, how the bad guys are so much more cool than the good guys (Megatron obsession over here), and how perhaps I wouldn't do a sniff check on his undies at bedtime and find out that he'd wet them just a little bit because he got too into building things with his legos to take a potty break in time like he does every.single.day.....you know, normal 5 year old boy stuff. I just know he wasn't actually thinking about, well, you know. I think it was the panic induced by the wetting his pants a bit thought, or maybe just that too many little boy concerns flooded his mind all at once, but the effect was a temporary, heart stopping, panic inducing, oral diarrhea that produced the question: "Mommyhowdobabiesgetoutofyourtummy?", said real quick-like. "What sweetie", was all I could muster for a good 5 seconds that seemed like 10 minutes. Oh I'd heard him the first time alright, but I was simply hoping that perhaps I had heard him wrong and he'd actually asked something like: "Mommycantyouanddaddyhaveanotherbaby?" (cause he really wants a little brother, sisters are "the worst" apparently).
My mouth went real dry all of a sudden and I needed a really big glass of water so that I could regain my ability to swallow correctly. My stomach started doing horrible, nausea inducing flip-flops, and I'm pretty sure I was breathing faster than is necessary during casual conversation. Two seconds passed, then 5 seconds, then my palms started sweating and I silently cursed husband for being at work. The thought crossed my mind that we were at the tip of the sex iceburg with the baby question and that global warming was melting that iceburg into nothing. "What do I say.....I mean, holy heck, what do I say?!". So I came up with this: "Well young man, the mommy goes to the hospital and the doctor helps the baby come out", to which he replied "okay" and skipped off looking so much more at ease. Ba-rilliant! Success! And he was satisfied with that tiny, harmless little bit of information. Someday the big talk is coming, I know it, I can feel it. And when we do talk, he'll probably roll his eyes and tell us he'd known about "that" since he was 3. Until then, less is definitely more.
July 14, 2009
Addicted
I have always been a shopper, I just might have been born to do it. The prowess I display when moving deftly between hanging racks while pushing a clunky stroller and pulling an unwilling 5 year old boy along with me is something to behold. My stamina is amazing, I am a marathoner when it comes to shopping. Although, I don't do it in my underwear, like most marathoners I know :). But maybe I should cause that'd clear the place out real quick and then I wouldn't have to move so much like a lioness on the hunt, full of stealth and ready to pounce, but more like the somewhat clumsy girl that I am away from the shopping forum.
You wouldn't believe the bodily changes that take place within me and many other ladies I know when we're "on the hunt". I'm pretty sure my eyes dilate, my nostrils flare, my heart rate and blood pressure both speed up, and my breath quickens. I also experience this euphoric, happy feeling that makes me feel just fantastic, on top of the world! Do you want to go shopping now? Cause, you should, it can be that great.
I've met my match in shopping lately though, I've got to tell ya. Have you heard of Matilda Jane? It's like a secret society, just not intentionally secret. The company is still fairly small, though growing larger all the time I'm sure, so getting ahold of the "merchandise" can be...difficult. It's addicting and I've been sucked into the vortex that is stalking their website all.day.long waiting for things to pop up that I can actually buy online. You see, you usually can't get it online, but you have to go to in-home trunk shows and order it through "trunk keepers". But they started online art fairs and now their "platinum" site allows you to shop and buy any time. The trick is waiting for the things you've been salivating for to pop up and get them before the other 8,000 ladies who are also stalking the web site. Oh yes, there are thousands of us out there.
Until my innocent foray into a certain website devoted to clothing and a forum entitled "other brands", I had never heard of Matilda Jane. I was safe in my world of easily obtainable Gap, Gymboree, and Target. I had merely to decide to go to the mall or make a few strokes on the old keyboard and all the adorable childrens' clothing I could ever want was made immediately available to me. And then I bought my first Matilda Jane dress, from someone else, and I was hooked. Now the trick was figuring out how to get my hands on it. And then I found my dealer, a perfectly nice girl (named Megan) who supplies my Matilda Jane. I have been contacting her more and more frequently as of late and we are now on a first name, bantering basis. Scary.
What's the draw, you say? Well, it's only the cutest, most unique, and did I say cutest, clothing I've ever seen for kids. It's full of whimsy, a little bit old-fashioned while being fashion-forward at the same time, and a sure-fire way for your kids to get compliments. My daughter loves the clothes and she's only 2. Incidentally, she's wearing Matilda Jane in the pics I posted of her last. Go check it out, if you even dare...
So here I sit, blogging to pass the time *just in case* that light blue "dance yourself silly" tank that I.MUST.OBTAIN pops back up on their website. My eyes are bloodshot, my head hurts, my fingers hurt, but I WILL be victorious. Oh yes, that tank will be mine...I mean the princess's.
You wouldn't believe the bodily changes that take place within me and many other ladies I know when we're "on the hunt". I'm pretty sure my eyes dilate, my nostrils flare, my heart rate and blood pressure both speed up, and my breath quickens. I also experience this euphoric, happy feeling that makes me feel just fantastic, on top of the world! Do you want to go shopping now? Cause, you should, it can be that great.
I've met my match in shopping lately though, I've got to tell ya. Have you heard of Matilda Jane? It's like a secret society, just not intentionally secret. The company is still fairly small, though growing larger all the time I'm sure, so getting ahold of the "merchandise" can be...difficult. It's addicting and I've been sucked into the vortex that is stalking their website all.day.long waiting for things to pop up that I can actually buy online. You see, you usually can't get it online, but you have to go to in-home trunk shows and order it through "trunk keepers". But they started online art fairs and now their "platinum" site allows you to shop and buy any time. The trick is waiting for the things you've been salivating for to pop up and get them before the other 8,000 ladies who are also stalking the web site. Oh yes, there are thousands of us out there.
Until my innocent foray into a certain website devoted to clothing and a forum entitled "other brands", I had never heard of Matilda Jane. I was safe in my world of easily obtainable Gap, Gymboree, and Target. I had merely to decide to go to the mall or make a few strokes on the old keyboard and all the adorable childrens' clothing I could ever want was made immediately available to me. And then I bought my first Matilda Jane dress, from someone else, and I was hooked. Now the trick was figuring out how to get my hands on it. And then I found my dealer, a perfectly nice girl (named Megan) who supplies my Matilda Jane. I have been contacting her more and more frequently as of late and we are now on a first name, bantering basis. Scary.
What's the draw, you say? Well, it's only the cutest, most unique, and did I say cutest, clothing I've ever seen for kids. It's full of whimsy, a little bit old-fashioned while being fashion-forward at the same time, and a sure-fire way for your kids to get compliments. My daughter loves the clothes and she's only 2. Incidentally, she's wearing Matilda Jane in the pics I posted of her last. Go check it out, if you even dare...
So here I sit, blogging to pass the time *just in case* that light blue "dance yourself silly" tank that I.MUST.OBTAIN pops back up on their website. My eyes are bloodshot, my head hurts, my fingers hurt, but I WILL be victorious. Oh yes, that tank will be mine...I mean the princess's.
July 13, 2009
Little Models
I recently had some professional pictures taken of the kids and they turned out really great. There are, like, 142 of them (literally!), so I'm just going to post a few. The photographer was great, a gal named Skye Johansen who lives in Lehi. Check out her blog. Hope you enjoy my beautiful kiddos, I know I do.
July 12, 2009
An Ode to Inappropriate Conversations
So my family came over tonight. And by my family, I mean husband's crazy siblings with their various spouses and younglings, and well, that's always a good time. We love to talk, and we will talk until 3 am if the mood strikes. Yeah, we've done it before, more than once. Now that I'm 30, I'm going to have to really scale back on that kind of behavior just like I had to give up the keggers a few years ago. Kidding, cause I'm like, Mormon. Aren't you?
So there is one thing even better than gossip that seems to happen as the little hand on the clock winds its way ever more toward the right, which should be clockwise in case you're scratchin' your head. We start talking about things that are really better left unsaid. And if you know my brother-in-law T, you know those things generally do not remain unsaid. And just to be fair, my sister-in-law M too. Oh fine, and me three.
You wouldn't think that discussing leaking milky boobs, birth stories, birth control, and various bodily functions and non-functions could be such a rip-roaring good time, but I tell ya, you must not have tried it yet. I really get into those conversations that tend to take place at 2am and leave you hanging your head in shame the next morning. "Did I really say that?", you think to yourself. "What the heck was I thinking?", is the inevitable conclusion that you blearily come to the next morning. And here's the kicker folks, it is all said without the benefit of any form of intoxication to get the conversational wheels a turnin'. Oh me oh my, we Mormons sure know how to party like it's 1999.
So the next time you find yourself sitting with a group of close friends (as these people previously mentioned are my BEST friends in the whole world) and there is a lull in the conversation, here are some trigger words that work best for me and mine: boob, butt (or bum, if you prefer), shower, poop, "my boob is leaking!" (ya, we like, have babies all the time in this group), and well, you get the gist. You'd think we were all in second grade or something, but really I think it's the "witching hour". Ya know, nothing good happens after midnight and all that jazz. Well, the witching hour used to be midnight for us, but as old father time bestows more wrinkles around my eyes than I care to notice each morning, it gets earlier and earlier. I can only conclude that pretty soon, 7pm is going to get reeeaaallllly interesting.
Editor's Note: Some of my "favorite peeps", or "best friends in the world" if you would prefer, were not present last night. You know who you are girls :).
So there is one thing even better than gossip that seems to happen as the little hand on the clock winds its way ever more toward the right, which should be clockwise in case you're scratchin' your head. We start talking about things that are really better left unsaid. And if you know my brother-in-law T, you know those things generally do not remain unsaid. And just to be fair, my sister-in-law M too. Oh fine, and me three.
You wouldn't think that discussing leaking milky boobs, birth stories, birth control, and various bodily functions and non-functions could be such a rip-roaring good time, but I tell ya, you must not have tried it yet. I really get into those conversations that tend to take place at 2am and leave you hanging your head in shame the next morning. "Did I really say that?", you think to yourself. "What the heck was I thinking?", is the inevitable conclusion that you blearily come to the next morning. And here's the kicker folks, it is all said without the benefit of any form of intoxication to get the conversational wheels a turnin'. Oh me oh my, we Mormons sure know how to party like it's 1999.
So the next time you find yourself sitting with a group of close friends (as these people previously mentioned are my BEST friends in the whole world) and there is a lull in the conversation, here are some trigger words that work best for me and mine: boob, butt (or bum, if you prefer), shower, poop, "my boob is leaking!" (ya, we like, have babies all the time in this group), and well, you get the gist. You'd think we were all in second grade or something, but really I think it's the "witching hour". Ya know, nothing good happens after midnight and all that jazz. Well, the witching hour used to be midnight for us, but as old father time bestows more wrinkles around my eyes than I care to notice each morning, it gets earlier and earlier. I can only conclude that pretty soon, 7pm is going to get reeeaaallllly interesting.
Editor's Note: Some of my "favorite peeps", or "best friends in the world" if you would prefer, were not present last night. You know who you are girls :).
July 11, 2009
Running is on my mind...
And I'll tell you why. Cause I've been doing an awful lot of it lately, that's why. I am running my little heart out, putting my feet inside a humble pair of running shoes that only cost me $115 and pounding the pavement to nothin'. Why do I do this to myself? I am really not sure, cause I don't like it. Really, I *almost* hate it. I can't stand to hear myself gasping for air like it's my last breath, I detest the feeling of my bladder bouncing uncomfortably within the tendons that are supposed to hold it into place, I hate my boobs bouncing in front of others and I mean really bouncing despite my "bounce free" sports bra, but most of all, I really hate the nearly incapacitating need to empty my bowels within 5 minutes of starting out a run. TMI you say, no my friend, it is not. I only tell you this to spare you from even attempting this archaic form of exercise yourself. I've been sucked into it because of my highly competitive, "I must spend hundreds of dollars on this new hobby of mine", nature. But I hope to spare you.
Walking is the way to go. Yes, yes, I know, the "cool" people run. They run marathons for fun, yes they do! And they do it in their underwear with their clearly defined abdominal muscles free of stretchmarks and that winter warming layer of blubber, being highlighted with each intake of breath. But I'll tell who's gonna have the last laugh, the walkers. Oh yes, while the runners are on their way to the hospital for multiple joint replacements, the walkers will quietly hold up their "I TOLD you so, you fool" mantles. Yes, they will go to the grave with their very own joints intact. It's like Bill Gates people. You know he got made fun of all through school, but who's laughin' now? So put on your power walking shoes, roll your hips, and swing those arms baby! And do it with pride, cause you're the smart one.
So, I ran 7 miles on Thursday, and I ran through the gully twice, and I didn't walk at all. I was all proud of myself until I woke up the next morning. Oh boy, my right knee did NOT like that run at all! It had puffed itself up to twice its normal size in its anger over my tomfoolery. It refused to bend, it laughed at my attempts to quiet it with Ibuprofen, but most of all, it punished me for my stupidity by aching in a nearly unbearable fashion all.day.long. And this comes after a barely healed sprained ankle. I think my joints are trying to tell me something, but I will not listen. No sirree, I will soldier on. Cause I found this:
And by THIS!, I mean "the Frog Bra" by Title Nine Sports. Oh yeah, it guarantees no more bouncing, ever. It costs a mint, but hey, I'd do a lot for no more bouncing while running, ever. So I ordered it and I anxiously await it's arrival at my doorstep. So there's one thing I might be able to change, the bounce factor. Perhaps the next time I run, I will hate it just a little bit less.
Walking is the way to go. Yes, yes, I know, the "cool" people run. They run marathons for fun, yes they do! And they do it in their underwear with their clearly defined abdominal muscles free of stretchmarks and that winter warming layer of blubber, being highlighted with each intake of breath. But I'll tell who's gonna have the last laugh, the walkers. Oh yes, while the runners are on their way to the hospital for multiple joint replacements, the walkers will quietly hold up their "I TOLD you so, you fool" mantles. Yes, they will go to the grave with their very own joints intact. It's like Bill Gates people. You know he got made fun of all through school, but who's laughin' now? So put on your power walking shoes, roll your hips, and swing those arms baby! And do it with pride, cause you're the smart one.
So, I ran 7 miles on Thursday, and I ran through the gully twice, and I didn't walk at all. I was all proud of myself until I woke up the next morning. Oh boy, my right knee did NOT like that run at all! It had puffed itself up to twice its normal size in its anger over my tomfoolery. It refused to bend, it laughed at my attempts to quiet it with Ibuprofen, but most of all, it punished me for my stupidity by aching in a nearly unbearable fashion all.day.long. And this comes after a barely healed sprained ankle. I think my joints are trying to tell me something, but I will not listen. No sirree, I will soldier on. Cause I found this:
And by THIS!, I mean "the Frog Bra" by Title Nine Sports. Oh yeah, it guarantees no more bouncing, ever. It costs a mint, but hey, I'd do a lot for no more bouncing while running, ever. So I ordered it and I anxiously await it's arrival at my doorstep. So there's one thing I might be able to change, the bounce factor. Perhaps the next time I run, I will hate it just a little bit less.
July 10, 2009
Another day, another background...
Well, I'm playing around with this stuff and learning a few tricks. I need my friend L to come over and show me how to add pictures and change the layout and whatnot, but hey, I'm trying. I'm ashamed that I am completely and totally inept at blogging. Perhaps some day, I will become the world's greatest blogging, background making, template designing fool, but for now, yeah, I'm really not even sure how to put the pictures in.
This really does remind me of scrap booking, an art I have never excelled in. Once my Mom took me to a scrap booking store and bought me all sorts of pretty paper, ink, stamps, cute stickers and borders, and I was determined to scrapbook. I did one whole page before I realized that I am just not the "scrap booking type". I still have a bin full of the stuff down in the basement and I use it whenever I am unfortunate enough to have to serve in the primary (only kidding folks, primary is the highest calling besides RS president and I was LUCKY to get to spend 3 years in a row molding young minds...to do my evil bidding, Mwahahahaha!). Incidentally, my Mom still has her bin too, but I think she did at least, oh, 5 pages before she called it quits.
I admire the ladies who are really good at scrap booking. I know quite a few and I am in awe of their artistic abilities. This might be a coincidence, but they also tend to be really good at decorating their homes. They are also usually really good at dressing fabulously stylishly and staying really thin while eating entire tubs of buttered and salted popcorn at every.single.chick flick that they attend. Alas, I am not a scrap booker. No buttered popcorn for me, but could you pass the fiber one bars?
So I'm working on it. And if you are reading this L, please know that I am waiting for you to come and show me art of blogging, which you seem to have mastered :).
This really does remind me of scrap booking, an art I have never excelled in. Once my Mom took me to a scrap booking store and bought me all sorts of pretty paper, ink, stamps, cute stickers and borders, and I was determined to scrapbook. I did one whole page before I realized that I am just not the "scrap booking type". I still have a bin full of the stuff down in the basement and I use it whenever I am unfortunate enough to have to serve in the primary (only kidding folks, primary is the highest calling besides RS president and I was LUCKY to get to spend 3 years in a row molding young minds...to do my evil bidding, Mwahahahaha!). Incidentally, my Mom still has her bin too, but I think she did at least, oh, 5 pages before she called it quits.
I admire the ladies who are really good at scrap booking. I know quite a few and I am in awe of their artistic abilities. This might be a coincidence, but they also tend to be really good at decorating their homes. They are also usually really good at dressing fabulously stylishly and staying really thin while eating entire tubs of buttered and salted popcorn at every.single.chick flick that they attend. Alas, I am not a scrap booker. No buttered popcorn for me, but could you pass the fiber one bars?
So I'm working on it. And if you are reading this L, please know that I am waiting for you to come and show me art of blogging, which you seem to have mastered :).
July 08, 2009
So this is what all you young, hip people have been doing
Well, due to boredom and avoidance of cleaning the basement, I decided to start a blog today. I love blogs and I read a lot of blogs of people I love and people I hardly even know. Why read the blog of people I don't know, you ask? I guess I'm kind of voyeuristic that way. I've definitely bitten off more than I can chew, so bear with me as I add in pictures and make this blog personal and 'Me' style. Apparently, when I get really good, I can even custom design a template, whatever that is. If it's anything like scrap booking, and I suspect it is, I will suck at it. For some strange reason I have avoided this 'newfangled' technology for as long as I possibly can, much like someone's great-grandmother might...but not husband's grandma, nope, she's got e-mail and she's even on facebook at the ripened age of 99. But she doesn't have a blog, so there's one more very elderly person that I am one step ahead of, yesiree Bob! So if you haven't gotten the idea, I'm quite behind in the world of blogging. But I will not even attempt 'twitter' for at least 4 more years.
As I type this, my 5 year old, the young man, is standing on my right asking repeatedly, "Mommy, when are you going to throw the dying bug outside. Don't you know you always have to throw dying bugs outside, okay Mommy. The bug looks dead, why did it come in our house?", and rinse and repeat about 10 times and you get the idea. To which I keep replying, "Well, if it's dead, we'll just leave it there", when really I'm thinking as hard as I can "please go away, please go away, please go away", and "gross, I might throw up if I have to touch a bug, best to leave it for husband", but don't dare say it lest I hurt his tender little feelings. And his feelings certainly are tender, he can cry real tears, big ones, at the drop of a hat, or rather, the voicing of a harsh word or tone. He is uber- smart though and quite a rationalist and bargainer ("I'll tell you what Mom, you turn on Cyberchase for me and then I will finish my banana"-real quote). Maybe, if the other kids don't kill him first, he'll grow up to be a lawyer. He knows just how to drive me crazy but he can also be the most endearing little guy you've ever met. Whenever I scold him or punish him he'll yell, "Mom, I HATE you for 50 years!", which almost always makes me laugh. Not that he hates me at the moment, but that he feels he needs to put a time constraint on his hate. He is not athletically gifted and is quite clumsy really, but he sure is good at building stuff with his legos. Genius actually.
My 2 year old, little princess, is fast asleep and has been for the last 2 1/2 hours. What a good girl. Really, nap time is the best! I can do a whole lot of nothin' in 2 hours! And nothing, is like, my favorite thing to do a lot of time. I occasionally like to spice up 'nothing' with things like laundry, dishes, and vacuuming for a roaring good time, but ya know, nothing usually works great for me. Lest you think I'm sitting and staring at the wall like a zombie, let me list my 'nothing' activities. Let's see, there is reading the Harry Potter series for, oh, I don't know, maybe the 10th time, perusing the Twilight series and focusing on the make-out scenes (did I just blog that out loud?), or reading any book for that matter, watching any of the 50 reality series on TLC that I tivo incessantly (nothing like a good, screaming, labor scene at lunch time) or SYTYCD (if you don't know what that is, time to move out of the rock), or any TV really, and of course, nothing would not be 'nothing' without a good nap. But I digress, this is little princess's paragraph. She really is a princess. She is sweet, petite, and very girly. She loves her shoes and the color pink. She loves animals and already hates bugs (just liker her mom). And oh boy can she talk. I mean, full thoughts, full sentences, with a dash of full teen-angst/puberty already thrown in. Case in point, the other day I told her it was nap time but she didn't want to go to sleep yet. I tried to tempt her with a bottle (she just turned 2 and still has a bottle at naps) and she turns towards me, puts her hands on her hips, and says "Mommy, I no want baba EVER AGAIN!". She also informs me of current events on a nearly constant basis- "Mommy, I go potty in diaper", "Mommy, kids outside jumping", "Mommy, doggy go poop".
So our brood just consists of 2 littluns right now. And just because the princess is 2 does NOT mean that it's time for us to get crackin on little number 3, so stop askin people, sheesh! Just kidding, ask away. It gives me the chance to act secretive and vague and start ward rumors that I'm pregnant :). The hubby is fantastic. I mean, really fantastic! He's sexy, funny, smart, can fix anything, and is an amazing Dad. He only occasionally tries to shirk dad duty and always picks up my slack on the weekends when I'm so burned out that I "just don't care". So that's a little look into our family. Bear with me while I get some pictures and a cutesy background going on this blog.
As I type this, my 5 year old, the young man, is standing on my right asking repeatedly, "Mommy, when are you going to throw the dying bug outside. Don't you know you always have to throw dying bugs outside, okay Mommy. The bug looks dead, why did it come in our house?", and rinse and repeat about 10 times and you get the idea. To which I keep replying, "Well, if it's dead, we'll just leave it there", when really I'm thinking as hard as I can "please go away, please go away, please go away", and "gross, I might throw up if I have to touch a bug, best to leave it for husband", but don't dare say it lest I hurt his tender little feelings. And his feelings certainly are tender, he can cry real tears, big ones, at the drop of a hat, or rather, the voicing of a harsh word or tone. He is uber- smart though and quite a rationalist and bargainer ("I'll tell you what Mom, you turn on Cyberchase for me and then I will finish my banana"-real quote). Maybe, if the other kids don't kill him first, he'll grow up to be a lawyer. He knows just how to drive me crazy but he can also be the most endearing little guy you've ever met. Whenever I scold him or punish him he'll yell, "Mom, I HATE you for 50 years!", which almost always makes me laugh. Not that he hates me at the moment, but that he feels he needs to put a time constraint on his hate. He is not athletically gifted and is quite clumsy really, but he sure is good at building stuff with his legos. Genius actually.
My 2 year old, little princess, is fast asleep and has been for the last 2 1/2 hours. What a good girl. Really, nap time is the best! I can do a whole lot of nothin' in 2 hours! And nothing, is like, my favorite thing to do a lot of time. I occasionally like to spice up 'nothing' with things like laundry, dishes, and vacuuming for a roaring good time, but ya know, nothing usually works great for me. Lest you think I'm sitting and staring at the wall like a zombie, let me list my 'nothing' activities. Let's see, there is reading the Harry Potter series for, oh, I don't know, maybe the 10th time, perusing the Twilight series and focusing on the make-out scenes (did I just blog that out loud?), or reading any book for that matter, watching any of the 50 reality series on TLC that I tivo incessantly (nothing like a good, screaming, labor scene at lunch time) or SYTYCD (if you don't know what that is, time to move out of the rock), or any TV really, and of course, nothing would not be 'nothing' without a good nap. But I digress, this is little princess's paragraph. She really is a princess. She is sweet, petite, and very girly. She loves her shoes and the color pink. She loves animals and already hates bugs (just liker her mom). And oh boy can she talk. I mean, full thoughts, full sentences, with a dash of full teen-angst/puberty already thrown in. Case in point, the other day I told her it was nap time but she didn't want to go to sleep yet. I tried to tempt her with a bottle (she just turned 2 and still has a bottle at naps) and she turns towards me, puts her hands on her hips, and says "Mommy, I no want baba EVER AGAIN!". She also informs me of current events on a nearly constant basis- "Mommy, I go potty in diaper", "Mommy, kids outside jumping", "Mommy, doggy go poop".
So our brood just consists of 2 littluns right now. And just because the princess is 2 does NOT mean that it's time for us to get crackin on little number 3, so stop askin people, sheesh! Just kidding, ask away. It gives me the chance to act secretive and vague and start ward rumors that I'm pregnant :). The hubby is fantastic. I mean, really fantastic! He's sexy, funny, smart, can fix anything, and is an amazing Dad. He only occasionally tries to shirk dad duty and always picks up my slack on the weekends when I'm so burned out that I "just don't care". So that's a little look into our family. Bear with me while I get some pictures and a cutesy background going on this blog.
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