Monday, August 30, 2010
"When did this happen?" "I hate my body" "GAWD, I used to be hot"
I am NOT a superficial person (mostly), but when I had tried on ALL 5 pairs of jeans that I own, and cannot BUTTON any of them...My self esteem had almost completely vanished.
I dove into a pit of self-pity, went to Walmart specifically to purchase elastic waisted pants - and drank myself silly (hence the discovery of two yummy drink options reviewed here and here).
Sunday, I decided to start anew. I have three months until I turn 30. What better reason to motivate myself than the turning of the page on a decade?
So, I woke up this morning late. I'd eaten an entire Hershey's bar in bed...and, well, watched 27 Dresses (love that movie) instead of sleeping. Whatever. I'd start anew Monday afternoon.
I woke up, brushed teeth, fed baby and ran out the door. I managed to make the conscious effort of wearing jeans today. Non-elastic waist band. I've let myself go by wearing pants that allow me to expand.
After work, while baby napped, I engaged myself.
I took a set of "before" pictures.
Of course, I don't want to show the actual before pictures until progress has been made. Subway's Jared wasn't all showing off his size 65 jeans before he lost the weight - I'm not going to either.
The picture to the left is close though.
Muffin' spillage. Thigh wedgie.
Hot hot hot.
This is an exaggeration - to some extent. For example, I don't have a lobster claw hand, wonky shaped feet, and my red highlights have faded out. The rest is real.
With the added motivation of seeing those...I whipped my own ass doing the P90X Ab ripper dvd.
Then went on a hike wearing my 20 lb baby on my back.
Managed to hike all the way down to the river, listened to the serene gurgle of the flow, peed my pants a little (oh so literally), and then had to hike up hill all the way back to the car.
I was proud of the activity, not so much about the wet pants.
Man, I feel like a woman...duh duh dada duh - duh duh!!
I'm pushing myself to do this. It is a real push.
I have 15 1/2lbs to lose, an ass to perk, thighs to dwindle, and a muffin top to dissolve. 12 weeks to go!
Kick my ass, readers!! I need you to push me!!
I'll post my (real) before and after on my 30th (Nov 29 - hold me to it!!).
Sunday, August 29, 2010
We had Chinese take out tonight for dinner.
Bloated with General Tso's and eggrolls - the following was the fortune I pulled from an incredibly stale cookie: "Win as if you are used to it, lose as if you enjoyed it for a change."
I don't know when I started the habit of adding "in bed" to the end of a fortune. Sometimes, they really juice up the interpretation - other times, like tonight, not so much.
My husband's was "You are an outgoing and fun loving person"... in bed.
Yep. That one worked....and isn't a lie.
Both are less fortune and more generalities than I'd prefer.
Stale like the cookies.
At least they aren't poor English. Those are bad - the American-made happy meal toy end of the meal prize heads somewhere else to be written, then poorly translated, and then folded into cookies.
Anyway, it looks like tonight I will enjoy time with my outgoing and fun husband - and either win or be excited about not winning.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
It was a nice go of it, and it got me back into writing daily. The topics listed are a bit trite for my writing style, and to be honest, I was getting sick of trying to make topics I came up with on my own fit the day's challenge.
I don't need that sort of pressure!
Something you might (probably) not know about me is that we are an archery family.
Bows and arrows. Sticks and strings.
We have an archery range on our property. My husband spends many a night shooting at targets as small as ping pong balls from 20 or even 30 yards away.
He's good, damn good.
My step-son is a great shot, too. Although the 10 year old that he is doesn't bode well for being committed to anything for more than 2 days.
I love to shoot. Correct and shoot. Correct and shoot. I love the mechanics of archery. Straight lines, aim...fire.
Of course, I don't shoot as often as I'd like. I could blame Babygirl, but that's really a cop out.
I hate the bugs this time of year. The only thing I hate more than bugs is bug spray.
I spend an entire summer in grad school drenched in Deep Woods Off. I literally melted finger shapes into my plastic click pencils and plastic clip board with the stuff.
...and *twitch* I've never *twitch, twitch* been quite the *twitch* same *twitch*
So I don't DO bug spray.
Deet can crawl in a hole and die.
I'll do the natural-based stuff if I have to be outside, but I'd just rather pass.
So I'm a pussy, and that's why I don't shoot as much as I should.
The other reason I don't shoot often is because I bruise easily. I wear an arm guard on my left arm (the one holding the bow and - for whatever reason - the one that gets slapped by my string), but no matter where it is positioned I end up with a huge, puffy, ugly bruise on my arm.
Currently, I'm sporting a blueish, purplish, reddish beauty that makes all the boys swoon.
I actually build into my decision to shoot the time it would take for a bruise to dissipate before I have to be seen in public (family gathering, work conference, etc - not Walmart because bruises are a bit more standard there...).
Anyway, I like to shoot - I don't like to get mosquito bites and bruise.
I'm considering full body armor.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Young people do everything online. Like order millions of magazines.... Contrary to popular misconception, the phenominal popularity of the Internet has not come at the expense of magazines.... What's changed isn't people's affinity for magazines but the means by which they acquire them. Last year, nearly 22 percent of all new paid subscriptions were ordered online...Why are magazines not falling by the wayside? Because you need to read in the shitter!(Rolling Stone - Issue 1110, p7)
I'm not hauling my laptop into the bathroom. I'm not leaving a Kindle beside the john to pick up during a twosie. I'm going to flip through a magazine. Light, disposable reading.
Rolling Stone, I congratulate you on your survival skills in a world where the medium upon which you present your information is more important than your content. I am disappointed that you've reduced your size and turned from a music base to almost solely politics and pop culture.
In my opinion, there is no reason why the True Blood stars should be on your cover -- sizzlin' hot as they may be.
Call me a prude, but that cover is not going in the bathroom where my 10 year old stepson is spending his time - nor where my Grandmother will be if she drops by.
It is HOT AS SIN and going in MY bathroom!
(I don't even have HBO, so I can't watch the show)
Picture courtesy of Rolling Stone.com (http://www.rollingstone.com/music/photos/28431/191807)
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
I'm not feeling it. So I'm not writing about it.
It is 2:42 in the morning. My mind is whirring at top speed. It is stupid humid - (think fog cloud wrapped in rain forest). I am on an air conditioning strike. It is not hot outside, just humid.
I'm awake because I'm an ass and drank a Diet Coke at 10:30.
I went to my new counselor today. This is my second week with her.
Last week, she started my first visit with a big, long scantron test.
Yesterday, I got some of my results.
Apparently, I am passive aggressive (no, you are), expect perfection of myself (but I'll never get it), seek approval of others (please leave a comment), and I have an attachment disorder (don't unfriend me on Facebook or Twitter or I'll be so, so sad).
This evaluation didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but it was interesting to have a booklet list my personality quirks without so much more than me answering a hundred true/false questions that I thought were fairly mundane.
I enjoy tests like this that give me an outside perspective.
The Myers Briggs test is one that really has me pegged. Prior to taking that test, I thought I was unique in the way I saw the world. That I had my own shade of rose colored glasses through which I gained perspective. Then I took the test and found that about 17% of the world's population have the same take on things.
I was also 22 years old when I took the test...so that explains a lot right there.
If you are interested in having your personality pegged to gain a little perspective on how you react to things, I suggest finding a certified Myers Briggs test (you'll pay a couple bucks - the free ones don't use the full design).
Moreover, I suggest you ask your better half to take the test. Compare and contrast your personality descriptions to learn more about how each other views the world, how they tend to form opinions and make decisions.
It's a growing experience that I highly recommend.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
I am 29 and 5/6ths, going on 64. My bones and joints are bad. Not arthritic bad - nothing that anyone has diagnosed bad - just bad.
Like - Woah, we need to stop sex for a second because my hip just dislocated. Bad.
Or - Yep, I hiked 3 days ago, so maybe I'll be able to move my knees tomorrow. Bad.
Or - I had to hold Babygirl extra long last night so I'm not able to clasp my bra this morning. Bad.
I blame gymnastics. I was in gymnastics - and was half-way decent. Like anything, I dug the mechanics of it. Flip, turn, step, run, flip, stick the landing, hands up.
No flare. No expression.
I didn't get that part of it. I remember my mom talking about my fingers when I stuck a landing. Something about making them pretty. They weren't doing anything, so they were flat as paddles, and I didn't understand the flow. The beauty. I thought that was in the flip. I didn't see the arched back, the flared fingers, the curves. I tried, but no frill.
Beam was my favorite part of gymnastics - until I graduated to the beam that was high enough to fall off. Like straddle. I would skin the insides of my thighs on that bastard. Or do a back flip with my hands too far apart and bust my head. It quickly became my least favorite. I feared the beam. Still do. I will do anything to not have to cross a creek on a log - no matter the size of the creek (or the log).
Anyway, against my coaches warning - I did back flips in my backyard. All. the. time.
The hard as concrete clay soil didn't give like the spring loaded mat in the gym. That didn't stop me.
Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.
I don't remember how long I was in gymnastics. It was years and years. I remember quitting so that I could do Pop Warner cheer leading. I was in that for a year, and then didn't make the school team the following year.
(It probably was my obvious lack of spirit in my fingers.)
I never looked back. By then, I was developing breasts - and the mere thought of hefting myself onto the uneven bars made my booblettes sore.
Now, years later, I hurt. A lot. Before it rains, when it's cold, when it's hot, when the moon is out...
So, unless someone has a gun to my head AND I feel like breaking my neck AND my back AND have a hip dislocate AND fracture my skull AND break a boob AND skin my thighs AND stress fracture my radius AND jamb a finger....
I really hope to never have to do gymnastics ever again.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Bungee jump. Skydive. Climb mountains. Raft rivers. Make millions.
That's what I'm supposed to say, right?
My day today has been ok. Normal, by most people's standards. I accomplished goals for work, and got a little blog side job started. Sweet. Hubs took Babygirl and I out to dinner tonight. We visited a fountain afterword. Babygirl and I crawled around on the floor and read The Lorax (one of my all time favs). We tickled. We laughed.
She's my dream. She is what I want to do for the rest of my life.
Does this sound corny? Yes? Fuck off.
I read a sweet blog this morning about a woman who is having a difficult time getting pregnant. As I read it, I teared up. That was me 2 years ago. Body all fucked up on Clomid and hormones. Pissing on a stick, praying for 2 lines and only getting one. Being told that IVF is the next step. Ever living hell.
Now, I'm working on cutting out construction paper for Babygirl's first birthday.
(And one hell of a job I did - *pats self on back*)
She is my gravity.
Before her, I flitted around - not knowing what I wanted, who I was.
I met my husband, and fell for him. HARD. I love him more than words can say - but this baby is why my heart beats. I don't make a single decision in a day without thinking how she could be impacted.
Yes, over time, I will recenter and have gravity of other people pull stronger on my will.
But right now, it's all about her.
And that's fine.
Now I need to go hover over her in her crib...
Monday, August 23, 2010
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
(again with the preposition?? yikes...)
Forgiveness is a special thing. It takes a big person, a helluva lot of time, and several perfectly-timed events after the offense to really forgive someone all-the-way.
Especially in matters of the heart.
If you've never had your heart broken - you were the breaker of hearts (for shame!). This post might help you realize why someone 10 years out still wants your head on a stick.
I was the heart breaker through high school and part of college. I was a bitch, frankly. I am very sorry to those who I hurt - and only fully understood what I had done when it happened to me.
Without going into major detail - I fell head over heals over head over heals for this guy. And him me. It was crazy. It was real. We were 20.
Dating...blah blah blah...Love...blah blah blah...Engagement...blah blah blah.
Then cheating. Then DEVASTATION. Then 6 months. Then man on knees asking for forgiveness. Then edgy-love. Then cheating.
Then done. The end.
Burn me twice, I'm the ass.
The way everything happened - the fact that I was left with a job and no home for the summer - the fact that I was left no option but to hang out with work people - the fact that my future husband was working at the desk beside me through it all --- got me where I am today.
And I was grateful.
7 years after the end of my previous relationship - I held onto the hate. The pain. I had suffered - and to some extent, still did.
I was 13 months pregnant and preparing to go to the wedding of a mutual friend of my ex and I. It was going to be the first encounter after all of these years. Of course, I was a sow and my self-esteem was in the negative numbers. I went anyway, and my husband stayed behind.
His wife stayed behind.
Neither of us knew anyone else at the wedding, so we were forced together in that manner. After so many years, we talked.
My being secure in my life (happy marriage, expecting a child, own my home, etc etc etc) made this encounter MUCH easier.
That night, I released that pain. I let it die.
I wanted for so long to be so much better than hate - and on that night, I was. I knew that no matter how shitty the events were that unfolded, they had given me so much more than I would have had otherwise.
I am happy not being followed by the specter of negativity and self-loathing.
I had forgiven. Wholly and completely. Finally.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Day 03: Something you have to forgive yourself for.
...Aside from being the asshole that will point out the ending of that line with a preposition.
I'm a dick. I know.
I am on a continual journey to forgive myself for not being perfect.
Over 6 months ago, I started this blog to sort out my feelings about being stretched in 700 directions at once - jack of all trades, master of none. I've used this as my therapy, and then evaluate my journey through real-life therapy.
I take time off work to recharge - and then end up working because I feel like I'm letting people down (even though they would never say that). I feel bad that Babygirl had to be at day care an extra half hour yesterday because of a therapy appointment. The house is a mess, and the last few times it has been really CLEAN is when my husband has done it. (Don't get my wrong, I'm grateful, but still feel bad.)
I exist in a pool of tarry, sticky guilt.
Sometimes, I can crawl out - wash myself off - and appear to be untarred. I still lingers under my finger nails, between my toes, and behind my ears.
I'm getting better. I am now aware that I don't HAVE to be everyone's everything. I'm also learning that I can be doing a magnificent job at being a mom, a wife, a daughter, an employee, a friend, A BLOGGER - and I don't need to be told this every 4 1/2 seconds.
I'm getting there.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Day 02: Something you love about yourself.
Of course, you know this is going to be difficult for me because I'm an over-thinker...
But something I love about myself - are my boobs.
I've got great ta-tas. I'll admit it.
Sure, they're a bit saggier than they were 10 years ago, but nothing that a good bra can't fix.
Although they've gotten in the way a time or two...they have served their purpose, and are now retired from service.
They still make me move up one shirt size than I'd prefer, but my current muffin top thanks them for the extra wiggle-jiggle room.
They're good to me, even though they tend to steal the lime-light when I'm at conferences (usually male-dominated in my field of work).
And we've got an agreement where as long as I keep them harnessed comfortably and securely, they promise to not smack my knees when I walk or my face when I run.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Day 01: Something you hate about yourself.
Well, I, uh
*stall stall stall*
When I read this topic as Day 01, I thought -- "hell, where do I begin?" But now that I have a blank page and have to REALLY think about it...
I'd have to go with...
...well... if I say...no no no...
I'm an over-thinker. I seriously over-think everything.
Example from this morning:
I pick up the pants I laid out yesterday to put on.
My ass looks terrible in these pants. Puts on said pants.
I need a shirt to cover my ass. Selects shirt from closet.
This shirt always wrinkles when I sit in the car. Puts on said shirt.
My bra is going to show when I'm holding Babygirl. Tugs at shirt.
Should I wear a tank underneath? Scans closet.
Screw it. Walks out of closet.
What colors are in Babygirl's outfit? I don't want to match her. Peers around corner at crawling baby.
Well, her leg warmers are pink, but I think it'll be ok. Picks up Babygirl and heads out door.
~~~~~ end daydream sequence ~~~~~~~~~
Can you relate? Have you thought these things? Maybe for a business meeting or family gathering? Yes?
What about for the 2 minutes it takes to drop Babygirl off at daycare and then return home to work?
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Last weekend's trip to Michigan was one to bust my waistline. Whew, doggie!
We had pizza. We had biscuits and gravy. We had hand dipped onion rings. We had perch. It was all luscious and filling and caloric nightmares. But real, honest to goodness food.
Best of all.
Of anything I've eaten in the last several years.
Were our CREPES!
Crepes from Pierre Anne in New Buffalo, Michigan. A little house-turned restaruant that you miss (4 or 5 times over) if you don't know what you're looking for (aim for the 5/3 bank parking lot). We sat on the veranda - and couldn't believe our eyes, noses, or tongues when these were delivered to our table.
Savory....(beef stroganoff crepe)
and sweet...(crepe a la Pierre Anne)
Holy groaning, moaning, throw your head back and say "AMEN" goodness.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
...in the bathroom getting ready to go to bed last night. It was dark in the rest of the upper level of the house. Just the bathroom light casting shadows into our bedroom across the hall.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow move in the bedroom.
At first, I dismissed it as our 80lb boxer/lab, Maya, but I realized that she had not budged from her resting place when I came up the stairs.
And there it was again - a shadow at eye level moving in my room. I leaned out of the light of the bathroom to get a better view, and it went by again...
A BAT! A HUGE FUCKING BAT!
Keep in mind that I had spent the last 2 summers working on a bat program to get the public to accept the little creatures as a part of nature...
but not in my BEDROOM!
I screamed to the hubs, "There's a bat up here!" He came darting up the stairs.
(I later found out that he thought that I said "there's a MAN up here!" and came to learn that with his previous experience with indoor bats that he would have taken much longer than he did to come up the stairs.) :)
He and Maya came up the stairs slowly as the bat zipped in large circles in the room, making a pass in front of the door about once every 5 or 10 seconds.
At first reaction, we decided to lock Maya in the second bedroom to keep her out of the way. Hubs stood with the door cracked to get the pattern of the bat, but it was moving too fast. We then decided to allow Maya to do her thing.
For those of you that don't know, Maya holds her own in the house by catching the bugs that sneak in because we have to let her out to go potty. The command is "get the bug" and she glazes her eyes, and, for the most part, succeeds in catching and eating or slobbering up the insect. Well, we thought that this would be an awesome bug for her to catch - I don't think she was about to correct us on the proper classification of the zooming animal.
By this time, we had the bedroom light on (which also turns on the ceiling fan). Maya was released...she chased it around a little. This disoriented the bat enough to cause it to bump into the ceiling fan, but it was hardly phased. Maya quickly lost interest and decided that she wanted to wrestle with Hubs instead (still quite the puppy). Maya's shift in the bedroom was over.
Again locked in the other bedroom, she whined as Hubs ventured into the room to trap a resting bat - to no avail. One of the wings of this bat was the length from the tip of my pinky finger to the tip of my thumb. A freaked out bat who just wants out and is being chased in instant sunlight was quite confused and a close encounter was not desired by either of us. (I already had plans to sleep in the other bedroom or living room if we couldn't get it.) He hurried back out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Back to the original stance, Hubs had the door open trying to catch the bat's pattern, and all of the sudden there was no bat!
SHIT! Where is it?
Hubs said that it flew past the door toward the wall and never came back into the middle of the room. Hubs, armed with a butterfly net, and I, with a towel over my head, began to carefully search slightly cracked drawers, behind the dresser, under the table...NO BAT!
So we called in the dog..."get the bug!" Because the bat was no longer flying, she began to pursue a fly - good dog?
Well anyway, Hubs and I spread to the rest of the room searching under the bed, inside lampshades, and behind the blinds.
Still, no bat.
Maya had now become enthrawled with her bed. It was way past her bedtime and with less-than-hinting sighs before this event - she had announced this downstairs.
She began to fluff her pillow - something that my other dogs have done, but not her - strange.
She began to sniff beneath it, and I picked the pillow up to see - nothing - stupid dog.
I continued my search...maybe it is behind the tv. Maya was still messing with the pillow. I looked closer, and along the wall (right where my hand had grabbed the pillow seconds before) a bat "thumb" was reaching up and tucking back just as Maya would strike!
Good Dog, Smart Dog, "GET THE BUG!"
The bat, thoroughly exhausted ended up in the middle of the floor. Maya, a kind and playful dog, nudged the bat, but did not attack. Hubs, on the other hand, pushed Maya out of the way and trapped it.
It was safely released outside, and it flew away.
As always, there is a happy ending, Maya got a cookie for getting her bug, I got to sleep in my bed, Hubs got to get me to stop screaming like a chick in a horror flick, the bat flew away!!
Oh, what a night!
Follow-up: Today is my beloved Maya's 8th birthday (she was 2 or 3 when the above story occurred). She's been by my side through thick and thin. Now, she lays passed out beneath my feet in the cool breeze of the air conditioner.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
What to register for...
Essential nursery items...
What to pack in your hospital bag...
What to pack in your diaper bag...
These are some things that were conveniently omitted from those lists...
- The sizes "newborn" and "0-3 months" are quite different. Bring both options to the hospital for-bring-me home wear.
- Pack your phone charger - you'll be in that room for what seems like an eternity before AND after the baby is born. Lots of "hey, I'm going to Tweet/Facebook/MMS this picture" time.
- Nursery needs its own can of air freshener. One raunchy diaper on a sleeping baby can stink up the joint for days.
- Register for less baby towels, more real towels. Babies get big fast - and those paper-thin towels just don't cut it after 2 months.
- You can NEVER have too many bibs, washcloths, wipes, rattles, onsies or burp rags. You CAN have too many receiving blankets, NB baby shoes, teeny tiny diapers.
Things you need waiting for you when you get home from the hospital:
- Tucks pads - if you've escaped the need for them prior to birth, you're going to fall in love with these cool, soothing discs. Yes, they climb your ass. Yes, you get used to it.
- Pads - not pantyliners, PADS. Like holyshitmyuterusjustslippedthefuckout pads. The longer, the thicker, the better. You aren't interested in doing your sexy hip-swinging step anyway - get the mattresses.
- Ice packs - whoa, Nellie. Whether you are breast feeding or not, your tatas are going to turn into rock solid, oozing masses of heat. Get SOFT icepacks - gels. There are some that are designed for boobies that are refreezable. Also you can get Soothies pads that stick to your nips. This may or may not be a good thing depending on how nursing is going. I loved them at first and then hated them.
- Nipple cream - for those who are choosing not to breast feed, any need for relief from leakage is fine with the lanolin that they give you in the hospital. Breastfeeding moms, heed my warning. Lanolin is sticky. Play with it. ST-ICK-Y. It sticks to your fingers and is hard to spread (read: hurts to spread). Your breast pads stick, your bra sticks, your shirt sticks. While the bottle (of my Lansinoh lanolin) says that it does not have to be removed prior to breast feeding...uh...your baby sticks. Nothing like trying to get the perfect latch when his/her lips can't move properly. YUCK. I had lovingly recommended to me - and I pass the secret on to you - NIPPLE BUTTER (see my review here). Yes, it is just as fun to use as it is to say. nipplebutternipplebutternipplebutter. It is water-soluble and nipple friendly. The tiny jar is pricey, but in 10 months, I only used half of my jar.
- Breast pads - diaper those titties. That milk's gonna go somewhere, and it's likely to be through your bra and into a wet, undeniable ring on your shirt, sheet, whatever. I used Lansinoh disposable breast pads (they are thinner and flatter than other options I tried), but you can get reusable ones if that's more your flavor.
- Yogurt - Say what? YO-GURT. This is A BIGGIE! When in the hospital, it is likely that you will be on some sort of antibiotic at some point during your stay. Me, after my explod-a-birth, I was on a hefty dose. I came home and resumed my normal (ha) life until one day, my body revolted. Apparently, the antibiotics cleared out the good, the bad, and the ugly microbes in my system. The ugly recolonized the barren landscape and sent me into a heaving, puking, sweating, shitting pile of sob-tasticness with a 2 week old baby in my arms. NOT COOL. Probiotics, baby.
- Vitamins - check with your doctor in one of the gazillion check-ups you have pre-baby and find out what you need waiting for you when you get home!! I was recommended Vit C and Iron.
Yeah, she was getting some when you weren't.
See my post on Upstart for details:
You know you can't resist!
Monday, August 16, 2010
Each mother's day, I come up with some place for us to go, something for us to do. Just us (well, and now, with Babygirl). First we went to a winery about 2 hours away and then stayed in a state park. Last year, she and (a very pregnant) I drove out to Virginia together and stayed with her brother and family (and piggy-backed a work meeting for me in there). This year, with the three of us headed to southwestern Michigan.
The visit was great, the weather was hot, the food was nothing less than superb. All. Of. It.
As anything else in my existence, the trip mainly revolved around Babygirl's eating/sleeping times, but that did not hinder us from going where we wanted to go. We ate at a fantastic European restaurant in New Buffalo (post coming soon to a blog near you), Google Maps failed us twice with directions, we got lost in Benton Harbor, we visited Silver Beach, we swam at the hotel, we went to the Blueberry Festival in South Haven, we talked and ate and laughed and had a great time.
A perfect snapshot of the whole weekend was at the carousel at Silver Beach. I didn't know what she would think when we walked into the building. The carousel was still, and children were perched on horses calling out their newly given names.
Babygirl had seen nothing like it. Her eyes were big as blue saucers as music started and the horses on poles started to slowly move up and then down and then out of sight.
We HAD to ride.
I scrounged up the quarters out of the bottoms of various bags necessary to pay for the $2 token. To pay, we had to stand beside the antique band organ that provided music for the ride. The noise overwhelmed Babygirl's ears, and she began to cry...as I turned shiny token in hand.
We moved quickly away from the band organ, and she recovered - watching the carousel come to a halt.
She and I climbed on. She held on to the gilded pole with her plump little fingers. She released her left hand (only momentarily) to wave to Gramma waving from the sidelines. She waited. I held her still, but she was securely perched.
Then it began. Up. Down. UP. DOWN. Faster and faster. Her mouth was locked in her "pensive" face as she watched her formerly stationary surroundings whiz by. Then we passed the band organ on the far side of our revolution. She turned to me as the music became loud ... and then soft. She smiled.
She watched Gramma fly by.
Then the music again.
Then a smile.
Then the music. But this time, once she registered that music was loud she yelled - nearly a quarter revolution too late. Not a mad yell. Not angry. Just "I can be as loud as you".
The standing crowd laughing at this baby yelling with the face of a choir boy figurine.
Around and around. Until we slowed to a silent stop.
A pure, simple activity made magical by seeing it through the eyes of a 10 month old.
Operation Weight-loss Update - 15 weeks from the big 3-0:
15.5 lbs from goal weight. Worked out this morning after a weekend full of indulgence and 2 weeks worth of caloric intake. Just did stretching dvd...as to not jiggle myself sore as I did last week doing plyometrics.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Some animals were hiding in the shade, unwilling to perform for the crazy two-leggeds gawking at them through the fence. Others were out moseying around, sluggish and cursing the unrelenting sun.
As my friends herded their older children to see animals that Babygirl couldn't really see (sleeping rhinos look like rocks), I walked ahead seeking shade. The baboon exhibit was where I found my refuge.
The primates were moving around in between the huge rocks in their exhibit - enjoying the shade. Just a few feet from us was a baby baboon playing on the ground. It would hop back and forth - playing with what was obviously an imaginary friend.
All of the sudden, he scampered over to the male baboon that had made himself comfortable in the corner of the exhibit. The baby climbed up onto the male's chest and mimicked the "get you" play that Babygirl and I do.
The male, in one fluid motion, swiped the baby from his chest and slung him under his arm. He deliberately raced over to the female baboon sitting about 20 feet away (minding her own damn business), shoved the baby into her arms and then darted into the shadows.
She gently - but in a disengaged way - carried the baby to play in the corner where the male had been sitting, and tried to keep the little one busy - and confined.
We made eye contact.
Monday, August 9, 2010
I worked out! I did it!
I managed to motivate myself, put down the bag of cheetos, and after licking my fingers clean of their orange tinge...I WORKED OUT!
That's the huge speed bump I've been struggling to cross.
I was goofing around on Twitter and @missbritt tweeted the following:
Battling weight loss/fitness slump? Be inspired by @floatingprncess -AWESOME post: http://ow.ly/2ndDJI followed the link - and it kicked me square in the ass.
After commenting, following and a little blog stalking - I and my kicked ass went into the bedroom and tossed a P90X dvd into the machine. Not just any P90X - the Plyometrics dvd.
Sweetbabywrappedinawarmblanketjesus! AM I SORE!!
Not the "I just got jumped in a dark alley when I was hung over after crying and vomiting all day" sore. The "Man, I feel good about myself, but I'm afraid of stopping because I might turn to stone" sore. The dark alley sore is for tomorrow when I can't sneeze without shitting myself.
Some things I noticed.
- There is a fun house mirror hanging in my bedroom. There is now way that tubby half-naked chick watching me workout and sneering in disgust was actually me.
- I jiggle - like all over - like so hard it hurts - jiggle. Can I wear Spanx to workout?
- Um, this is the first serious, serious, serious workout since Babygirl was born (ahem, 10 months ago) and I am more aware of my pelvic floor than any person should ever be when they aren't 9 months preggo...eww. Good news, I don't pee when I jump! Thank you post third degree tear repair surgery...
- There is no "land lightly" even though the instructor said it repeatedly on the video - the whole house shook as I lurched around.
Anyway, I'm going to make noises that are reserved for death and orgasm any time I move tomorrow - but it was totally worth it!!
Skinny me, look out because here I come!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
I cycle in and out of "happy" times and "sad" times. This does not mean that I can't be happy during a "sad" time or vice versa. I just default to one or the other. Much of this depends on what is going on around me. The health and happiness of my friends and family, the goings-on with work, season...it all has an effect on me.
I'm mired in the muck of a valley at this point.
If you saw me on the street (walking, not standing on my corner), you may not be able to notice a single thing is wrong with me -- just that my hair is different. Different in color, cut, and style. Even if you saw me yesterday - it'll be different today.
One thing that happens when I'm in a valley is I feel that I'm out of control. Apparently, the way that I deal with my lack of control is to change my hair.
Six months ago, my hair was long. Mid-back long. That is long for me. I have always colored my hair, but it was close to my natural dark brown. Then it started. I started dying my hair farther from my natural color - darker and redder (my water has a LOT of rust in it, so going blond as I have done in the past - is not really a good option). Then I cut it to shoulder length. Then chin length. Then shorter. Then I highlighted it. Then shorter! Then I highlighted with chunky colors.
But today...I did it.
I took it a step further.
I CUT MY OWN HAIR!!!!!
This is a slippery slope - I KNOW this.
I once nervously plucked my eyebrows down to nearly a single line of hair. I'm a self-destructive force when it comes to my hair!
I cut and cut - starting with the straight bang cut, then the triangle cuts to the bangs then further back. Cut cut cut. (I didn't attempt the back of my head...I'm not that stupid!) I had 1 and 2 inch pieces of hair falling into the sink!
What is worse...what makes this SO SO dangerous for me...
is that it turned out alright.......
Friday, August 6, 2010
I gained a head! A HEAD!
Yes, I can categorically excuse myself as to WHY I have an extra gallon of milk in my truck...it's because I don't have it in my boobs anymore.
I stopped nursing 12 days ago. Utters are off limits. I am now no longer using the calories to produce the milk AND I am no longer restricted from chocolate consumption that used to make Babygirl scream when she was nursing. I also have been struggling with the blues...when I get mopey - I eat. I have eaten 2 bags of cheetos (not the snack size) since Monday. TWO with no help.
I'm a munchin' crunchin' ball of self destruction at this point.
In just under 4 months, I am going to turn 30. This, surprisingly enough, is not the sources of my depression. I'm ok with it (check back in 3 months), but I see it as a goal. Cross the finish line of my twenties with my weight under control and I'll be starting my thirties with a Karma credit. Or something. At least not a muffin top. Possibly a six pack. Heh. Ok, I can laugh at that.
This is where you my loyal readers (or new readers...uh welcome, I'm not always standing in front of a full length mirror poking at my pudge) come in. I need support. I thrive on happy words. Shit me some sunshine!
I am trying to come up with a way to motivate myself - because the whole "oh you'll be happier and live longer and have more energy" is way to big picture when I have a Hostess cupcake sitting on the shelf in the gas station SCREAMING my name. I'm thinking about $20 a week in a jar and if I make my goal weight by my birthday, then I can head to The Gap and buy me some awesome ass jeans (my go-to jeans are 5 years old, I have one newer pair that I bought and promptly out fatted about 2 1/2 years go). If not, the money gets dumped into the vacation fund not to be touched until next year, and I continue to squeeze my ass into my current raggedy jeans.
I'm thinking about it. Other suggestions?? Donations? :)
This blog is NOT going to start being all about my fat ass and the trials and tribulations of working out. I will just make a comment or something on Mondays and that'll be that.
KEEP ME HONEST! Nag me if I don't post on Monday mornings!
November 29th is the "Lose That Ass" Deadline.
Current status: 16lbs to go.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
It took me 2 years to purchase a pair of capris. I (and my momma ass) are boycotting the stretchy leggings that have reared their ugly heads for a second time in my life. The first time, I was 10 - and rocked the HELL out of them.
I'm all about comfort and function. Pants that are too tight or shoes that squeeze my toes make me all grinchy.
On a typical day, I am dressed in standard jeans and t-shirt - although I've recently updated to a collection of comfy-yet-mature versions of my college tees. I can get dressed up, and if I do - I go all out. Especially when it comes to a professional situation. Luckily, my current job requires that I dress to the nines only a handful of times a year. I can't be expected to iron all the time...
I am all about the sensible shoe. I can wear heels, but they are the chunky late-1990s style. I'm clumsy and fall if the shoes don't have a rubber soul or the heels are too pointy. I prefer boots when I'm dressed up - for several reasons... First, I can wear socks that protect and cushion my feet. Second, they hold my feet better and provide better support. Third, they cover an ankle tattoo that I prefer not to be exposed in professional situations. I prefer to wear hiking boots. I have spent more on hiking boots than on any other type of shoe...with one pair at $190. That is a LOT of money for me to drop on a pair of shoes - but they were worn about 300 days a year. Well worth the durability and support they provided.
My favorite go-to summer shoes are a pair of Teva's that I purchased for a very important day.
Hi, new readers, without reading so much as maybe one or two of my posts -- you could have come to that conclusion.
Anyway, I leave the office with a little bit (very little bit) of a different perspective, so it's still a win. I get in my car, and pull out of my space. A truck makes a wide turn into the parking lot. Instead of my standard glare, I just pulled my car over further and was on my way.
I don't want to piss off the crazies.
I know I'm the only normal person who would ever be parked in that lot, and I have to be the bigger person or else Mr. Wide Turn would leap out of his truck and undo 4 years of anger management therapy on my face. Be nicey nicey...
I pulled out onto the road and got a feeling. A gut feeling. I normally get gut feelings when I meet people (hello, mister, I know you touch little boys in your free time...getthefuckawayfromme), but I get really edgy when I get the feeling and don't know why.
-- I am not claiming psychic powers or anything like that so move your cursor slowly away from the close button on this window and hear me out. --
I just felt unsafe. Not 100 feet from where I turned out on the lot - two cars bumped coming the other direction and pulled into the gas station to assess the damage.
10 and 2...10 and 2...10 and 2
The gut feeling didn't go away.
I pull up to a light in the left turn lane, and the door of a van 2 cars ahead of me OPENS. The light was green. The woman gets out just as the car in front of me starts backing up! She looks at her bumper, sneers at the driver who obviously just gave her a love tap, and gets back into her car.
Two bumps in less than one minute!
I was not ok. I still have to go pick up Babygirl from daycare and get the hell home.
I want to call my husband to report the oddity, but know that I cannot risk taking my eyes off the road, and other drivers, and pedestrians, and ... the feeling disappears.
I 10-and-2ed it to the daycare, got Babygirl and got home as fast as I could.
Call it what you want, but I once again my gut was right.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
I'm a mom. A wife. A step-mom. A sister. A daughter, granddaughter, niece. A cousin. A friend. A woman. An employee. A blogger. An entrepreneur. A writer. And none of those.
Recently, my stability has faltered. Rather, my illusion of stability has evaporated. I had established my smoke screen...but time wore it clean away. I have good days and bad. I have chosen to go unmedicated, a choice. My therapist gave me the sideways look when I turned down her offer.
I'm stubborn. I feel like I can pull out of this myself. Get my shit straight and be fine.
95% of each day is usually ok. Go with the flow.
We had a long weekend last weekend, and by the time we got home from driving...I was done. We had no bumps in the road, but apparently pure exhaustion can send me spirialling. Today, I woke up fine. Good night's sleep. Then work, or the lack of work tasks, happened. I'll things I touched turned to shit and froze. Like King Midas's peasant great, great niece whose golden genes were botched and diluted down the line.
Mini panic attacks, inner screams.
I do have positivity to report.
I am now a contributing writer for Upstart! My latest article for fledgling bloggers can be found HERE. This is a fantastic opportunity which appears to be sprouting new, bigger, and better opportunities! This is very exciting!! This is keeping me afloat for the time being. I'm trying to keep my distance today - so it, too, doesn't turn to shit!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Grown from the roots of impulse, empty calories - survival.
I attempt to be wholesome. Kind of like a salad ... bright colors, flashy name, decent flavor ... but, in reality I can be bad for you. How could a salad be bad? Arby's has managed it with their chopped farmhouse crispy chicken salad - 460 calories, 25 grams of fat, 1090 miligrams of sodium (nearly half of the daily recommended 2400 mg) would you like fries with that?
I'm a here and now kind of person.
Bright pictures, meal deals, gimmicky.
Save now, eat here! See, our potatoes are steamy (they totally use wet tampons to make the steam rise in commercials).
I am what I eat (and I assure you, I am NOT tampon potatoes).
This weekend, I sat in front of no fewer than three sqawk boxes shouting an order to teenagers who somehow think they can judge me for pulling outside their little window. We drove over 300 miles, and pulling Babygirl in and out of the car was not an option. I've learned that naptime=drive time.
Do not interrupt the REM cycle because your stomach acid is revolting!!
I know better. I always feel like ass after eating fast food. AL-WAYS. I still do it. It's the impulse. Heaven forbid should I pack a sandwich. I pack all sorts of nutrients into little bpa free containers for Babygirl and then go eat shit myself. What am I thinking?
Anyway, I'm still scrubbing the oil from my pores, and trying to do the math as to the number of Activia packages I'll need to get my morning "rhythm" back in order.
By next weekend, I'll have forgotten all about it.