Yes, I know. That's a bold statement. But it's the truth. Think about it. When someone cuts us off in line at the store, why do we get mad? Because we were there first and we have to get in and out of the store in under 10 minutes so we can get onto Main St by 2:37 so we can be in the car-line by 2:50 so our car can be seen from the school door and little Timmy/Billy/Suzy/Ashley doesn't have to wait for us to move all the way up the line before getting in the car. Because clearly nuclear bombs would fall from the sky if we ended up at the back of car line, all thanks to the jerk who cut in front of us in line at the store.
When we can't find the specific item we are looking to buy for a gift, we get upset. Why? Because so-and-so really wanted that gift. Right. And also wrong. We also get upset because we wanted to be the one who gave so-and-so that gift, so that so-and-so could say "Don't you just love my blah-blitty-blah?? What's-her-name gave it me!!" We want the credit. Why? BECAUSE WE'RE SELFISH!! Oh sure, we want to see the look on our children's faces when they open up that perfect thing you know they'll love. But in truth, we also secretly relish knowing that we were the ones gave them that perfect thing we know they'll love. We love knowing that THEY know Mommy and Daddy delivered the goods.
And ladies, why do we get upset when our husbands/boyfriends/girlfriends/person we pass on the street doesn't notice our new jeans/sweater/shoes/haircut? BECAUSE WE'RE SELFISH! We want someone to gush and ooh and ahh over whatever shiny new thing and tell us how wonderful we...I mean, it is. Ahem.... We get upset because we have a basic, primal need for attention and we need someone besides ourselves (because that could be awkward) to say "Oh! Look at you!"
What most of us fail to realize is that this basic need extends to every aspect of our lives, and if not properly managed, can be dangerous. Wives get upset and nit-picky because husbands don't stand up and applaud us when we manage to successfully balance laundry, dinner, bath-time, bed-time and sex all in one night. They don't realize all the skillful maneuverings and mental plannings that took place during the workday, trying to plot out how best to accomplish all the things on our to-do list that evening. (And yes, husbands, sex is on our to-do lists). So when we manage to check off all the boxes on our list, we feel victorious and a bit like Superwoman, and all we really want is someone else to say "you kicked some serious to-do list butt tonight!". Instead, we usually get....nothing. So then we get mad, and stew over the fact that we slaved over a hot stove and washed his nasty socks, and bathed his child, and blah blah blah, and he didn't even notice!!! Not because we're crazy. BECAUSE WE'RE SELFISH! We get so wrapped up in needing someone to pat us on the back, that we forget that dinner needed to be cooked, laundry needed to washed, the kid needed to be bathed and put to bed, and we were probably going to have sex anyway. We get mad and create problems and pick fights because we can't just come right out and say "I just need you to notice." It's okay for us to be mad at little things, like leaving laundry on the floor all the time (...ugh, the basket is RIGHT THERE!), but it's too much for us to admit that we are mad because we feel like we aren't given enough attention. Why does it feel selfish to admit that we are selfish? Admitting we need more focus on us, as moms/wives, is - for some reason - really hard to do. And right or wrong, sometimes I just need a gold star for making it through the day. I confess that my husband does not always get the credit he deserves because I don't always see how much he does to help out, because I'm too focused on the credit I'm not getting. I confess that while yes, I may in fact be crazy, mostly I'm probably just selfish.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Sunday, December 4, 2011
...rocks are better than Karts.
I am not one of those people who dreads the arrival of their birthday. I freaking LOVE my birthday. I love having a reason to celebrate, I love having a day just for me. And of course, like any one else, I love presents! (Whatever. Don't judge me. I'm not materialistic. You love stuff too.)
So this year, I gave my husband very specific suggestions for gift ideas. I was very specific. I even told him where in which store what item was located. This was a no-brainer birthday for him. Go to said store, pick up said item, bring it home, give it to said birthday girl. Because my husband is usually spot-on with gifts and cards, I got pretty excited as my birthday drew near in hopes of the new shiny things I was sure to get.
However, a few days before my big day, Jason dropped a few hints that he was out buying birthday gifts that day. After putting Nick to bed, I was summoned to the living room to see what Jason got that day. In my hand he placed an item I was completely baffled by. I had no idea what this thing was. He helped me along by putting some of the pieces of the puzzle together. As it turned out, this item was a Wii adapter of sorts. Upon further investigation, I soon discovered our Wii menu now included the old school version of Mario Kart. Jason hands me Wii-mote and says with a large grin, "Happy Early Birthday!"
Um.
What?
Seriously? Did you just buy "me" a birthday gift for you to play with? After all my instructions (forget hints, these were all dead giveaways) for gift suggestions, you bought me Mario Kart??
As it turned out, that was NOT my birthday present, but a gimmick to throw me off the birthday gift trail. Later that evening, my wonderful, lawless husband risked incarceration to steal me a piece of Wilmington history. Last week, local TV crews begin demolishing what was known as "the Rivercourt" on one of my favorite shows, One Tree Hill. It's just a concrete pad used as a river-side basketball court. Jason snuck over to the site and stole 3 large chunks of the court for me. It may sound REALLY lame that my husband got me chunks of rock for my birthday, but those chunks of rock were the perfect gift I didn't even know I wanted.
Overall, my 1st 29th birthday was pretty amazing. In addition to my treasured bits of concrete (and of course, Mario Kart), Jason also gave me some gorgeous jewelry, a tear-jerker of a card, and time to myself. Which, as all mommies know, is really the perfect gift after all. I suppose I'll keep him around another year ;)
So this year, I gave my husband very specific suggestions for gift ideas. I was very specific. I even told him where in which store what item was located. This was a no-brainer birthday for him. Go to said store, pick up said item, bring it home, give it to said birthday girl. Because my husband is usually spot-on with gifts and cards, I got pretty excited as my birthday drew near in hopes of the new shiny things I was sure to get.
However, a few days before my big day, Jason dropped a few hints that he was out buying birthday gifts that day. After putting Nick to bed, I was summoned to the living room to see what Jason got that day. In my hand he placed an item I was completely baffled by. I had no idea what this thing was. He helped me along by putting some of the pieces of the puzzle together. As it turned out, this item was a Wii adapter of sorts. Upon further investigation, I soon discovered our Wii menu now included the old school version of Mario Kart. Jason hands me Wii-mote and says with a large grin, "Happy Early Birthday!"
Um.
What?
Seriously? Did you just buy "me" a birthday gift for you to play with? After all my instructions (forget hints, these were all dead giveaways) for gift suggestions, you bought me Mario Kart??
As it turned out, that was NOT my birthday present, but a gimmick to throw me off the birthday gift trail. Later that evening, my wonderful, lawless husband risked incarceration to steal me a piece of Wilmington history. Last week, local TV crews begin demolishing what was known as "the Rivercourt" on one of my favorite shows, One Tree Hill. It's just a concrete pad used as a river-side basketball court. Jason snuck over to the site and stole 3 large chunks of the court for me. It may sound REALLY lame that my husband got me chunks of rock for my birthday, but those chunks of rock were the perfect gift I didn't even know I wanted.
Overall, my 1st 29th birthday was pretty amazing. In addition to my treasured bits of concrete (and of course, Mario Kart), Jason also gave me some gorgeous jewelry, a tear-jerker of a card, and time to myself. Which, as all mommies know, is really the perfect gift after all. I suppose I'll keep him around another year ;)
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
... I hate the number 179
179 is a maddening number. It is the number of customer statements that had to be prepared and mailed this week....two days before Thanksgiving. Happy Holidays.
179 is a numeric denial code from Medicare, indicating that the time I spend working said denial will be especially infuriating.
But most maddening, it is the number that continues to elude me on the scale. In a previous post, I mentioned I have lost and gained the same 5 pounds over the last 6 (now 7) months. It is the 5 pounds between 180 and 185. I have teetered all the way up to 185.6, and as recently as this morning, all the way down to 180.8. Over the last few days, I have worked hard to break that barrier before Thanksgiving. I have watched my carb, as well as my calorie intake. I have downed water like a drought victim. I have run to burn extra calories. But alas, 179 continues to elude me. It taunts from the other side of 180. It waves at me and points and laughs like a devilish little elf, knowing I can't reach it. Just wait, 179, your time is coming. When I finally get to you, you and I may do a little dance (... make a little love...). I confess hate the number 179....but I can focus on nothing else until I reach it.
This is what that devilish little elf looks like....
179 is a numeric denial code from Medicare, indicating that the time I spend working said denial will be especially infuriating.
But most maddening, it is the number that continues to elude me on the scale. In a previous post, I mentioned I have lost and gained the same 5 pounds over the last 6 (now 7) months. It is the 5 pounds between 180 and 185. I have teetered all the way up to 185.6, and as recently as this morning, all the way down to 180.8. Over the last few days, I have worked hard to break that barrier before Thanksgiving. I have watched my carb, as well as my calorie intake. I have downed water like a drought victim. I have run to burn extra calories. But alas, 179 continues to elude me. It taunts from the other side of 180. It waves at me and points and laughs like a devilish little elf, knowing I can't reach it. Just wait, 179, your time is coming. When I finally get to you, you and I may do a little dance (... make a little love...). I confess hate the number 179....but I can focus on nothing else until I reach it.
This is what that devilish little elf looks like....
... I am thankful to be a "Kook"
Today is Thanksgiving. It is also our first Thanksgiving in Wilmington, away from our families. Jason is on call this week, so we will be sticking around town and creating our own Thanksgiving magic. We have another couple coming over to join us and it sounds like it will be a fun, relaxing day. But as with most holidays, today has me reminiscing over past Thanksgivings and what I am particularly thankful for.
As I think about past holidays, one in particular always sticks out as especially humorous. It also reminds me why I am thankful to be a Cook, also frequently referred by ourselves as the "Kooks" (the Cooks are my mothers family). A few years ago, the Cooks were gathering for our annual holiday meal. I don't recall if it was for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but I clearly remember there was a turkey involved. Here is why...
This particular year, my mother had volunteered to cook the turkey. Well, my grandmother being who she is kept calling my mom wanting to know if she had started the turkey yet. To quote my aunt on this particular detail, "she wants everything done hours ahead of time and cooked until it's black". Now, my mother being who she is, does not like to be pestered about anything, so with each phone call, the tension grew. Until finally, my mother showed up at my grandparent's house, turkey in tow. When I say turkey in tow, I mean in the roasting pan, already in a brown-in bag, ready to go in the oven, raw as it can be. She drops the roasting pan on the table, exclaims "I'm not cooking this f***ing turkey" (yes, we Kooks swear, even more so during the holidays), and walks back out leaving my aunt, my grandparents, and a raw turkey staring at the closed door.
Of course, my aunt, being who she is, tried to remedy the situation by taking the turkey back to my mothers (if memory serves, she walked to my mother's house - which is next door - in her slippers and robe, roasting pan in hand), trying to convince her to just go ahead with the plans for the day and in fact, "cook the f***ing turkey". Predictably, this did not work. My aunt returned to my grandparents house, mad as a hornet, and proceeded to cook the bird.
In the end, a good time - and a good laugh - was had by all (including my grandmother and my mother) at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing. It has joined a very long list of family anecdotes that make up the Kook family, and in truth, one of many reasons I am so thankful I am a part of this crazy, wacky, ridiculous family. We have had our share, and in some cases, more than our share of hard times and struggles. But I would never trade them in. They put the fun in dysfunctional and the "Kook" in kooky.
As I think about past holidays, one in particular always sticks out as especially humorous. It also reminds me why I am thankful to be a Cook, also frequently referred by ourselves as the "Kooks" (the Cooks are my mothers family). A few years ago, the Cooks were gathering for our annual holiday meal. I don't recall if it was for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but I clearly remember there was a turkey involved. Here is why...
This particular year, my mother had volunteered to cook the turkey. Well, my grandmother being who she is kept calling my mom wanting to know if she had started the turkey yet. To quote my aunt on this particular detail, "she wants everything done hours ahead of time and cooked until it's black". Now, my mother being who she is, does not like to be pestered about anything, so with each phone call, the tension grew. Until finally, my mother showed up at my grandparent's house, turkey in tow. When I say turkey in tow, I mean in the roasting pan, already in a brown-in bag, ready to go in the oven, raw as it can be. She drops the roasting pan on the table, exclaims "I'm not cooking this f***ing turkey" (yes, we Kooks swear, even more so during the holidays), and walks back out leaving my aunt, my grandparents, and a raw turkey staring at the closed door.
Of course, my aunt, being who she is, tried to remedy the situation by taking the turkey back to my mothers (if memory serves, she walked to my mother's house - which is next door - in her slippers and robe, roasting pan in hand), trying to convince her to just go ahead with the plans for the day and in fact, "cook the f***ing turkey". Predictably, this did not work. My aunt returned to my grandparents house, mad as a hornet, and proceeded to cook the bird.
In the end, a good time - and a good laugh - was had by all (including my grandmother and my mother) at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing. It has joined a very long list of family anecdotes that make up the Kook family, and in truth, one of many reasons I am so thankful I am a part of this crazy, wacky, ridiculous family. We have had our share, and in some cases, more than our share of hard times and struggles. But I would never trade them in. They put the fun in dysfunctional and the "Kook" in kooky.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
... maybe I'm just a 3 mile kind of girl
In exactly three weeks, I am participating in my first 10K. You'll notice I didn't say "I am running my first 10K." I'm not delusional enough to think that will happen. Thanks to my severe lack of discipline and my consistent inconsistencies, I still need to take a few (albeit brief) walk breaks during all of my runs, no matter the distance. However, I started the year with a 5K, and my goal was to complete a 10K by the end of the year, so for better or worse, I will be there. While I am very excited to be participating, I have quite a few reservations about the upcoming race event.
Every other morning, my alarm goes off before the sun is even considering getting up. I lace up my shoes, queue up my running app, turn up my Pandora, and hit the pavement. I love this time. This time is my time. It is the one thing I do that is just for me. I get to challenge myself, physically and mentally, before most people have even had their first cup of coffee. There's an unexplainable rush in that.
The downside to all this? After all this euphoric challenging of my body and mind (I'll have to remind myself I called it "euphoric" the next time I'm running...), I have to go back home, get ready for work, make my lunch, get Nicholas up and ready for school, have breakfast, drop the boy off at school, drive across town and be at the office by 8:00. Which means that alarm that goes off before the sun is up? Yeah, it goes off at 4:45. Which gives me no more than one hour to run. What that actually means is that I snooze said alarm for about 20 minutes, take longer than necessary to get dressed and ready to head out, and end up leaving myself only about 35 minutes to run.
Now, truth be told, that 35 minutes is the perfect amount of time for me to get in a comfortable 3 mile (or so) run, sometimes even a little farther if I'm having a good day. I really enjoy starting my days with a 3 mile run. I'm happy being a 3 mile kind of girl. But with the heavy shadow of a 6 mile race in my future, that 3 mile run just won't cut it.
It is a funny thing how time can change you. Last year at the time, I was beginning to train for my first 5K. I had been running off and on for much of the year, but not with any regularity. The idea of running 3 miles seemed ludicrous and foreign to me. Since then, I've run 3 5K's, and finally been able to actually run 3 miles. That particular feat has only occurred a precious few times, but wrapping my head around that knowledge is still pretty darn cool. I know I can complete the 6 miles of the race, but my brain is having some of the same challenges it had as I approached my first 3 miles. How strange that just a year later, I'm now frustrated by my ability to only be able to frequently run 3 miles?
Every other morning, my alarm goes off before the sun is even considering getting up. I lace up my shoes, queue up my running app, turn up my Pandora, and hit the pavement. I love this time. This time is my time. It is the one thing I do that is just for me. I get to challenge myself, physically and mentally, before most people have even had their first cup of coffee. There's an unexplainable rush in that.
The downside to all this? After all this euphoric challenging of my body and mind (I'll have to remind myself I called it "euphoric" the next time I'm running...), I have to go back home, get ready for work, make my lunch, get Nicholas up and ready for school, have breakfast, drop the boy off at school, drive across town and be at the office by 8:00. Which means that alarm that goes off before the sun is up? Yeah, it goes off at 4:45. Which gives me no more than one hour to run. What that actually means is that I snooze said alarm for about 20 minutes, take longer than necessary to get dressed and ready to head out, and end up leaving myself only about 35 minutes to run.
Now, truth be told, that 35 minutes is the perfect amount of time for me to get in a comfortable 3 mile (or so) run, sometimes even a little farther if I'm having a good day. I really enjoy starting my days with a 3 mile run. I'm happy being a 3 mile kind of girl. But with the heavy shadow of a 6 mile race in my future, that 3 mile run just won't cut it.
It is a funny thing how time can change you. Last year at the time, I was beginning to train for my first 5K. I had been running off and on for much of the year, but not with any regularity. The idea of running 3 miles seemed ludicrous and foreign to me. Since then, I've run 3 5K's, and finally been able to actually run 3 miles. That particular feat has only occurred a precious few times, but wrapping my head around that knowledge is still pretty darn cool. I know I can complete the 6 miles of the race, but my brain is having some of the same challenges it had as I approached my first 3 miles. How strange that just a year later, I'm now frustrated by my ability to only be able to frequently run 3 miles?
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
... my life is pretty great
I'm not bragging, I'm just making an observation. It's become a very popular trend on Facebook each November to name something each day that you are thankful for. While I have not participated in this trend this year, I realize I have an enormous amount to be thankful for. I was going to save this post for Thanksgiving weekend, but I decided to go ahead and post. Besides, I have a funny one planned for Turkey Day. ;)
This past year has been extremely tumultuous and erratic, exciting and surprising. As we approach the holiday season, I find myself looking back over the last several months and how the Gilberts have ended up where we are now. Buckle up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride...
Just over a year ago, Jason and I sat in our living room, feeling totally defeated by our financial struggles. We were unable to meet all of our financial obligations and were teetering on a breaking point. The next several months took us through a whirlwind of foreclosure talks with our mortgage lender, threatening phone calls, tears, fights, and a lot of stress. However, in the end, we decided to walk away. To walk away from the house we had started our family in. To walk away from the yard and the man-room and the garage and the newly renovated bathrooms. But also to walk away from the stress and the turmoil. It was not a decision we came to lightly, and not one I recommend unless you are very certain about it.
As it happened, it was the right choice for us. Through an interesting twist, Jason was offered a promotion to maintenance supervisor at a different apartment complex. The job also offered us a free apartment. No deposit, no rent, just move in. Really? A promotion, a raise, AND I get to live here for free? Sold! Within weeks of moving out of our house and into the apartment complex, we also met a couple who were anxious to have a house of their own instead of renting an apartment. Hey, hey, what do you know, we happen to have such a house! They moved in and began renting our house immediately, and have expressed very serious interest in buying the property at the end of their lease. Our house is no longer a concern for us. Now, getting the mortgage straightened out, that's another story....oh how I loathe thee, Bank of America...
We lived in the apartment for a few short months. However it quickly became apparent this was not where we were meant to be. Free rent was great. But it came with a lot of strings. Jason quickly grew to hate his job, realizing more than ever that the company cared more for it's bottom line than for it's employees (or it's residents). I know I make jokes about my husband, but he has a very compassionate heart for people, and the daily grind of having to put peoples needs last began to wear on him. His stress level at work lead to a lot of stress and tension between the two of us. It was a very difficult time, and not one either of us cares to remember.
We realized we needed to make a change, free rent be damned. Free rent wasn't worth what was happening to Jason or what was happening to us. The cost of "free" had gotten to be too high. During our time together, we had spent many vacations and weekends in Wilmington and had fallen in love with the area. We had decided years ago that we eventually wanted to live in the area. Once we knew that it would be best for Jason to look for a new job, the thought occurred to us...why not start looking where we wanted to end up?
On a whim one Thursday night, he submitted an online application for a maintenance technician at an apartment complex in Wilmington. Friday morning he got a phone call...how soon could he come in for an interview? Wait, what? Really?! The next week of our lives will be remembered (at least by me) as one of the strangest chain of events to take place. He went to Wilmington on Tuesday, had a great interview and would have been offered the job on the spot but things came to a standstill when he mentioned he would need a month to relocate. Sorry, they needed someone right away but they really wished there was something they could do. They hated to lose him. On Wednesday, he came home and returned to work...only to be let go for missing work the previous day. Well then. On Thursday, Sean (the man he interviewed with) called him to see if there was anything they could do to get him down to Wilmington faster. Well, now that you mention it...
A similar story took place with my employment. I happened to remember hearing the name of a medical supply company in Wilmington some time ago. (When I say I happened to remember, I mean I probably heard it once and for "some reason" the name never escaped me.) I looked up their information online and called to see if they needed a billing specialist. Yes, as a matter of fact they were in desperate need! I had an interview scheduled within a week and was offered a job for matching pay on the spot. I now know why I couldn't forget their name.
Those next few weeks were spent in the most mind-boggling logistical nightmare you've ever witnessed, but in the end, all the details fell into place and all the kinks were perfectly ironed out. We moved over July 4th weekend, and all 3 of us had our first day of "school" on July 5th....precisely one month from Jason's interview when they informed him they would love to hire him but they needed someone much sooner than a month out.
In the 4 months since our move, we have settled into our new surroundings. Jason is much happier at his new job, I am very pleased with the direction things are going at my job, and Nicholas - who was never in full-time daycare before - loves his new school and is learning so much so fast that I simply can't keep up. We are both finding things to involve ourselves in so that we have our "own" thing, and discovering more about a town we already loved is proving to be really fun. Things are definitely challenging, and I have suffered through my fair share of homesickness. Learning to live away from everything we've ever known is harder than I thought it would be. Sure, we could have more money. (BTW - if you do not fall into the category of people who could use more money, please see me after class.) Sure, we have bad days like everyone else. But when I think back over the last year of our lives and how quickly things have changed for us, I have no doubt in my mind that this is where we are supposed to be. I don't know what our purpose here is, but for now we are happy to just see where the road takes us. Our life is pretty great, and after having survived the last year and ending up where we have, I think I'll just let things be great for awhile.
This past year has been extremely tumultuous and erratic, exciting and surprising. As we approach the holiday season, I find myself looking back over the last several months and how the Gilberts have ended up where we are now. Buckle up, it's gonna be a bumpy ride...
Just over a year ago, Jason and I sat in our living room, feeling totally defeated by our financial struggles. We were unable to meet all of our financial obligations and were teetering on a breaking point. The next several months took us through a whirlwind of foreclosure talks with our mortgage lender, threatening phone calls, tears, fights, and a lot of stress. However, in the end, we decided to walk away. To walk away from the house we had started our family in. To walk away from the yard and the man-room and the garage and the newly renovated bathrooms. But also to walk away from the stress and the turmoil. It was not a decision we came to lightly, and not one I recommend unless you are very certain about it.
As it happened, it was the right choice for us. Through an interesting twist, Jason was offered a promotion to maintenance supervisor at a different apartment complex. The job also offered us a free apartment. No deposit, no rent, just move in. Really? A promotion, a raise, AND I get to live here for free? Sold! Within weeks of moving out of our house and into the apartment complex, we also met a couple who were anxious to have a house of their own instead of renting an apartment. Hey, hey, what do you know, we happen to have such a house! They moved in and began renting our house immediately, and have expressed very serious interest in buying the property at the end of their lease. Our house is no longer a concern for us. Now, getting the mortgage straightened out, that's another story....oh how I loathe thee, Bank of America...
We lived in the apartment for a few short months. However it quickly became apparent this was not where we were meant to be. Free rent was great. But it came with a lot of strings. Jason quickly grew to hate his job, realizing more than ever that the company cared more for it's bottom line than for it's employees (or it's residents). I know I make jokes about my husband, but he has a very compassionate heart for people, and the daily grind of having to put peoples needs last began to wear on him. His stress level at work lead to a lot of stress and tension between the two of us. It was a very difficult time, and not one either of us cares to remember.
We realized we needed to make a change, free rent be damned. Free rent wasn't worth what was happening to Jason or what was happening to us. The cost of "free" had gotten to be too high. During our time together, we had spent many vacations and weekends in Wilmington and had fallen in love with the area. We had decided years ago that we eventually wanted to live in the area. Once we knew that it would be best for Jason to look for a new job, the thought occurred to us...why not start looking where we wanted to end up?
On a whim one Thursday night, he submitted an online application for a maintenance technician at an apartment complex in Wilmington. Friday morning he got a phone call...how soon could he come in for an interview? Wait, what? Really?! The next week of our lives will be remembered (at least by me) as one of the strangest chain of events to take place. He went to Wilmington on Tuesday, had a great interview and would have been offered the job on the spot but things came to a standstill when he mentioned he would need a month to relocate. Sorry, they needed someone right away but they really wished there was something they could do. They hated to lose him. On Wednesday, he came home and returned to work...only to be let go for missing work the previous day. Well then. On Thursday, Sean (the man he interviewed with) called him to see if there was anything they could do to get him down to Wilmington faster. Well, now that you mention it...
A similar story took place with my employment. I happened to remember hearing the name of a medical supply company in Wilmington some time ago. (When I say I happened to remember, I mean I probably heard it once and for "some reason" the name never escaped me.) I looked up their information online and called to see if they needed a billing specialist. Yes, as a matter of fact they were in desperate need! I had an interview scheduled within a week and was offered a job for matching pay on the spot. I now know why I couldn't forget their name.
In the 4 months since our move, we have settled into our new surroundings. Jason is much happier at his new job, I am very pleased with the direction things are going at my job, and Nicholas - who was never in full-time daycare before - loves his new school and is learning so much so fast that I simply can't keep up. We are both finding things to involve ourselves in so that we have our "own" thing, and discovering more about a town we already loved is proving to be really fun. Things are definitely challenging, and I have suffered through my fair share of homesickness. Learning to live away from everything we've ever known is harder than I thought it would be. Sure, we could have more money. (BTW - if you do not fall into the category of people who could use more money, please see me after class.) Sure, we have bad days like everyone else. But when I think back over the last year of our lives and how quickly things have changed for us, I have no doubt in my mind that this is where we are supposed to be. I don't know what our purpose here is, but for now we are happy to just see where the road takes us. Our life is pretty great, and after having survived the last year and ending up where we have, I think I'll just let things be great for awhile.
... I am a terrible patient.
As are most women, I believe. Especially mothers.
Today I am home sick. Nothing too terrible, I think I just ran myself a bit ragged. I finally hit a wall last night and my body said "no more, thank you.". I was in bed pretty early and slept pretty late. I had a nasty migraine this morning when my alarm went. Some Tylenol, some more sleep, and presto chango, (mostly) healed Mommy! Thanks to my wonderfully supportive husband, I didn't have to worry about taking care of Nick last night or this morning. All I had to do was rest. Well, now I have. I feel, for the most part, much better.
However, I am real stickler when Jason is sick for reminding him not to do too much too soon. Getting sick is our bodies way of telling us to slow down, take it easy, yadda yadda. I am not so good at taking my own advice.
Now that I am feeling a bit better, I keep looking around the house and seeing all these things I could be doing since I'm home and kid-free for the day. I'm also trying to work out a plan to get my run in before bed since I missed it this morning. None of these behaviors fall into the "taking it easy" category. I'm very much aware that I probably need to listen to my body and rest today while I can. But I'm also aware of how much easier it is to clean the bathrooms without a toddler underfoot who wants to go potty every time he lays his gorgeous blue eyes on the toilet.
As women, and especially as mommies, we are engrained with the need and responsibility to care for our families. It is our job, our privilege (though it doesn't always feel that way) to be the caretaker. To kiss the boo-boos, and make sure the blankie is clean for bedtime. When the roles are reversed, we have a hard time being on the receiving end. I will admit, I can be a whiner when I don't feel good. But when it comes down to it, if I am truly honest, I do not like having to be cared for. I don't like feeling like I can't care for my family. Jason is truly wonderful about being a team player and being a hands-on dad. He never minds filling my shoes when it's needed. And there is a part of me that knows it's good for Nick to see that, to see that Daddies can do what Mommies can do when it comes to such basic things like handling dinner and bath-time, bed-time stories and night time tuck-ins. But when I can't do it, I miss it.
And so I want to get back into my role as soon as possible. I want to jump back in and get the house clean and get dinner cooked and be able to play trucks and color and read Interrupting Chicken. I want to do all those things, even if it means I feel a bit under the weather for a little longer than necessary. I confess I am a terrible patient. I confess I too frequently put my own needs beneath what I think my family expects of me. I confess I have a difficult time caring for myself when sometimes that is what is most needed. But I also confess I am a mommy. And that is what mommies do.
Today I am home sick. Nothing too terrible, I think I just ran myself a bit ragged. I finally hit a wall last night and my body said "no more, thank you.". I was in bed pretty early and slept pretty late. I had a nasty migraine this morning when my alarm went. Some Tylenol, some more sleep, and presto chango, (mostly) healed Mommy! Thanks to my wonderfully supportive husband, I didn't have to worry about taking care of Nick last night or this morning. All I had to do was rest. Well, now I have. I feel, for the most part, much better.
However, I am real stickler when Jason is sick for reminding him not to do too much too soon. Getting sick is our bodies way of telling us to slow down, take it easy, yadda yadda. I am not so good at taking my own advice.
Now that I am feeling a bit better, I keep looking around the house and seeing all these things I could be doing since I'm home and kid-free for the day. I'm also trying to work out a plan to get my run in before bed since I missed it this morning. None of these behaviors fall into the "taking it easy" category. I'm very much aware that I probably need to listen to my body and rest today while I can. But I'm also aware of how much easier it is to clean the bathrooms without a toddler underfoot who wants to go potty every time he lays his gorgeous blue eyes on the toilet.
As women, and especially as mommies, we are engrained with the need and responsibility to care for our families. It is our job, our privilege (though it doesn't always feel that way) to be the caretaker. To kiss the boo-boos, and make sure the blankie is clean for bedtime. When the roles are reversed, we have a hard time being on the receiving end. I will admit, I can be a whiner when I don't feel good. But when it comes down to it, if I am truly honest, I do not like having to be cared for. I don't like feeling like I can't care for my family. Jason is truly wonderful about being a team player and being a hands-on dad. He never minds filling my shoes when it's needed. And there is a part of me that knows it's good for Nick to see that, to see that Daddies can do what Mommies can do when it comes to such basic things like handling dinner and bath-time, bed-time stories and night time tuck-ins. But when I can't do it, I miss it.
And so I want to get back into my role as soon as possible. I want to jump back in and get the house clean and get dinner cooked and be able to play trucks and color and read Interrupting Chicken. I want to do all those things, even if it means I feel a bit under the weather for a little longer than necessary. I confess I am a terrible patient. I confess I too frequently put my own needs beneath what I think my family expects of me. I confess I have a difficult time caring for myself when sometimes that is what is most needed. But I also confess I am a mommy. And that is what mommies do.
... I am a Twi-lite
The term used to described a diehard Twilight fan is "Twi-hard". This term refers to those willing to brave the midnight lines for the newest premiere, the bookstore signings; in short - all things fanatically Twilight. This I am not. What I am is an almost 30 year old fan of a series geared towards teenage girls. There's enough shame in that statement alone to keep me away from the midnight movie lines. My pride couldn't handle being one with the tweeny Twi-hards. So I will call myself a Twi-lite.
Like most book-to-movie adaptions, the books far surpass the movies in terms of content, quality and pretty much everything else. However, again, it doesn't do much for my pride to admit that I've not only seen all the movies (more than once), but I've also carefully dissected each page of all the books (more than twice) enough to know the differences between the two. It's a straight shot through my self-esteem to try to explain to a non-Twilighter how the books are better....justification for my guilty indulgence doesn't matter to those who judge me. They still judge (as they should) regardless of my reason. They know, perhaps better than I, that I have been suckered by the mass-marketed lure of Bella and her vampire/werewolf love triangle. They know and they pity. And judge.
That said, I confess my inner tween is geeking out a little bit (okay, maybe a lot) over the pending premiere of the newest addition to the Twilight series this week. Sadly, since moving to Wilmington, I no longer have any of my fellow "Twi-lites" nearby to attend the movie with me. (Please note, when I say "attend the movie", I mean I will be attending a showing that takes place at least a safe 24-48 hours after the initial release. I do have some scraps of pride left.) And I love my husband too much to subject him to the cheese and drama that will surely be contained within the 2 hours of Breaking Dawn. I must also confess that, after awaiting this release for so many months, I'm not sure if I have the restraint to wait until the movie hits DVDs in a few months. Although, the alternative is attending the movie by myself. At which point, I'm not sure I could deny Twi-hard status much longer. After all, what self-respecting 28 year old attends a Twilight movie without the security blanket of her best girlfriends and fellow Twi-lites?
Like most book-to-movie adaptions, the books far surpass the movies in terms of content, quality and pretty much everything else. However, again, it doesn't do much for my pride to admit that I've not only seen all the movies (more than once), but I've also carefully dissected each page of all the books (more than twice) enough to know the differences between the two. It's a straight shot through my self-esteem to try to explain to a non-Twilighter how the books are better....justification for my guilty indulgence doesn't matter to those who judge me. They still judge (as they should) regardless of my reason. They know, perhaps better than I, that I have been suckered by the mass-marketed lure of Bella and her vampire/werewolf love triangle. They know and they pity. And judge.
That said, I confess my inner tween is geeking out a little bit (okay, maybe a lot) over the pending premiere of the newest addition to the Twilight series this week. Sadly, since moving to Wilmington, I no longer have any of my fellow "Twi-lites" nearby to attend the movie with me. (Please note, when I say "attend the movie", I mean I will be attending a showing that takes place at least a safe 24-48 hours after the initial release. I do have some scraps of pride left.) And I love my husband too much to subject him to the cheese and drama that will surely be contained within the 2 hours of Breaking Dawn. I must also confess that, after awaiting this release for so many months, I'm not sure if I have the restraint to wait until the movie hits DVDs in a few months. Although, the alternative is attending the movie by myself. At which point, I'm not sure I could deny Twi-hard status much longer. After all, what self-respecting 28 year old attends a Twilight movie without the security blanket of her best girlfriends and fellow Twi-lites?
Monday, November 7, 2011
... I have the world's coolest nephew.
Most days I think I have a pretty good grasp on the details of my life. I try to take care to remember important dates and events, not just those important to me but also important to those around me. Most of the time I think I do a decent job of balancing a full-time job, mommy-hood, and all the other things that make up "life". However, there are moments that slap me in the face with my own self-involvement.
Such a moment occurred tonight when I was reminded that today is my nephew's 10th birthday. If my nephew were not so cool, and such an amazing rock-star this may not be an issue. As it stands however, my nephew is the coolest of the cool. This little guy is truly a force to be reckoned with. He has overcome so many odds to be where he is today, and if one child can be a miracle, he is certainly such. Today is a day that should have been celebrated as more than just another birthday. Today is a day that should have been celebrated as the marking of another year of miracles. He constantly amazes me with the things he says and his personality and sense of humor (and you should hear the kid play the drums). To know that I let this momentous day sneak up on me, and that I didn't make a point to talk to him and tell him how awesome I think he is, breaks my heart.
I am so sorry, Zee, that I let grown up stuff get in the way of me remembering your very important day. Happy Birthday buddy, I hope your day was as awesome as you are.
Such a moment occurred tonight when I was reminded that today is my nephew's 10th birthday. If my nephew were not so cool, and such an amazing rock-star this may not be an issue. As it stands however, my nephew is the coolest of the cool. This little guy is truly a force to be reckoned with. He has overcome so many odds to be where he is today, and if one child can be a miracle, he is certainly such. Today is a day that should have been celebrated as more than just another birthday. Today is a day that should have been celebrated as the marking of another year of miracles. He constantly amazes me with the things he says and his personality and sense of humor (and you should hear the kid play the drums). To know that I let this momentous day sneak up on me, and that I didn't make a point to talk to him and tell him how awesome I think he is, breaks my heart.
I am so sorry, Zee, that I let grown up stuff get in the way of me remembering your very important day. Happy Birthday buddy, I hope your day was as awesome as you are.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
... I cannot stand you, iTunes.
I love my iPhone. I do. Really. It has been such an added convenience in my life, I don't know how I would get through the day without it. It gives me directions, plays my music, tracks my runs, recommends restaurants, stores my books, provides me a way to balance my checkbook, keeps me connected to everyone. It generally makes my life easier. However iTunes, you must be one of the least user-friendly programs I have ever encountered. You are not intuitive. You require constant updates. On more than one occasion, I have opened you to discover my library of music was simply gone. I have had to re-register my iPhone with you several times...on the same computer. Each time I have to re-register my iPhone, you require me to erase my current playlist on my iPhone and replace it with the new music I want to add. Why can't I just add a few songs to my existing playlist? You know what, iTunes? You make me want to re-evaluate my relationship with my iPhone. I miss syncing music with Windows Media. Why do I have to use you?? What's with the monopoly, Apple?? All I really want to be able to do is view my library, and pick what songs I want to add to my phone. I can't do that, iTunes! Why must I be forced to add an entire album? What if I don't like the entire album? What if I only want a couple songs from that album? Why are you trying to control my listening experience??? And now you tell me there is a software update for my iPhone. Great! Will it solve any of my current issues? Will I be able to do things I can't currently do with my existing software version? Well, I suppose I'll never know....upon clicking "Update Software", you informed me that completing said update would erase all the apps on my phone and that in order to preserve them, I need to perform the update on the computer I use to sync my device. Since I'm already using that computer, I'm not really sure what else you want from me, but I'm certainly not going to risk losing all my apps for the sake of software that's probably not going to make any difference to me at all. No thank you, iDecline.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
... I am a runner. Most days.
Descartes said "I think, therefore I am." I wonder, how far can that statement go? I cook, therefore I'm a cook. Well, I may not make my living as a cook or as a chef, but where my family is concerned I am a cook. I've painted several pieces, does that make me a "painter"? I enjoy singing, does that make me a "singer"? I drink alcohol, does that make me a "drinker"? I write a blog, does that make me a "writer"? I run, so does that make me a "runner"?
So often, to say one is a ______, implies that the activity is done on a professional or expert level. And how often have we shied away from labeling ourselves as a painter, or singer, chef, or runner for fear of not measuring up? For fear of being outed as an amateur masquerading as an expert.
John Bingham, author and marathon runner, said it best. “If you run, you are a runner. It doesn't matter how fast or how far. It doesn't matter if today is your first day or if you've been running for twenty years. There is no test to pass, no license to earn, no membership card to get. You just run.” The quote is from his book "The Courage to Start". That book is the reason I run at all. About 3 years ago, I was on Amazon looking for a book. In the Suggested Titles section, "The Courage to Start" was listed. The title caught my attention and as I read the description, it occurred to me that I was afraid. I was afraid that I was stuck, never moving forward, doomed to repeat the constant cycle of weight loss and gain for the rest of my life. I was intrigued by this man's concept that you didn't need to look like a runner, or be able to run a marathon to be a runner. You simply needed to run. I decided that $8.99 + shipping was a worthwhile investment (Sorry it's a bit more now. This was 3 years ago after all). When the book arrived, I devoured it. I couldn't put it down. Though as good as the book was, I realized I eventually had to stop reading and start running. And run I did.
For the last few years, I have pushed myself and done things I would have never thought possible as a "fat girl". Because of running, I see myself differently. I see myself as stronger and more capable than ever before. I am more confident because I know I can do whatever I decide. This is not at all to say that it has been easy. I am not one of the fortunate few who is simply hard-wired to challenge and push myself day in and day out. No matter how much I love to run, my body and my mind constantly fight against me. Many times I have to force myself out the door and out onto the road. Most days I crave that time on the road, but the harsh reality is that my brain always leans towards the path of least resistance. If I can find a viable reason not to do it, I most likely will. That doesn't mean I don't love it. It just means I have to work harder to do it.
I have learned over the years when I can run and when I can't, when I should run and when I shouldn't. But most importantly, I have learned that I don't have to run everyday to be a runner. I don't have to run great distances or long hours to be a runner. I just have to run. And so I confess I am a runner. Most days.
So often, to say one is a ______, implies that the activity is done on a professional or expert level. And how often have we shied away from labeling ourselves as a painter, or singer, chef, or runner for fear of not measuring up? For fear of being outed as an amateur masquerading as an expert.
John Bingham, author and marathon runner, said it best. “If you run, you are a runner. It doesn't matter how fast or how far. It doesn't matter if today is your first day or if you've been running for twenty years. There is no test to pass, no license to earn, no membership card to get. You just run.” The quote is from his book "The Courage to Start". That book is the reason I run at all. About 3 years ago, I was on Amazon looking for a book. In the Suggested Titles section, "The Courage to Start" was listed. The title caught my attention and as I read the description, it occurred to me that I was afraid. I was afraid that I was stuck, never moving forward, doomed to repeat the constant cycle of weight loss and gain for the rest of my life. I was intrigued by this man's concept that you didn't need to look like a runner, or be able to run a marathon to be a runner. You simply needed to run. I decided that $8.99 + shipping was a worthwhile investment (Sorry it's a bit more now. This was 3 years ago after all). When the book arrived, I devoured it. I couldn't put it down. Though as good as the book was, I realized I eventually had to stop reading and start running. And run I did.
For the last few years, I have pushed myself and done things I would have never thought possible as a "fat girl". Because of running, I see myself differently. I see myself as stronger and more capable than ever before. I am more confident because I know I can do whatever I decide. This is not at all to say that it has been easy. I am not one of the fortunate few who is simply hard-wired to challenge and push myself day in and day out. No matter how much I love to run, my body and my mind constantly fight against me. Many times I have to force myself out the door and out onto the road. Most days I crave that time on the road, but the harsh reality is that my brain always leans towards the path of least resistance. If I can find a viable reason not to do it, I most likely will. That doesn't mean I don't love it. It just means I have to work harder to do it.
I have learned over the years when I can run and when I can't, when I should run and when I shouldn't. But most importantly, I have learned that I don't have to run everyday to be a runner. I don't have to run great distances or long hours to be a runner. I just have to run. And so I confess I am a runner. Most days.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
... I am one nervous mamma
Tomorrow night, we will be heading back to Greensboro for the weekend. While we are so excited to see friends and family, the real reason for our trip is to take Nicholas for a follow-up visit with his pediatric ophthalmology specialist in Winston-Salem.
As most of you already know, several months back we started noticing that his right eye was turning inward. We started seeing a specialist who prescribed drops to help strengthen the muscles in the eye. That seemed to work for awhile, but then slowly seemed to create the same problem with his left eye. The specialist (Dr Eric Hein out of Wake Forest in Winston....I hope you never need anyone in his specialty, but if you do, I recommend him highly) advised us to stop the drops for a few months to see what happened. Apparently, this is a really common condition in children Nick's age and is generally caused by asymmetrical muscle development in the eyes. The muscles simply don't develop at exactly the same rate, and quite frequently, children just outgrow it.
Our appointment on Friday is for the doctor to determine if he thinks Nick is progressing well enough on his own, or if he wants to pursue other treatment options. One of the treatment options that is a possibility is performing surgery to correct the length of the muscles around both eyes. There are of course, other possibilities for treatment options. Glasses, temporary patching, resuming drops. But all I hear in my head is "surgery", repeating over and over like a resounding gong.
As optimistic as I am, the truth is that I expect the doctor will prescribe some new course of treatment. I do not think he will say Nick is progressing well enough on his own to continue doing nothing. I definitely see an improvement in the frequency of the crossing. But I see it more than I am comfortable with, and I see it intermittently in both eyes. He tends to stumble and/or trip a lot, but who's to say that isn't just due to being a toddler?
There are so many days that I wish the wonderful, amazing Dr. Hein could see what we see and tell me if that's normal toddler stuff or if it's a cause for concern. How am I to know that Nick threw the ball 4 feet to my right because he just doesn't have the fine muscle control yet or because he couldn't see me clearly enough to know where to throw it?
If Nick does have to have surgery, the good news is that it is a really simple surgery, the recovery time is very short, and the success rate for correcting the crossing is very high. But as any of you with children who have had to have surgery know, the anxiety that comes with it is no simple thing. It doesn't matter to me how short, how simple, how easy the surgery may be...that's my perfect beautiful baby boy.
I have no way of knowing if,during our appointment on Friday, Dr Hein will definitively say that Nick does or does not need surgery; he may suggest trying something else before we settle on that final decision. But for now, all I hear is "surgery, surgery, surgery" banging inside my head.
As most of you already know, several months back we started noticing that his right eye was turning inward. We started seeing a specialist who prescribed drops to help strengthen the muscles in the eye. That seemed to work for awhile, but then slowly seemed to create the same problem with his left eye. The specialist (Dr Eric Hein out of Wake Forest in Winston....I hope you never need anyone in his specialty, but if you do, I recommend him highly) advised us to stop the drops for a few months to see what happened. Apparently, this is a really common condition in children Nick's age and is generally caused by asymmetrical muscle development in the eyes. The muscles simply don't develop at exactly the same rate, and quite frequently, children just outgrow it.
Our appointment on Friday is for the doctor to determine if he thinks Nick is progressing well enough on his own, or if he wants to pursue other treatment options. One of the treatment options that is a possibility is performing surgery to correct the length of the muscles around both eyes. There are of course, other possibilities for treatment options. Glasses, temporary patching, resuming drops. But all I hear in my head is "surgery", repeating over and over like a resounding gong.
As optimistic as I am, the truth is that I expect the doctor will prescribe some new course of treatment. I do not think he will say Nick is progressing well enough on his own to continue doing nothing. I definitely see an improvement in the frequency of the crossing. But I see it more than I am comfortable with, and I see it intermittently in both eyes. He tends to stumble and/or trip a lot, but who's to say that isn't just due to being a toddler?
There are so many days that I wish the wonderful, amazing Dr. Hein could see what we see and tell me if that's normal toddler stuff or if it's a cause for concern. How am I to know that Nick threw the ball 4 feet to my right because he just doesn't have the fine muscle control yet or because he couldn't see me clearly enough to know where to throw it?
If Nick does have to have surgery, the good news is that it is a really simple surgery, the recovery time is very short, and the success rate for correcting the crossing is very high. But as any of you with children who have had to have surgery know, the anxiety that comes with it is no simple thing. It doesn't matter to me how short, how simple, how easy the surgery may be...that's my perfect beautiful baby boy.
I have no way of knowing if,during our appointment on Friday, Dr Hein will definitively say that Nick does or does not need surgery; he may suggest trying something else before we settle on that final decision. But for now, all I hear is "surgery, surgery, surgery" banging inside my head.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
... I miss fall
For a few weeks, I've been making comments (okay, complaining) about the lack of fall at the coast. At least, the lack of fall as I know it. Fall as I know it begins to appear around late September and is in full force by Halloween. By November 1st, everyone has resigned themselves to the knowledge that boots, pants, sweaters, jackets, and scarves are in their lives to stay until March. Fall as I know it has brilliantly colored trees in every shade of orange, red, gold, and brown. Fall as I know it has a crisp chill in the air that makes your cheeks just slightly rosy. Fall as I know it is my favorite time of year. Fall as I know it is wonderful.
Make no mistake, that fall does not exist at the coast. Halloween is exactly 6 days away, and while out and about today, I saw no less than 10 girls in shorts. At one point, I drove past a bank whose sign cheerfully informed me it was 74 degrees. 74 degrees!! Mother Nature, 74 degrees is NOT October 25th weather. 74 degrees is a climate more suited for May-September. I'm sure poor 74 degrees feels hopelessly lost and displaced. I'm sure he would like to return to his natural habitat. Could you kindly see that he is returned home? Soon?
Yeah, yeah, yeah....poor Mary and her perfect, gorgeous weather at the beach. Life sure is hard for her. Must be soooo hard having to suffer through 74 and sunny all through October. Well, it is. It is true what they say. Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. Had you asked me a month ago if I would ever wish away the perfect temps and clear blue sky, I would have given you a very emphatic "no" (This is hypothetical of course...technically a month ago, it was raining non-stop. Perhaps I should have said "Had you asked me six weeks ago".....oh well. Details, details.) I would have never thought the delay in the changing of the seasons would effect (affect? I never know...) me so much, but I find myself annoyed with each passing day that doesn't provide a need for a jacket. We are headed back to Greensboro this weekend, and I am so excited to see the changing of the leaves and have a pumpkin coffee. I'll probably even sit outside while I drink it, just to let my cheeks get a little rosy.
Make no mistake, that fall does not exist at the coast. Halloween is exactly 6 days away, and while out and about today, I saw no less than 10 girls in shorts. At one point, I drove past a bank whose sign cheerfully informed me it was 74 degrees. 74 degrees!! Mother Nature, 74 degrees is NOT October 25th weather. 74 degrees is a climate more suited for May-September. I'm sure poor 74 degrees feels hopelessly lost and displaced. I'm sure he would like to return to his natural habitat. Could you kindly see that he is returned home? Soon?
Yeah, yeah, yeah....poor Mary and her perfect, gorgeous weather at the beach. Life sure is hard for her. Must be soooo hard having to suffer through 74 and sunny all through October. Well, it is. It is true what they say. Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. Had you asked me a month ago if I would ever wish away the perfect temps and clear blue sky, I would have given you a very emphatic "no" (This is hypothetical of course...technically a month ago, it was raining non-stop. Perhaps I should have said "Had you asked me six weeks ago".....oh well. Details, details.) I would have never thought the delay in the changing of the seasons would effect (affect? I never know...) me so much, but I find myself annoyed with each passing day that doesn't provide a need for a jacket. We are headed back to Greensboro this weekend, and I am so excited to see the changing of the leaves and have a pumpkin coffee. I'll probably even sit outside while I drink it, just to let my cheeks get a little rosy.
... I'm less artsy, more crafty
For quite some time, I've considered myself very creative and artsy. However, truth be told, I have a hard time with it. I truly do enjoy painting, creating, making something beautiful from something ordinary. The enjoyment of the tasks was what led me to the conclusion that I was "artsy". But as any of you who know me are aware, I'm just a touch neurotic. I need things to be just so. Everything has a place, and I despise clutter. How then can these two brains inhabit the same person? Not without struggle, I assure you. When I paint something, or have an idea for an art project, I can never seem to get it "just so". I don't know that I'd say I'm a perfectionist (though Jason might), but I have a really hard time getting the project "right". And for awhile, I started to think perhaps this struggle meant I just wasn't good at being creative. But during a recent joking discussion of some of my neurotic tendencies, a friend said to me "I bet you aren't very creative or artsy, are you?" (I know it sounds as if she was being snarky. Trust me, she was not. Just making an observation.) My first initial response was, "Actually I really am!" Our converstion then took the direction of comparing how unusual it was to find someone who was very artistic and also very OCD-ish.
It was a short conversation, one mostly in passing; a small part of a long day together. But it stuck with me. I kept turning over her statement for a few days and it finally occurred to me that she was right. Not that I wasn't creative, but that it is so very unusual for one to be overly right-brained (more artistically leaning) and left-brained (pragmatic, precise, exacting) at the same time. Honestly, it made me feel a lot better! I finally understood why I felt like I wasn't "good" at being creative. As much as I enjoy it, my brain isn't naturally geared that direction. I'm certainly more left-brained than right-brained,so it finally made sense to me.
I can clean and organize and put order to any room in no time. But ask me to design something to go in that room and you may to wait awhile for the finished product.
It was a short conversation, one mostly in passing; a small part of a long day together. But it stuck with me. I kept turning over her statement for a few days and it finally occurred to me that she was right. Not that I wasn't creative, but that it is so very unusual for one to be overly right-brained (more artistically leaning) and left-brained (pragmatic, precise, exacting) at the same time. Honestly, it made me feel a lot better! I finally understood why I felt like I wasn't "good" at being creative. As much as I enjoy it, my brain isn't naturally geared that direction. I'm certainly more left-brained than right-brained,so it finally made sense to me.
I can clean and organize and put order to any room in no time. But ask me to design something to go in that room and you may to wait awhile for the finished product.
Monday, October 24, 2011
... I drank cute boots
Or at least the monetary equivalent. I spent about $40 on the cleansing system I used this weekend. I could've spent that money on some really cute boots instead, and probably been happier with my purchase. I did lose 2.5 lbs this weekend. But I don't feel cleansed, I feel stripped. I spent the majority of the weekend feeling slightly drained and fairly cranky. The cleansing system was a drink I was to drink over the course of 2 days. The only foods I was allowed to eat was raw fruits or veggies or lean meats, and only in small quantities. In addition to the cleanser, I could also drink as much water as I wanted. I would say I adhered to the rules about 90%. Both mornings I did have coffee, and for dinner each night I had a salad that included peppers, grilled chicken, a little bit of parmesan and dressing. (interesting....my spellchecker wants me to change the spelling of "dressing". Odd.) Anyway, I definitely did notice that once I started to get hungry, my body literally craved garbage. My brain instantly went to wanting processed foods, white starches, and sugars. It was very eye-opening to experience those cravings first hand. I previously felt pretty confident that I did a decent job of eating a balanced diet, but this weekend has shown me that my body is more addicted to garbage than I realized. It also showed me how easily I can fall victim to marketing and trends. I confess I wasted $40. I didn't need to go hungry and drink green goop all weekend. I didn't need to try and cleanse my system, I just need to cleanse my kitchen. And maybe reward my new found knowledge with some cute boots.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
... I am a Walmart snob
FACT: A person seen in Wal-mart appears 47% less desirable than the same person seen in Target, and a staggering 78% less desirable than when seen in a trendy coffee shop.
Okay, so maybe not fact per se.....and perhaps the percentages are a touch exaggerated. Or are they? Be honest, you've logged time at work perusing peopleofwalmart.com. There is no peopleoftarget.com or peopleofstarbucks.com for a reason. The people who shop at Target and Starbucks and Harris Teeter and Kohl's aren't nearly as entertaining as the people at Walmart. (side note - if there isn't a peopleofthemall.com, there totally should be) The truth is, simply being at Wal-mart comes with an expectation of, how do I say this delicately.....TRASH.
Yes, I do realize that to see such folk in their natural habitat, then I too, by default, must be a person of Wal-mart. It means that I must also be making the trek to the Ruler of Roll-backs, the Mecca of Mark-downs. But (and here's where the snob comes out to play) I am not a "person of Wal-mart". I am better than that. And so are you. Or maybe you're not, and now you're completely offended....sorry. Sort of.
Right or wrong, I confess I ruthlessly judge the people I encounter in Wal-mart. I see men (and women) with mullets. I see obese women with shorts too short and shirts too tight. I see 17 children to one mother. I see white girls with cornrows. I see men with their stomachs hanging out from beneath their shirt and their crack making an appearance above their pants. I see people who, judging from their overall ensemble, clearly have no idea what decade it is. I see tween goths. I see women over 50 dressed in the same style as their teenage granddaughter. I see these people and I think they must have no friends because no one warned them not to go out in public looking like that. I see these people and I think "Thank goodness I don't look like one of them"...........Right?!?!
Okay, so maybe not fact per se.....and perhaps the percentages are a touch exaggerated. Or are they? Be honest, you've logged time at work perusing peopleofwalmart.com. There is no peopleoftarget.com or peopleofstarbucks.com for a reason. The people who shop at Target and Starbucks and Harris Teeter and Kohl's aren't nearly as entertaining as the people at Walmart. (side note - if there isn't a peopleofthemall.com, there totally should be) The truth is, simply being at Wal-mart comes with an expectation of, how do I say this delicately.....TRASH.
Yes, I do realize that to see such folk in their natural habitat, then I too, by default, must be a person of Wal-mart. It means that I must also be making the trek to the Ruler of Roll-backs, the Mecca of Mark-downs. But (and here's where the snob comes out to play) I am not a "person of Wal-mart". I am better than that. And so are you. Or maybe you're not, and now you're completely offended....sorry. Sort of.
Right or wrong, I confess I ruthlessly judge the people I encounter in Wal-mart. I see men (and women) with mullets. I see obese women with shorts too short and shirts too tight. I see 17 children to one mother. I see white girls with cornrows. I see men with their stomachs hanging out from beneath their shirt and their crack making an appearance above their pants. I see people who, judging from their overall ensemble, clearly have no idea what decade it is. I see tween goths. I see women over 50 dressed in the same style as their teenage granddaughter. I see these people and I think they must have no friends because no one warned them not to go out in public looking like that. I see these people and I think "Thank goodness I don't look like one of them"...........Right?!?!
Saturday, October 22, 2011
... I hate potty training
I do. I completely hate it. Not that I can think of anyone who might actually enjoy it, but still..... It is by far the hardest thing I've done so far as a parent. It tests my patience like nothing I've ever encountered.
Every single time Nick sees a toilet, this is what takes place:
N: I go potty
M: You need to go potty?
N: I go potty
M: Okay, lets get your pants off.
N: No get pants off
M: Nick, honey, if you need to go potty, we have to take your pants and diaper off
N: I go potty
M: Okay, pants off
Right about here is a turning point. It will go one of two ways.
Scenario A) N: No! No go potty!! No!
M: Are you sure? You just said you need to go potty. Why don't we just try since we're here?
N: No go potty! (as he backs away from the potty, seemingly scared of whatever creature he's convinced is going to get him.
M: (In extreme defeat) Okay honey, we'll try again later
Scenario B) N: I go potty, pants off!
M: Good job baby, let's get those pants off!
At this point, the boy is naked from the waist down, standing in front of the toilet...
N: No go potty
M: (in extreme defeat) Okay honey, we'll try again later. Let's get our pants back on.
N: No get pants on!
M: Nicholas......if you aren't going to potty, we need to get our pants back on.
N: Noooo get pants on!!!!
This continues for about 2 minutes until he finally concedes to give up on naked time and allow me to put his pants back on, or throws a full out tantrum resulting in still no go potty....
I suppose I should mention there's also a Scenario C...
Nick sees toilet after following me into bathroom for unknown reasons....
N: I go potty!
M: Nope!
Call me a bad mommy for not taking advantage of the learning opportunity, but sometimes you just gotta grab the sanity where you can
Every single time Nick sees a toilet, this is what takes place:
N: I go potty
M: You need to go potty?
N: I go potty
M: Okay, lets get your pants off.
N: No get pants off
M: Nick, honey, if you need to go potty, we have to take your pants and diaper off
N: I go potty
M: Okay, pants off
Right about here is a turning point. It will go one of two ways.
Scenario A) N: No! No go potty!! No!
M: Are you sure? You just said you need to go potty. Why don't we just try since we're here?
N: No go potty! (as he backs away from the potty, seemingly scared of whatever creature he's convinced is going to get him.
M: (In extreme defeat) Okay honey, we'll try again later
Scenario B) N: I go potty, pants off!
M: Good job baby, let's get those pants off!
At this point, the boy is naked from the waist down, standing in front of the toilet...
N: No go potty
M: (in extreme defeat) Okay honey, we'll try again later. Let's get our pants back on.
N: No get pants on!
M: Nicholas......if you aren't going to potty, we need to get our pants back on.
N: Noooo get pants on!!!!
This continues for about 2 minutes until he finally concedes to give up on naked time and allow me to put his pants back on, or throws a full out tantrum resulting in still no go potty....
I suppose I should mention there's also a Scenario C...
Nick sees toilet after following me into bathroom for unknown reasons....
N: I go potty!
M: Nope!
Call me a bad mommy for not taking advantage of the learning opportunity, but sometimes you just gotta grab the sanity where you can
...I don't know where to start
Well, I'm either a genius for sharing my crazy life with all of you or a complete buffoon. That remains to be seen. Aaannd off we go....
I confess that even after all my deliberation of starting a blog, now that I have, I don't know what to talk about first. I do know that my intent for this blog is to be totally honest and un-sugar-coated. That said, I suppose a good place to start would be with a recurring theme in my life (and most of our lives, I'm sure). The three letter dirty word. FAT. There it is, band-aid's off.
Most of my life, I've been the fat girl in the room. It's fluctuated of course at times, but basically I just kept getting fatter and fatter until a few years ago. It's a funny thing how it sneaks up on you. How you can see yourself the same way every day in a mirror, and not actually SEE yourself until you see a picture and cringe. Well, eventually, I was cringing when I saw EVERY picture. I was in my mid-twenties, had been married for a few years, and fit into every weight-gaining cliche out there (and fit into none of my jeans). "After high school, I started gaining weight", "I just fell into a comfortable rut", "I got complacent in my marriage". Whatever. If there was an excuse, I had it. What I didn't have was much self-esteem, energy, or confidence.
Three years ago, Jason and I decided to start a family. Prior to getting pregnant, I had lost some weight but I had HUGE fears that I would be one of those women who gained a ton of weight during pregnancy. Why wouldn't I? I had had weight problems all my life, why would pregnancy prove to be any easier?? As it turned out, the pregnancy goddess smiled down on me, and I miraculously only gained 17 lbs during pregnancy. I got even luckier, and dropped 30 lbs in the few months after Nick was born. I call it luck because I didn't do anything to lose the weight, and I ate like a cow. Thank God for breastfeeding hormones! After a few months though, I stopped losing and I got really frustrated. (Really? I got frustrated that my body stopped magically dropping weight without me trying? Hi, my name is Spoiled Brat....) A coworker turned me onto an amazing website called Calorie Count and it turned out to be a lifesaver. I became religious about using it to track my food and exercise and it totally worked! I started using it May of 2011 and I lost 50 lbs while using the site. Since Nick was born, I've lost a total of 75 pounds and dropped 5 sizes. I now wear the same size I did in high school...which, let's face it, is a dream of most moms. Buuuuuuttt......I've hit a seriously nasty, particularly hateful plateau. I've lost and gained the same 5 lbs over and over for the last 6 months. And I could whine and say that "no matter what I do, I can't lose anymore weight" but that's a total crock. Where I was once dedicated, I'm flaky and erratic. Where I was the one motivating people and encouraging them to be strong, I'm the one constantly giving in. What's worse is that I'm totally grossed out by myself now. I've lost the rush of looking into the mirror and seeing myself as a constantly changing body. I now see all the things that I still need to fix, the weight I still need to lose. Don't misunderstand, I don't mean this in an eating disorder, unhealthy kind of way. I do see all the progress I've made, but my focus has shifted to only seeing the progress yet to be made. Focusing on the work left to be done has zapped my motivation.
The worst part is that I have thus far not been able to motivate myself out of this slump. I feel as though I'm starting this weight loss journey all over again, not as though I'm merely continuing on the path. So, in addition to a few other things, this weekend I am doing a cleanse in the hopes of not only ridding my body of all the garbage I've dumped into it these last few months, but also of potentially dropping a few pounds in the process and maybe giving myself the jump I need. We shall see how the weekend turns out.
This will be a lifelong struggle for me. I do not anticipate reaching a desired weight and then never having to think about my weight again. I know this will be something that will always be prevalent in my life, so it will probably be a recurring theme in this blog. Some of them may be more focused on diet, some more on exercise. Sorry to start the blog on such a heavy note (pun surely intended), but it has definitely been the biggest demon in my life for a long time and especially more so lately. Best to go ahead and get the dirtiest laundry out there first. Next time I promise lighter fare :)
I confess that even after all my deliberation of starting a blog, now that I have, I don't know what to talk about first. I do know that my intent for this blog is to be totally honest and un-sugar-coated. That said, I suppose a good place to start would be with a recurring theme in my life (and most of our lives, I'm sure). The three letter dirty word. FAT. There it is, band-aid's off.
Most of my life, I've been the fat girl in the room. It's fluctuated of course at times, but basically I just kept getting fatter and fatter until a few years ago. It's a funny thing how it sneaks up on you. How you can see yourself the same way every day in a mirror, and not actually SEE yourself until you see a picture and cringe. Well, eventually, I was cringing when I saw EVERY picture. I was in my mid-twenties, had been married for a few years, and fit into every weight-gaining cliche out there (and fit into none of my jeans). "After high school, I started gaining weight", "I just fell into a comfortable rut", "I got complacent in my marriage". Whatever. If there was an excuse, I had it. What I didn't have was much self-esteem, energy, or confidence.
Three years ago, Jason and I decided to start a family. Prior to getting pregnant, I had lost some weight but I had HUGE fears that I would be one of those women who gained a ton of weight during pregnancy. Why wouldn't I? I had had weight problems all my life, why would pregnancy prove to be any easier?? As it turned out, the pregnancy goddess smiled down on me, and I miraculously only gained 17 lbs during pregnancy. I got even luckier, and dropped 30 lbs in the few months after Nick was born. I call it luck because I didn't do anything to lose the weight, and I ate like a cow. Thank God for breastfeeding hormones! After a few months though, I stopped losing and I got really frustrated. (Really? I got frustrated that my body stopped magically dropping weight without me trying? Hi, my name is Spoiled Brat....) A coworker turned me onto an amazing website called Calorie Count and it turned out to be a lifesaver. I became religious about using it to track my food and exercise and it totally worked! I started using it May of 2011 and I lost 50 lbs while using the site. Since Nick was born, I've lost a total of 75 pounds and dropped 5 sizes. I now wear the same size I did in high school...which, let's face it, is a dream of most moms. Buuuuuuttt......I've hit a seriously nasty, particularly hateful plateau. I've lost and gained the same 5 lbs over and over for the last 6 months. And I could whine and say that "no matter what I do, I can't lose anymore weight" but that's a total crock. Where I was once dedicated, I'm flaky and erratic. Where I was the one motivating people and encouraging them to be strong, I'm the one constantly giving in. What's worse is that I'm totally grossed out by myself now. I've lost the rush of looking into the mirror and seeing myself as a constantly changing body. I now see all the things that I still need to fix, the weight I still need to lose. Don't misunderstand, I don't mean this in an eating disorder, unhealthy kind of way. I do see all the progress I've made, but my focus has shifted to only seeing the progress yet to be made. Focusing on the work left to be done has zapped my motivation.
The worst part is that I have thus far not been able to motivate myself out of this slump. I feel as though I'm starting this weight loss journey all over again, not as though I'm merely continuing on the path. So, in addition to a few other things, this weekend I am doing a cleanse in the hopes of not only ridding my body of all the garbage I've dumped into it these last few months, but also of potentially dropping a few pounds in the process and maybe giving myself the jump I need. We shall see how the weekend turns out.
This will be a lifelong struggle for me. I do not anticipate reaching a desired weight and then never having to think about my weight again. I know this will be something that will always be prevalent in my life, so it will probably be a recurring theme in this blog. Some of them may be more focused on diet, some more on exercise. Sorry to start the blog on such a heavy note (pun surely intended), but it has definitely been the biggest demon in my life for a long time and especially more so lately. Best to go ahead and get the dirtiest laundry out there first. Next time I promise lighter fare :)
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