Between Rock Hard and a Fat Place

I gained two pounds this week. Not a big deal, usually, but when it's the third week in a row, well, I'm not heading down a good path.

Almost a year ago, I made a committment to drop my baby weight. I did it! I lost 25 pounds in 8 weeks. I didn't cheat, I didn't miss a P90X session, some days I even did two. I was a rock star. I felt great! Slowly but surely, the weight has come back. I'm still not to my peak weight, but with eating season upon us, outlook not so good.  I'm worried. I don't want to be back to that place. I want to be in fitness mode where the sight of unhealthy food repulses me, but I haven't yet felt the urgency to put the sweets away and get off my duff.  I'm between rock hard and a fat place.

Admittedly, now is the absolute worst time to "diet".  And honestly I have no intention to. As stated in my last entry, I loooove me some holiday festivities. And what screams holiday louder than food? Definitely not my fat-girl jeans that are getting snug again, or that roll that seems to be getting in my way of late. I'm frustrated, but not enough to do something about it. It's irritating is what it is.

I learned something recently about adults with ADD. We tend to hyperfocus on things that interest us and let the rest kind of fall away into the abyss.  I realize now how many times I've done this with so many things. This is why I've gone on crafting binges, and spurts of club-starting, and marathon training. I guess my weight loss last year was one of them. And like the others, it was doomed to end.

So now I keep looking in the mirror, waiting for my brain to go *DING*  I WANT TO BE SKINNY! PUT THE CRAP DOWN!  Then enter super mega Lose Weight Mode. So far...nada. That darn bucket o'candy from trick-or-treating last night is just too tasty to pass by and the visions of holidays spreads dancing in my head just have me wanting more.

So what's a chubby girl to do?  I suck at self-motivation and all I wanna do is relax and eat what I want. But I also want to be fit and active and fit in my Hot Mom jeans.  This sucks. It just plain sucks. The two can't coexist. It's one or the other.  Gotta choose, Carl, gotta choose.

'Tis The Season

     There are two types of people in this world: Joiners and Non-Joiners. I happen to belong to the former category.  Some folks like to be on the outside looking in, admiring the goings-on of others and thinking to themselves, hey, that looks kinda fun, but never venturing out to explore the perks of belonging to a club. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to put this class down. Without them, every function we ever go to would be like going to Wal-Mart at midnight on Black Friday. I, however, am just not one of those people.
     I like to be in on the action. I like to create the action. I like the excitement of anticipation, the stress of last minute details, the structure of group meetings and knowing I have something to do on such and such day.  For instance, I've always wanted to be a part of a book club, but since it's hard to get away from the house to go to meetings, I started one on Facebook.  Same goes with my family's facebook page. I wanted a way to stay connected and have a special forum for posting things only fellow Sorrell's would understand. Ergo, the FB group Glam Fam was created. Most recently I joined the PTA and can't wait to help with fundraisers and luncheons. And for my birthday next year, I'm orchestrating my very own FLASH MOB!!!! Yesssss.  I can't help it! I just like that kind of thing.
    So what better time of year to join things that the holiday season??  School parties, work parties, festivals, parades, shopping, gift-giving, light shows, music, ugly sweater parties, plays, cantatas...it's a magical time of year!  As soon as the back-to-school hype is over, I can feel it in my bones....the giddy schoolgirl excitement building and plotting, eagerly looking forward to all the holiday lore that is to come. I take advantage of every opportunity to join in on the fun. Most of it comes fairly easily (i.e. not having to twist hubby's arm). But sometimes I'm on my own. Decorating the tree, festive clothes - fuh-ghet-it. And caroling? P-shaw!! Neeever gonna happen. Actually I have yet to find a group to go caroling with. I'm still working on that one.
     Admittedly, I get into the Christmas spirit much more than the fall activities. I saw a poster yesterday and laughed my head off because it's SO TRUE:

(Please excuse the txt cussing)

Seriously, what happens the day after Halloween? Twenty-four-hour Christmas music and a bombarding of all things Christmas. Sure there's a few pumpkin-inspired items, but let's face it, they're just foreplay for the big event.

     Either way, Joiner or Non-Joiner, the holidays are quickly approaching and I'm STOKED (if you couldn't tell). No one can deny the splendor that is the holidays, not even the most reclusive scrooge in town.

The Positives

     In one of my most recent blogs, I wrote that I hadn't had anything nagging at me to be written in a while. But what I should have said is that I didn't have anything negative to be written in a while. Why is that?  I read over my entire blog and while most of my entries usually have a come-full-circle template with a happy ending, the prompt to write is usually something negative or a problem to be reconciled or a situation that is slightly askew.  So if I write something positive, I'm bragging?? Is that it?   I read very few blogs, and my own is one of them (for self-counseling reasons). But the ones I do read, the author is usually dealing with something that makes me feel better about myself. For example, I LUUUV  Rants From Mommyland because they talk about all the crazy happenings of a mom and their struggles to deal. I have a laugh, give one of those Dude-I-know-exactly-what-you're-talking-about head bobs, and go tackle my own day.  NONE of the blogs I read, though, tells me how great their life is. If they did, I'd probably read it once and go, "Well la-dee-friggin-da. Good for you," and I'd never read it again.
  
      So what does that say about me? What does that say about all of us?  Am I the only one with this prejudice against well-to-do's?  Because it's not just blogs to which this theory applies.  MTV Cribs and Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous, they just make me go, "Ugh," because I see how well they are doing and think, "Why them and not me?"  But an episode of Hoarders comes on or Jersey Shore??? Now that's a show that makes me feel better about myself!! I'm DEFINITELY better off than that slob/slut!!! That's gotta be why those shows are even popular! I can't be the only one that feels this way or else shows like that would get cancelled.
    
     Okay, now once again, my blog entry is based around my own dilemma: I need schmut TV to feel better about myself. Well, that's just not true. While I do admit that I need some outside qualification to confirm my opinion about myself (i.e. a compliment from husband, an atta-girl here and there from coworkers/family, etc), I can in fact go to sleep at night knowing that I'm a good person.  Still, I'm reluctant to write a blog based on the good things in my life. Maybe I'm doing my readers a disservice with this practice.  I don't need to go into all the havoc around us to reiterate the need for positive things in our lives.  We should be lifted up by others' triumphs and celebrate achievements rather than look down on others to feel superior, right?

     From now on, I will try  to write more "positively perfect posts."  Okay, maybe not so much perfect, but positive? Yes.  So please don't think I'm bragging if I write a blog to say, "Guess what? I ROCK!"  Just trying to focus attention elsewhere, is all. ;)

Medicated

Yesterday I went to the doctor. My first "annual" checkup in, well, many annuals. (that made sense in my head) Anyway, for my fantastically faithful followers (that alliteration was for you Rob) you're all too familiar with my ADD issues. For those that aren't, just scroll down to my 'Scattered' post. It explains it all. At my checkup yesterday, after covering all the basics, I told my new doctor that I had been diagnosed with Adult ADD. I had seen a psychiatrist and taken the most boorrriiing test known to man. I passed or failed that test miserably, depending on how you look at it.

I took meds for it after I stopped nursing Jace. I was jittery, had headaches and couldn't sleep. After some adjustments, I. Was. UNSTOPABLE! Look out world, I am heading your way! No task was too daunting. Nothing to confusing. I was a list-making fool on a mission. It was exhausting.

Somewhere along the way I stopped taking it. Then got pregnant with Number 2 and nursed for a year, so no meds for Carlton.

Now I'm back. I asked the doctor for a lower dose so there would be fewer side effects...a-ffects? that one always gets me... And after just one day....I can breeeaaath.....aaahhhh....it's like there's suddenly room in my head to think. One. thought. at. a. time. aaaahhhhh. I can ask myself what I need to do today. Well, Carli, you need to do A, B, and C, in that order. Oh my gosh! Is this how easy it is for the rest of the world?!

Now, to someone without ADD, this probably seems pretty ridiculous. Well, I know this seems ridiculous. I'm married to that someone. And not only does he NOT have ADD, he is Mr. Organization/Proficiency, er, OCD, if you will. There's not much he does in a day that doesn't have a purpose or accomplish a goal. It's extremely frustrating for him when I forget things, misplace things, or don't get my To Do list completed in a day. And it's extremely frustrating for me that he remembers everything, misplaces nothing, and can pretty much conquer the world in one afternoon.

After seven years of marriage, we have finally acknowledged the source of our (occasional) discord. So when I told him I was going to get "crazy" pills, he was pretty excited. In the days leading up to my appointment, if something was forgotten, he'd say, "Four more days...just four more days." To which I lovingly, eloquently replied, "Screw you."

We can joke about it now. We are learning to meet in the middle. For seven years we've been on opposite ends of the spectrum and we are finally starting to see some common ground. Him letting a few things go and me stepping up my game. But of course we realize this won't be a fix all. I'm not completely magically cured and he's not miraculously relaxed.

More than anything, I'm elated for myself! I feel in control for the first time a looong time. Just a word to anyone who feels like this might be you or to anyone who has someone in their life with ADD, EMBRACE THE MEDS. Behavior modification is a must, but, ohhh, medication is LIBERATING!

Author's Note: I wrote this mooonths ago. Don't know why I never published it. Maybe I forgot my meds that day.

I Got Schooled

   Excuse me! Excuse me, People! I have an announcement to make! ....tap, tap, tap, ahem. I (dramatic pause) am no longer a full-time stay-at-home-mom. (This is where you cheer and applaud, but mix in a few disappointed "ohhs" for effect). That's right, I'm working, but only part-time, three days a week. And what, pray tell, is worth leaving my kids for? Drumroll........watching other people's kids!!! (The noisemakers lose their fizzle and the balloons shoot across the air as if the excitement has left the room. Because it has.) 
    Well, this job sort of landed in my lap. I'm assistant teaching at a Mother's Day Out program in the two-yr-old class on Tues, Wed, and Thurs. Not bad, eh? Mia comes with me and I pick Jace up around the corner and he hangs out in what he calls his "second school" for a couple of hours. And I get to make a few bucks just in time for Christmas.
    So far, I don't hate it. If anything, I think it's teaching me a new lesson in parenting.  When you're around other people's kids you have to use very diplomatic, non-confrontational, positive language. Basically if you'd say it to your own kids, don't say it to them. When I see a kid bash another over the head, instead of saying, "DON'T you DARE do that again, how'd you like it if I bashed you over the head? What were you THINKING??" I have to say, in a very sing-songy, honeysuckle voice, "Noh, noh, _______, we use soft touches. Now go play, pleeease. Thank-you!" smile, smile, smile..annnd roll my eyes and wonder internally if his parents have ever thought of spanking. Just saying. 
    Patience is key, which I seriously lack. Something about the classroom setting, though, gives the kids a little more wiggle room to be unsure and not know how to do everything instantly.
    At home, with Jace, I get frustrated easily when he doesn't understand something right away or when he does something that I know he knows he's not supposed to do. But after the three days I've worked there, I noticed I'm coming home still in teaching mode. Tonight when I was helping Jace with a puzzle, after seeing him trying to jam an edge piece together with a non-edge piece, I saw it as a teaching opportunity. I talked to him as if he weren't my kid. I used my sing-songy teachery voice.  And it worked! Imagine that!
     I know, I know, you're probably thinking, well, duh, you moron, that's how you're SUPPOSED to teach your kids. Well, let's just say, lesson learned. Jace is a smart kid, really smart, in fact, and sometimes I forget it's not his job to listen to my barking and jump when I say jump. Sometimes he needs a diplomat to talk nice to him. Lord knows there are enough people out there that will be mean to him someday. He certainly doesn't need harsh words from me.
     So I may come home with crayon and diaper remnants on my shirt and get paid squat for it, but if it makes me a better parent, then I guess I don't mind getting schooled. Nyow, it's off to beddy-bye, okay? Okayeee. Good nighty night! Buh-bye nyow!

Untitled.

     My mom died when I was almost nine. One week before my 9th birthday, to be exact. She didn't die of her own will, she didn't die of an illness, she was taken from us. She didn't have time to say goodbye. She never woke again to hug us and tell us how much she loved us. She was robbed of that.

  For almost twenty years I mourned. Mourned for my loss, for my brother and sister's loss, for my Dad's loss of his wife and mother of his children. But after having my own children, I have a new reason to mourn. I mourn for my mom. For so long I've felt how hard it is to lose a mom. But now I can only imagine how hard it would be to leave my children. It must have broken her heart.

  As a mom, there's always a sense of duty to your family. To your kids, you're the hug-giver, the reader of stories, the boo-boo kisser, the "look"-giver, the activity director, the answer-haver, the chef, the maid, the courier, the photographer, the Mom, the everything. To your husband, you're his confidante, his therapist, his buddy, and a lot of the above too. Ha. As I know too well, this can be exhausting. But I can't imagine having it taken away from me. The thought of it makes me shudder.

     Nothing compares to losing a child, but I have to bet leaving your child must be a close second. I look at my own sweet kids and pray two things. First, that they be kept safe. Second, that their Dad and I never have to leave them. I know what it did to me; it was, to say the least, devastating. And I can only feel sorry for my mom that she had to endure that. It wasn't her fault! She did nothing wrong! And she still had to leave us. Mom. Gina. I'm sorry. She didn't deserve that. No one does.

     I know in Heaven you only feel good things, but I can't help but feel like I need to tell her that it's okay. We're okay. I like to think that she still mothers us from up there. Takes care of us, watches over us. I also think she had a hand in sending us Peggy. Daddy may think he won Peggy over with his, er, "charm", but I know otherwise. ;)

    I hesitated to write this. I'm sobbing. I can hardly see to type. But if you haven't noticed, I haven't blogged in a while. Nothing has nagged at me to be written. For some reason, this did. It started a couple of days ago, when I watched Beaches (how have I never seen that movie before???) But when Hillary died and left the little girl, it reminded me of how it would feel to leave my own kiddos. And, well, you see where I'm going. That feeling has been a sticker in the bottom of my foot for days. Festering, manifesting itself into something I can't ignore.  I knew it would be hard to write, though. As I once told my therapist many years ago, I'm afraid of the emotions that get involved. So please, if you have my number or if you're friends with me on FB, please don't comment or say anything. I'll just start crying again. And then I'll get embarrassed.

    So I'll end with this: Mama, I'm so sorry for being selfish, only thinking of what I lost. You lost us too.  I love you so much. And I'll never stop missing you or you us. We'll see each other again someday.

Worth Taking

     Through the looking glass, we watched families pile as many memories into their SUV's as they could.  Blazing fire loomed above them, around them. Tired firefighters, running on adrenaline, go door to door to warn them, "Get out! Evacuate!" I tried to imagine what was going through those families' minds in that moment. Survival. Kids. Insurance. Home. Momentos. Run. Protect. NOW.  For the lucky few, there was enough warning to grab a few things. But what?
    How does one decide in minutes which thing to save? Where does one even begin to differentiate between important and necessary?
    I walked through my home last night, pondering this conundrum. There were obvious things that are just stuff.  Wall pretties. Furniture. Toys. Clothes. Appliances. Those can all be replaced. I thought deeper...baby pictures, baby books, journals, hand prints, my mother's Bible, our wedding video.  Yes. These are all things that I would truly mourn over if lost.
   Of course, there are things that leaving them would be just downright irresponsible.  That's when marrying a responsible person would come in handy. While I'm stripping pictures off the walls and breaking my back trying to push my mother's cedar chest out the door, Shea would no doubt be loading the safe and the filing cabinets which contain our marriage license, the deed to our house, statements, insurance policies, and military documents. And he'd probably also be yelling at me for help.
  Is either group of stuff more important than the other? Well, I hope I never have to answer that question. In the game of life, though, it's sobering to stop and think about what's really important. Even if all was lost. If we had zero time to grab stuff.  If all we left our house with were the clothes we had on and our two beautiful kids, then I would be elated that we still had each other.  All the other stuff, the stuff that we insist we need to be happy, the TVs, the games, the toys, the cars, the furnishings, the clothes...it all pales in comparison to the irreplaceable, perfect, funny, lovable, living little monsters that I call mine.
   

No Blog, No Glory

Like most other aspects of my life, blogging is sporatic. A thought or topic comes to me and I think, "Eureka! That would be a good blog." I sit down. I write. But never have I tried to meet a quota. Once a day, not gonna happen. Once a week, maybe. Twice a month is totally doable but not a rule. Sometimes there's a thing or a feeling nagging at me and the only thing I can do is reach for my therapy in the form of a laptop.

Not today. Today nothing is wrong. No problem needs solving. My self-esteem is in tact. My Super Mom powers are stronger than ever.

Today I sat down to blog with absolutely nothing to say. . . .SURPRISE!!! Ha, no, really, I'm sorry if I'm wasting your time here. But seriously, I never expected any of my jibberish to be meaningful, especially not to others. I just thought I would sit down and see where the writing process takes me.

So far? Nowhere.

I take that back. If anything, I sat down and realized I have nothing at odds to complain about. That's an accomplishment in itself. Oh sure, I've got trivial things to complain about-dirty dishes, dirty kids, bad haircut, and so on- and not so trivial things - budgeting sucks, Jace's poor eye is still not well, the car needs to go the shop again, the size of my arse. Yes, I included my rearview in the non-trivial category. Have you seen it? It's out of control!

The point is, if there's a point at all (again, sorry about that), I'm sane today. I be needing zero therapy.

But it is only 7 am. And tomorrow is a new day.

Identity Crisis

I can remember the days before email, like most of my readers can. I was a junior in high school when I discovered this magical mailing system and a freshman in college before I had my own yahoo email account. Before then, I knew who I was as best a hormonal, angry, feisty, teenager with angst could. So I wonder what my email id would have been back then. cheerordie@yahoo.com? differentweek_differentboy@yahoo.com? cant_wait_to_grow_up_and_have_no_rules@yahoo.com perhaps? All likely suspects.

When I graduated, as the story goes, I joined the Army Nat'l Guard. In a sea of college students, that's what set me apart. Thus, I was carli_inthe_army@yahoo.com. It was how people knew me, what I was known for. My American Sign Language name given to me by my Deaf friend was the sign for Army with a C. When I ran, it was for Army training. I wore my Army PT shirt proudly and scoffed at people who got theirs from surplus stores. But as you know, people change.

I got married, had a kid. My identifier shifted from soldier to mommy. And so the era of jacesracer@yahoo.com began. Which was great! I love being Mom and saying that's what I do. When kid number two came around, I realized I will have to change my email address. Can't mention one without the other right? So I started trying to think of something neutral. Something that represents me and me alone. Me sans kids. Me sans husband. Just me.

I couldn't come up with anything. *Gasp* What does this mean? Am I not my own person anymore? Have I lost my identity?? Am I solely known as wife/mom now? I love that I'm those things, but I guess this is part of why moms/wives feel a little lost sometimes. From sun up to sun down, our days are spent caring for others. When I do do something for myself, I feel selfish like I'm stealing something from my family.

So that leaves mom_wife@yahoo.com. I did manage to come up with something a little more creative than that, however it means the same thing. But that doesn't mean I don't enjoy other things for myself. I have a couple of hobbies. I have friends. Hubby and I get to do grownup things every once in a while. But that's my identity right now. I'm Mom. That's how the two most important people in the world know me. I'm Wife, too. That's how the third most important person knows me.

Eventually it will change again. When the kids get older and have identities of their own, I will have more time to explore mine. As weird as it is, though, being known as what I am for someone else, I couldn't see it any other way.

This is me now.

I need help...

...as in Psychiatric help. For the past three nights I've had very disturbing dreams/nightmares. I've had weird dreams as long as I can remember but this most recent saga has stuck with me throughout the day and is making me, for lack of a more elaborate description, freak the hell out.

Dream 1, The Baby Farm. So I went into this convention center/church/concert hall to see three large rows of machines. They had gigantic pink glass bulbs with electric beams shooting around inside them. It looked like something straight off the X Files. And then, DING! Out pops a row of newly manufactured babies! Suddenly people appear. They're my parents informing me that the last group had successfully been reincarnated and they're baaa-aaack. I look over a row and dinging machines inform me that slightly larger humans are 'done'. Third row, full-sized adults are being produced.

Okay, yeah, this is weird and freaky, right? Wait it gets worse.

My "parents" escort me to the adjacent human holding area where about a hundred people are lying on a raised platform covered in blankets and wearing diapers. I'm informed that these people are waiting to die and be reincarnated into the pink bulb dinging machines. I look closer and realize there are nurses, Dr. Kavorkian-style, bustling about comforting the willing martyrs. I look even closer and see my parents lying there awaiting their fate.

I blow up. I'm outraged! I yell and scream and throw things and tell them to get up. They calmly inform me not to worry. They'll be back in 15 minutes. There's something wrong with this logic.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, however you wanna see it) I didn't see the end. I woke up.

Dream 2, Freezer Burn. I've come down with a cough and I'm convinced I'm going to die. (again with the dying. What is wrong with me?) I find out about a quick and painless way to die instead of waiting out the inevitable stressful hospital stays and hospice care and months of grieving family. And good news! There's a session I can join right away! Several others and I file down what can only be described as a college campus, pick up our canoes, and head downstairs to the campus freezer. One by one, the other fatally ill participants slide their canoes into the freezer and lay down in them. Then (and only then!) I decide I might stand back and see how the process is done before I submit to the guillotine. I watch each one struggle with the feeling of freezing to death before my eyes until eventually, they are gone. Deceased. I'm confused. Didn't they get some sort of sedative? Nope. Wasn't it painless? Apparently not, after watching them squirm and moan. I'm thinking maybe a cough isn't so bad after all.

Dream 3, The Unthinkable. The beginning details are fuzzy, but the rest are clear. Something tragic happened and Shea and Jace were the culprits. They were somehow involved in a murder. And Jace, at the ripe age of four, is put in jail. Sounds funny enough, except I felt what a mother would feel if her baby was ripped away from her. He was in a different cell and given a few toys and a personal caretaker that came in to talk to him for only a few minutes a day. He was terrified and distraught. I was only allowed to visit him for five minutes a week. We spent our five minutes cuddling and telling him it would be okay. He cried and cried. My heart was broken. It still feels broken this morning, even in complete consciousness. There's more, but it all seems like trivial details. A weird clown car that had a stick shift, which I can't drive, that was my only transportation to go see Jace. Shea being on trial himself but he didn't have to stay in jail.

I woke this morning feeling that angst, that dread of a mother separated from her child. I finally reassured myself - he wouldn't be in jail, he'd be in juvee. Wait, he's not in either, he's in his bed! Phew!

With all three dreams they felt so real! Relief didn't come when I woke up. I kept feeling them throughout the rest of the day. I felt my parents dying. I felt the people in their canoes dying. I felt my son's fear and abandonment. It. Was. Awful.

I thought maybe by writing them down I would have some epiphany as to their meanings or that maybe I could just forget them altogether. To me, writing is cathartic, my own personal therapist. But these aren't feelings one forgets willy nilly.

Oh well. Here's to happy thoughts. Rainbows and unicorns. Macaroni and cheese. Cheech and Chong. ANYTHING besides the nonsense I've been dreaming about!!

Avoidance

I have figured something out about myself. Okay, I figured out a long time ago, but finally have the plums to admit it. You know that old childhood hide and seek tactic that if you close your eyes and stand really still the 'seeker' can't find you? For some reason, I still think that works.

Bills on the counter? Look away! They're not really there. Laundry piling up? It's an illusion, I tell you. And most recently, the scale in the bathroom. If I pretend it doesn't exist, I won't have to step on it for it to tell me I've gained weight. There. Problem solved.

Except my pants are getting tighter and my fat girl undies are fitting again. Blast.

I've noticed this problem before. Like, everyone that knows me assumes I watch American Idol because it was once my dream of being a singer. And you would think, given my cheerleading background, that I would revel in watching shows like Bring It On 1 thru 9. But no. Both of those shows just make me sad. Sad that I didn't follow through with my dream to become a famous country star with a mean Herky. So I avoid it. I turn the channel. Look away. I can't see it, so it's not there.

I realize this is a piss poor way to deal with problems. It's not dealing at all, really. I certainly don't see any results from this method, other than late notices and something I like to call Mt. Laundree'. But what's the alternative? Actually doing something about it? Pshaw!

Okay, okay. I know, I know. Sometimes I have to remind myself I'm an adult and biting the bullet and doing things I don't want to do because they have to be done is part of being the A word. Thank the Lord I'm married to a very responsible, bill-paying adult who has a knack for knocking out loads of laundry in 29 minutes flat. (Seriously, how does he do that?) But all too often he feels the burden and reminds me that I need to step up my game. And I always view this as "constructive criticism". Ha! Pshaw times seven.

Anyway, I guess if I were in a 12-step program, I would be completing step 1. "Hi, my name is Carli and I avoid things I don't like." So what's step 2? Well, in my ongoing weight battle, I locked horns with the scale and told it to kiss my chubby buns. Then I did P90X. But the other areas of my life? Well, I still have to work on them.

But I see them. They are there. No more hiding.

Ramona Quimby is My Homegirl

So last night I watched Ramona and Beazus. My neice is here and it was her movie pick, but to be honest I had a secret longing to watch it anyway. So thanks, Lo, for being my scapegoat.

Ramona is a girl after my own heart. She's spunky. She's courageous. She's not afraid to be different. She'd rather wear t-shirts than tiaras. She's fierce.

But she has a vulnerable side to her as well. With courage comes failure. If you think about it, it's really a numbers game. One who never takes risks undoubtably has a low failure rate. But for girls like me and Ramona...well, sometimes it feels like failure is our middle name.

Despite our best efforts, things just go wrong. We get grand ideas that we just KNOW are going to impress and dazzle and somehow we forget one tiny little detail that unravels the whole scheme, thwarting all our efforts and shadowing our true intent. Drat that stupid Murphy and his stupid law.

But in the movie last night, Ramona saw a way to "save" her family. It was going to take something big, but that didn't scare her. She tried. Chaos ensued.

I'm in a similar situation. I was presented with a way to really help my family financially, but it's something completely out of my comfort zone and it's something I've failed at several times before. If I succeed, it will be big. Vindication big. But if I fail...ohhhhhh if I fail. It will be just one more punch in the gut that reminds me that I have fallen short of expectations. Again.

In the end, Ramona did, in fact, save the day. And after switching off the telly I felt pumped, empowered! If Ramona can do it...IIII can do it!! Okay, so Ramona lives in La La Land where there's always happy endings. But surely my number is up to succeed. Surely Murphy is burdening someone else at the moment.

It's a risk. I could fail. But that never stopped Ramona. And like I said, Ramona is my homegirl.

I'm just....mad.

I was an angry child. I don't know why. I had great parents, great family, a stable home, plenty to eat, presents for every birthday and Christmas, cartoons on Saturday...but I was still angry. Sure, I had a brother that LOVED to call me bubble-butt (a name not totally undeserved). And I had a sister that NEVER let me touch her things. And I lost my mom. But really, I don't know what constituted my anger.

Today, I still have angry days and I still don't know why. Today, I'm just mad for some reason. I've got a few to-do's lingering over my head with a deadline quickly approaching and that situation always gets me frazzled. But what the french, toast? I walk to the fridge and I'm mad that I can't eat anything in it. Then I'm mad that I eat it anyway. Then I sit down at the computer and my tasks don't go as planned so I'm mad about that. I look in the mirror and don't like the reflection so I'm mad at the mirror. Then Jace wants juice and that makes me mad. Wait...I'm mad at Jace for wanting juice?!

I stop. I need to write. I need to write quickly. Get this anger in check.

"What's going on, Carl?" (this is Self talking)

"Oh, I don't know self. Just pissed today." (me. You get the idea)

"Well, snap out of it! You've got some pretty darn good kids counting on you to be their happy mommy and you're pretty much dropping the ball today."

"I know, I know! I need to change my 'tude! But I can't get out of this funk. What should I do."

"Darn it, Private just do what you gotta do!" (Self has morphed into one of my old drill sergeants now. sheesh.) "As your Meenie would sing, 'Count your blessings...Name them one by one.'"

"You're right."

"I'm always right." (kind of a know-it-all sometimes, isn't she?)

"Okay, okay... 1. Kids, two of them, nuff said. (melting, the anger is melting already) 2. The ability to do said 'to-do's'. 3. Beautiful day today (drip, drip, drip.) 4. I'm not working (major melting...like buttah) 5. Kids. 6. Jace. 7. Mia. 8. Hubby (whose not a kid) (it's going...going.....GONE) Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh"

"There, now isn't that better?"

Yes, much better.

Deja' Vu

It starts so early. As soon as a woman meets the man she'll marry, she envisions what her children will look like. For some, it's even a deciding factor for choosing a mate. Does he have good genes? Will he go grey? Will they get his blue eyes? And finally, the day comes when she sees her baby boy's face for the first time and all her thoughts are confirmed - he's perfect!

The boy grows and changes and every time she looks at him, she is further convinced that he's the most beautiful boy in the whole world. But then her vision of her perfect child is corrupted. A fall at school leaves his handsome smile scarred with a chipped tooth. She cries but is glad he's okay and nothing more serious.

Before long, the chipped tooth becomes a part of his charm and charactar. Life proceeds as usual, with her ideal son persisting as the center of her life. He reaches several milestones right on target and impresses the people around him with his witty conversation and inventive personality. Nothing can go wrong for this golden boy.

Nothing except ice cream.

One bite made her realize her son was in pain. The thought of anything being wrong with her baby makes her want to cry and when the dentist tells her he has to pull the baby's front tooth, she's heartbroken. His three-year-old-pictures won't be the same. His beautiful, chipped, quirky smile different and wrong. But she's just glad that he's no longer in pain. As she holds her baby's head in her lap as he sleeps away the pain and memory of his dentist visit, though, she realizes he's the same boy after all. He still loves cho-choc and Curious George. He still loves to work outside in his mud shoes and get dirty. And he still lives and breathes and loves his mama just like he did before. She'll get used to his new gapped smile just like she did before and come to love it as part of her little man.

She'll also learn a valuable lesson. She learned that if she continued to expect her son to look a certain way or act a certain way, then she's setting herself up for a life of heartache. Because children change and grow and they don't ask permission to do so. And no matter how they surprise you, they are still perfect because they are yours.

I wrote this after Jace's chipped tooth had to be pulled and it just broke my heart for him to have a "flaw". I know, I know...it was pretty darn vain of me to think that way. But after taking Jace to the eye doctor today and learning he might have to have glasses, the same feelings came flooding back and I remembered this journal entry I made. Admittedly, it's a bit melodramatic. But in my defense, I was pregnant then and had an abundance of hormones doing most of my talking for me. At any rate, if it comes down to Jace needing glasses, I'll just be happy he's alive and well and a fantastically rambunctious little man.

No Bra Required

There's an old adage that says dogs and their owners eventually look alike. Well, I think exercises and their 'doers' have the same tendency.

I'm usually a pretty intense person, albeit in short bursts (we've discussed my ADD issues into the dirt, no need to revisit). I like to get in, do the darn thing, and be done with it. But I like to think I do it with gusto. The cleaning I'm always complaining about? Once I finally do it, I sweep in (ha, no pun intended) like an underpaid housekeeper and be done with it. No time to fiddle-fart around, I blogs to write, darn it. Anywho, I'm much the same with exercising. I like to feel the burn, break a sweat, really feel like I've accomplished maximum calorie burn.

In the past I've tried various alternative workouts. Pilates hit the scene and my uber long and lean friend, Kelli, insisted that it's the best workout ever. It suited her. It relaxed her and made her feel even more long and lean. I, on the other hand, with my two feet wing-span, just felt even shorter and squattier than usual and like I'd just wasted 30 minutes of staccato breathing.

Then I tried Yoga...hmmm. For the earthy types, I can see how it would blow their dress up. Me, I kept looking around the room thinking, 'no one's really buying this "tailbone into the earth" crap, are they?'

But for the past few weeks, I've done a boot camp at Lake Hefner. Yeah, now that's something that gets me going! It's charged full of energy. It's a competition to see who won't puke up their cheeseburger (sorry Fer Fer, had to throw that in ;) It lets me relive my glory days as an Army PT Queen. Yes, I even let out a little reminiscent "hooah" at yesterday's camp. It hurts and sucks and rocks all at the same time. And it's something you can walk away from going, "Yeah, that's right sucka! I did it! What? You wanna piece of me?" and then admire the faint hint of definition in your triceps. Good times, good times....

....but sometimes....it's nice to enjoy a different kind of workout. The intensity is exciting and challenging and that's the kind of person I am. Today, though, I played the part of someone different. Today I was a dancer at a barre, a ballet barre, not the topless variety. I felt silly 'lengthening' and 'pointing' and gracefully doing plies and whatnot. But after all the blood-pumping activity yesterday, it was nice to burn some calories without the aid of a sports bra. No sweat, no water bottle even. Just muscles burning and "lengthening".

It was nice, different. Different can be good. Aaahhhh....

Different Kind of Politics

You're at the park and you see one of "those" kids. You know, the ones that are pushing the other kids or hogging the slide or just being unruly. What's the first thing you do? Look around for his mom. What's the next thing you do? Judge. Let's face it, we've all done it and we all assume we've never been the subject of said judgement. Well, that's just not true. No matter how hard we try, at some point our parenting skills fall short of others' expectations.

Now that Jace is getting older and entering various social scenes, I feel like I'm on constant don't-do-that mode for fear of having "that" kids and getting "those" looks. Now, with my close group of friends, we've been around each other enough to know each other's style of parenting and are supportive of each other. But in a more neutral setting, such as Jace's t-ball games, there's a very fine line that must be walked. Let your kid push and shove and rough-house and you get that 'geez-do-something-with-that-kid' look. Shout over the crowd, drag him off the field, sit him down, basically make a scene, and you get the "wow-that-lady-needs-to-learn-how-to-control-her-kid" look. It's exasperating.

The right thing to do, I know this, is to just be confident in my own parenting skills. I'm just not. that. confident. I'm constantly worried about what other people think, like their opinion qualifies me as a parent. Even though I've never, ever heard any of their opinions voiced aloud.

Only once have I had another mom openly chastise my kid in front of me and let's just say I put a stop to that right quick like. (Seriously, who lets a one-year-old play in a ball pit with big 4 and 5 year old boys?) I guess I can say that was one time I felt confident enough to know I was officially doing my job.

I guess I'm just surprised by this phenomenon. This is not something I ever anticipated. Having trials and challenges as a parent is one thing, but to have your stinkin' hard work scrutinized by the surrounding public is another. It's not like we can turn to the on-lookers and say, "What? You think you can do it any better?!" Oh, can you imagine??? Classic!! I think I might just give that a try one day. Cast your votes for Mom of the Year right here, please.

Our Story, Just Like Us

After reading my cousin Kaycie's blog detailing her love story with her new hubby (my actual cousin, I inherited Kaycie in the deal), reliving that old spark, that wonderful, gooey, makes-everyone-else-sick-to-their-stomach story sounds like a great idea. This is the first challenge @www.mommyfriend.com called Project Marriage.

So here it goes...

Shea and I are both pretty laid back creatures. Well, okay, I'm not so much. I tend to spaz at times but when it comes to things I'm still very que sera sera. And so our love story is very much the same.

Easter weekend 2004. I had just gotten home from a year long deployment to Iraq and Shea was visiting his parents in our hometown of Comanche. I went to one of those has-been parties where everyone who graduated from Comanche in the last ten years went to catch up with friends. I bumped into a friend of mine who proceeded to borrow my phone to call up some of his buddies. Shea was numero uno.

I could hear them chatting; Shea asked who all was there and Scotty ran down the list, completely leaving me off of it until I gave a good blow to his ribs. I should mention here that I knew exactly who Shea was. He was the high school senior that we all had crushes on in junior high. The football jock. The guy with the cool car that worked at the local grocery store. He. Was. A. God. (in our eyes) So when Scotty (finally) threw in that I was there, Shea's tone mysteriously changed and said he'd be there in a few. Hmmm...

For the next five to ten minutes I tried positioning myself all over the house trying to look inconspicuous but at the same time, well, conspicuous (I didn't want any of the other hoochies snatching him up, darn it!) He walked in and I played it cool. Oh yes. I played it cool. As best I could with failing anti-perspirant. We started chatting and I did my best to relate to him in some fashion. Sadly, the military slant was all I had. He had just gotten out of the Navy so we had some common ground there.

Finally, at the end of the night he got a little awkward and said, "So, would you like to hang out some time?" Aaahh, the line to end all lines. But it worked so I guess I can't judge. I gave him "digits" and four days later (stupid, rackin frackin, bleepity bleep guys) he called.

We talked for hours. And hours. We had our first date the next weekend. I drove to Edmond to see him and just didn't leave. I was supposed to go to Stillwater for another friend's get together and had to drag myself away, five hours late, to go to it. I drove away, wishing I hadn't, missing him already, and when I stopped at a red light, a 'crossroads' if you will, I decided not to go to Stillwater. I turned right, instead of left, and went home. And as I drove south, I said right then and there, "I'm going to marry that man."

I called Shea later that night. He was surprised to hear from me. He then surprised me by showing up back in Comanche the very next day. For the next three months, we were burning the highways to see each other. One day, he was getting ready to leave my house and said, "Man, I don't wanna leave." We were tired of living in different towns and were thinking of options. I said, "Let's just get married!" And he said, "Okay." First laughter, then silence. We looked at each other and realized we were both serious.

We got married a month later on the beach of Jamaica with only a dread-locked white woman in a bikini and a Jamaican Sandal's employee in attendance. That was almost eight years ago. We've definitely had some kinks to work out that comes with getting married so fast and so young (well, on my part. Shea robbed the cradle just a bit.) But I don't see it ending any time soon.

When you know, you know, right?

Blog-tastic Tuesday!

Aaaand what's the topic of the day? Politics!! I know, I know. When you see something with the suffix '-tastic' in the title, you don't automatically jump to politics. But that's the beauty of Blog-tastic Tuesday! I get to write about something outside the Carli box. And for those that know me well, politics is waaaay outside my box. I hate them. With a passion. I vote, but rarely as an educated voter. Which brings me to the catalyst behind this post.

It's already happening. We're coming up on an election year and we are already bombarded with the political circus. This morning I was watching my favorite morning ritual, the Today Show, and there was an expose' on Mitt Romney in the first 30 minutes. The FIRST thirty minutes! I wonder how much he paid for that?? I listened to the interview and I thought, sure, I'd vote for him. Then I realized just how shallow my opinion was and how easy my approval was won. Lame. I'm like a political prostitute. "Sure, you've got my vote. Oh and so do you! And you do too! Sure, why not?!"

During the last election I legitimately tried to educate myself. Now I didn't go watching CNN for hours but I did Google the heck out of the candidates. Basically they all said the same thing. "I can fix all the nation's problems. All other candidates are incompetent." How in the Hades are we supposed to choose a President when they all argue and backstab and spin headlines and point fingers and make promises and have love-children with maids and gay sons in the closet?

It makes my head spin! It's no wonder I've never held interest in it before. It's a circus but not the good kind. And it makes me sick the amount of money they spend to get our votes. If they all just told the truth and said what they would really do for the American public, all that money could be spent on, say, education? Public safety? The economy? Job placement agencies? If they all just told the truth they wouldn't need millions and millions of dollars and an entourage to make themselves look good.

So that's why I've never been interested in Politics. When I feel uneducated or ignorant, I think about the fact that I choose to be that way. They can wear all the American flag pins they want but at the end of the day we still don't know who they are. If being uneducated and ignorant means not being subjected to their Oscar-worthy speeches, then I'm okay with that. (This is where I fold my arms and give an authoritative head bob)

Pros and Cons

I decided, after much introspection, that I, in fact, am not perfect. *GASP* "What? What's that you say, Carli? It can't be true!!"

Yes. Yes it can.

There are definitely things I'm good at; however, the list of things I'm NOT good at is extensive. For some reason, I have a hankering to make a list of both.

Let's start with the cons so we can end on a good note:
1. Cleaning house. Mostly because I hate it.
2. Math. Again, I hate it. Thanks a lot, Mr. Howeth.
3. Listening for long periods of time. Just not gonna happen.
4. Being told I'm wrong. Proooobably not gonna win that battle even if I KNOW I'm in fact wrong.
5. Managing my time. I think this list is a good example.
6. Following through with projects.
7. Multi-tasking. It hurts my brain.
8. Keeping my mouth shut. I am constantly tasting the flavor of my own feet.
9. Losing. Believe it or not, I'm VERY competitive. That's why I never played sports. I hated what they did to me.
10. Gardening. Even my poor Chia pet is losing its oomph.

Okay, those weren't so bad. There are a lot more things I suck at, but I don't want to be too much of a debbie downer.

Things I'm good at. yay! The fun part:
1. Singing.
2. Making people laugh.
3. Creative projects. Unfortunately, see item #6 above.
4. I'm a good motivator.
5. Playing with my kids.
6. Exercising. I don't really know if that's something you can be good at, but I feel like I am.
7. Cooking, when I get the itch.
8. Writing


As you'll notice, there are fewer Pros than Cons. Isn't that just the way we all feel about ourselves? It's so easy to pick out things we don't like. I didn't even TOUCH my own body image issues! Phew, that would have been another list entirely!

I guess I feel like this list warranted being made because I'm still exploring myself as a person these days. I will have to peruse old journals to see if a similar list exists from, say, my high school years. What would have been on my list then? Cheerleading, talking on the phone, making jokes about teachers, having lots of boyfriends (is that a Pro or a Con...you decide).

I bet I look back on this list ten years from now and laugh and think, 'Oh, what a schmuck I was!'

I challenge you to make your own list. Go on, give it a shot. You can do it! You're a great person with lots of your own Pros. Let's hear 'em! See, told you I was a good motivator. ;)

When I grow up...

When I was in 4th grade, I signed autographs for my classmates and told them it would be worth something one day because I was going to be a famous country singer. When I was in junior high, I went with my aunt to a Take Your Daughter to Work Day and sat in her cubicle doing "fun" data entry stuff and thought...Yeah! This would be so much fun! Then when I was in high school I decided to be a psychologist. Like maybe I could cure all my fellow crazies out there.

But as the story goes, I joined the National Guard to pay for college to become the thing that I wanted to be except by the time I actually got to college and had all the opportunities in front of me...I had NO idea what I actually wanted to make a career out of.

Eight years, a deployment, one kid, one husband, and seven majors later, I STILL didn't know what I wanted to do! I took countless Intro To _____ classes exploring different options. I changed majors according to job markets, my own tastes, and which ones didn't require Calculus. And somehow I managed to get a Bachelor's Degree in....wait for it.....Interdisciplinary Studies! Wait, what? Yeah. It's a degree in nothing and everything, but really it's a degree in two different majors. Mine is between Education and Physical Fitness. Funny thing about having half a degree in two things - you can't actually DO either of them professionally. Go figure.

While my degree did get me a professional job as an Program Support Assistant, this was NOT one of my dream jobs from childhood. Now that my official title is Super Mom Extraordinaire, I find myself thinking about my next career path. I'm in no hurry to go back to work, but eventually the kids will both be in school and I'll be left with some hours to fill. So...if I had it to do allll over again, what would I pick?? Going back to school is not an option right now. That rules out Anesthesiologist. (Those of you that understand my ADD issues realize just how funny that is. Can you imagine?) Hmmm...photography is something I could pick up and gradually get into on my own. My girlfriend recently told me I should be a Zumba instructor. I like to doing crafts and stuff, but isn't very profitable. . .

Hmmm...well, while my college days are over -and when I say college days I mean the days of having no one to consider but myself- I feel like I can still dream about what I want to be someday. Who knows, maybe I'll become a famous singer after all.

Who Knew?

A few of you have commented on how much you like my blog recently and I gotta say, I'm shocked people actually read my silly ramblings. Most of the time, my writing is more of a cathartic thirty-minute 'getaway' rather than something intended to entertain others. I've kept a journal/diary off and on since I was little. Remember those cute little Dear Diaries that had a lock and key? Turns out those weren't too hard to pick. I found that out when my stinky brother Cody and his friends started reading it aloud and laughed hysterically while I screamed and cried for him to shut up. My deepest, darkest secret revealed: I had a crush on Casey/Dustin/Jimmy/Clint/Willie or whoever it was that week.

I like to think my journals have evolved since then. I wrote throughout high school about proms and fights and more crushes. Nothing terribly deep in comparison to real life these days, but Ohhh they were my MOST treasured thoughts! Sometimes I couldn't go to sleep until I got all those gems out of my head. College days, I didn't write much. I was too busy working and going to school and keeping up with my cheating boyfriend. But then when I was deployed, I kept every letter I ever got and those became my journal, a journal of everything that happened when I was gone.

Now that the kiddos are the center of my universe, I journal about them. Each of them have their own journal and I try to write in them about once a month. Funny things they say or do, challenges, triumphs, my feelings for them at that particular moment. Mostly, I do it for myself, so I won't forget all the little details that seem to melt away as new years come and they become different people than they were the day before.

So I'm flattered that so many of you enjoy my writing. Kind of makes me feel the need to up the ante just a tad. All the same, I put a lot personal feelings out there for all the world to see. As my blog is rightly titled, this is me now. I'm glad you all dig it.

Self-motivation

For some reason, I need a reason to do things. It takes outside motivators to get me to all the mundane things that people are "supposed" to do. If it were up to me, I'd rarely pick up my clothes out of the floor. But thanks to the motivation of my hubby (and when I say motivation, I really mean nagging) I keep them picked up. Doctor's and dentist visits? When nothing is wrong?! Pa-shaw! Getting out of bed BEFORE the baby cries? Are you mental?! I'm just NOT a self-motivator. I've known this for a long time and I'm finally ready to admit it.

Since the beginning of my stint as a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM), I've looked for legitimate ways to make money from home. But most of them require being your own boss. And I can finally say I know myself well enough that I would be a really friggin easy boss. Wanna take the day off? Suurrre...go ahead! You know what, self, just take the whole week off...What's that?....ohhh, it's nothing, really. Enjoy yourself! See where this is going?

I'm about to start round 2 of Biggest Loser. I rocked the first one, lost a lot of weight that I've been telling myself to lose for the last four years. But, surprise surprise, it took a competition (and prize money) to motivate me to do it. What happened when the competition ended? I gained 8 pounds. Son of a motherless goat.

I'm sick of "needing" something to get me going!!! Why can't I just WANT to do these things?? Does everyone just have to MAKE themselves do the crap they don't want to do? I'd like to walk to the pantry and say no to junk because IIIII don't want it, not because I have a weigh-in on Monday. That's why I sometimes think I should have been a personal trainer. Then it would be my JOB to look good. But alas, I am not. Nor will I ever be.

So I'm back to self-motivation. Sadly, I have no epiphany. No "aha moment". Just gotta get the lead out, Carl.

Scattered

I have a lot of thoughts in my head today. I'm kidless again and ohhh, the possibilities. But I decided to take a more productive approach to my temporary freedom. Keep in mind, I've already gotten some of these done, I'm just taking a break to clear my head.
Thoughts after weighing this morning: $#!%!! $&%@!! &@! I've gained 7 lbs back. What am I gonna do? P90X...that's such an intense workout but gets the job done. Gotta do something or I'll be right back where I started. Dang I was doing so good! Hmmm...what can I eat? No! No no no...focus. Okay, I'll eat nothing but Slim-Fast the rest of the week. Yes, that'll work. No, I'm already hungry just thinking about it. K, I'll watch Biggest Loser and do the Abs Diet. Will read Abs Diet book and make shopping list while I suntan this afternoon. Okay, got a plan. (Then I went and did P90X, but my favorite one, not the hardest one).

Thoughts about housework: Okay, been saying I was going to deep clean carpets for months. Gotta do it. No matter what. Think of it as more exercise...yeah, I'm not any more excited about it. Just gotta suck it up and do it. Man, I'd rather drink coffee and watch Kathy Lee and Hoda. Nope, get up and do it. (Did it. Done.)

Thoughts about the rest of my to-do list: Need to look at project, need to finish laundry from last week and restart laundry for this week. Bollucks. Need to shower at some point today. Would be nice to clean out the car, but what's the point? Okay, these aren't so bad, I'm just procrastinating because I hate doing them. Just do it and it's over and I can enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Okay. Sounds like a plan.

Other random thoughts: I'd like to go to the library. Don't have time. I'd like to finish my pomander project. I guess that can wait. There's a lot more housework I could add to previous list, but, eh, not today. Hey! I could go use the neighborhood gym for once! Not a bad idea! Still can't get that dream out of my head. I dreamed I lost Mia, looked everywhere for her, and then remembered I had left her in the car. I watched The Hangover last night, maybe that's why - kind of the same story line. Speaking of Mia, gotta go pump.

Okay, I think I feel a little less scatter-brained than 20 minutes ago. Better, yes. Laundry here I come!

Second time around

When Jace was little(er), I had a crappy video camera that took an adapter to be played on tv. It was bulky and constantly needed to be charged. As a result, I just don't have that many videos of Jace before he was 2. I'm kicking myself. For Mother's Day last year, hubby got me a Flip camera. It's tiny, easy to use, one plug and I have instant videos on Youtube and FB. Mia is 8 months old and I already have hundreds of videos of her.
I'm really afraid Jace will get offended one day, just as I did after seeing my oldest sister's baby book overflowing with detail and pictures and mine only half-finished. I was given the explanation that after the first two kids, moms just don't have much time to mess with baby books. I guess my explanation to Jace will be...I didn't know what I had till it was gone.
Holding Mia and watching her do so many great baby things, I relish every minute because I know it's the last time I'll have a baby of my own. I want all her sweet baby moments on camera so I can look back at them and remember her before she grew boobs and started being embarrassed by me. And the only reason I know to do that is because Jace's baby moments just flew by me. Poof. Gone.
It's sad that I don't have more memories I can see on a screen, but I haven't forgotten his baby face. I use that Flip camera just as much on Jace as I do Mia now. It took the second one to help me love the first one even more.

Blogging+coffee+happy kids= Good times, good times

Mia's in her high chair enjoying a puff (little dissolvable treats, not the hashish variety), Jace is content with George and Choc-choc, I've got my highly-sugared-and-doctored-so-much-you-can-hardly-call-it-coffee coffee, and I've got 30 minutes to blog and check FB. There's a voice whispering to me...you're an adult now! You drink morning coffee and watch birds eat seed on your back porch! Congratulations!! But seriously, why doesn't everyone do this??? I can totally see my teen aged nieces sipping Folgers and commenting on the variety of blue jays!
I've definitely settled into some new habits in my "old age". Shea commented that I wasn't nearly as picky about things when we first got married and I agree. But then he said, maybe I've just grown up a bit and have figured out what I like and what I don't like. Hmmm...if my level of pickiness has increased that much in 7 years then I guess I can understand why old women get so cranky when they don't get what they want.
Lately I've been baking and cooking new meals that don't include boxes or "adding water". As mentioned before I started drinking coffee (if you can call it that). I'm not so committed to this new habit that I require a coffee maker. But I have fancy creamer and Folgers Singles. And also mentioned before, we like to watch the birds on our back porch. A fun outing is a trip to the library. And a hectic day is a trip to the grocery store with napless kids. Awww how things change. I like it though.
If this is getting old, then I guess I'm okay with that. But geez, I hope I'm not having mid-life symptoms. I heard the song "Remember When" yesterday and the line "Remember when...30 seemed so old. Now looking back it's just a stepping stone." Kind of got me choked up. I squnched both of my kids and thought about how fast everything changes. It's nice to live in the slow-lane.

Two-day Vaca

Two whole days. For TWO whole days I got to be someone else. I got to be free of obligations. Free of baggage. Free of schedules and naptimes. Free of kids.
After a bit of arm-twisting, my parents convinced me to let Mia Girl have her first sleepover. From Sunday evening to Tuesday evening I was footloose and fancy free! And it. was. great!
Sunday evening, hubby and I were spontaneous and went to see a movie that didn't start until 8:30. I know, rebels, right? Then Monday I did a little bathing suit shopping. I saved that daunting task especially for a kid-free moment. I had some coffee and a muffin. Took a leisurely stroll through Hobby Lobby and never once had to yell at anyone not to touch glass stuff or squeeze the fake grapes. I got what I needed for a craft project and headed home for a little R&R. I popped in a chick-flick, grabbed some chocolate, and started working on my project. Then after a bit, we went to a friend's house for dinner and drinks.
Tuesday, last day of freedom: I slept in a bit but had to get up and around to volunteer at the Arts Festival in OKC. I was a little bummed that my day had to be spent volunteering but when I got there, the atmosphere sucked me in. I was surrounded by talented artists, each with their own unusual technique or medium. I met a woman who used multiple layers of tinted bee's wax blown with a torch to create depth in her pictures. One Yosemity-Sam look-alike used junk from a salvage yard to make faces. It was great! I found myself chatting with the artists and asking them about their motivation and technique. I wandered through the statues and stopped to appreciate each one of them as I listened to a local band play. Who was I??? It felt so surreal. Like my alter-ego had taken over.
I thought about all things I got to do while I was kid-free and how much I missed that sense of doing things solely for myself. But then I realized the only reason I stopped to appreciate each selfish act was because of my kids. Without them I never would have known how valuable a lone trip to the dressing is or the joy from an uninterrupted movie. So maybe I got a glimpse of the "old me" but really, the "old me" was just a less enlightened, unfinished version of who I am now.
The kids came home with gusto. Within minutes the house was full with crying and diapers and "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom!" I breathed a sigh of relief. My kids were back and things were back to "normal".

No Boys Allowed!

Mia and I are having a girl's day...for the next three days. Big brother is gone to the grandparents' and we are lounging in the floor enjoying the quiet. Well, almost quiet. Mia is 'singing' right now. It's such a sweet sound, though. Who couldn't love that? I think she's just giddy with the excitement about getting to play with bubba's toys while he's out. I would love to jump up and grab the camera but she would see me walk out of the room and instantly start crying.

I found this entry half finished, well, not even half-finished, just half-started. I don't know where I was going with it, though. I was probably finding myself with ample free time since the big kid was out of the house. I've always thought of babies as the more time-consuming species, but honestly, my four-year-old is a much more demanding breed. He talks and talks and needs things, lots of things, and wants to go here and there and doesn't want to go to the places and do the things I need him to go and do. In comparison, he's exhausting! But I love him! So I'm not surprised I decided a girls only day was something worth warranting. Too bad I didn't finish it. Wait, I guess I just did.

We will never forget

There have been several events in my 29 years that I can remember exactly where I was when they happened. I was in Mrs. Moon's third grade class when my name was blasted over the intercom telling me to come to the principal's office. Not unusual, but all the kids still did the "ooooohhhh!!!" sounds anyway. Meenie was there to pick me up. My mom had been in a wreck. I was sitting in my Pappa's orange recliner watching live coverage when they announced Princess Diana had died. On 9/11 I was at Goody's working the customer service desk, hating my job, when the evil shrew Carol came running from the back to tell us about an "accicental" plane crash. A couple minutes later, we knew otherwise. I remember where I was when I got the call that I was getting deployed- walking across Wal-Mart parking lot in Ada. I left three days later. And sixteen years ago today, I was sitting in Mrs. Blanton's homeroom class when Billy Jo Ames came running down the hall to turn on our tv's. The Alfred P. Murrah building had been bombed and there was complete chaos going on in downtown Oklahoma City. One hundred and sixty-eight people lost their lives that day.
I watched the memorial ceremony this morning and remembered that day like it was yesterday. I looked at the faces of the lives that were lost and thought about who they were - mothers, daughters, sons, fathers, wives, husbands, friends. The kids in the nursery would be in college right now. The young parents would be grandparents. So much potential lost at the expense of two evil, truly evil conspirators.
Sadly, there's no spin on this blog, folks. I usually try to end with a good note, to turn an unpleasant, albeit silly situation into a good one. But it's hard to find good in a massacre. I guess all I can do is just be thankful I wasn't in that building that day and be thankful that the names on the screen today are strangers to me. Even still, I will never forget.

Things

Sometimes I feel like I've spent my entire day just moving things around. I wake up, move the baby to change, move her to feed, move her to the other 'side' to feed. I change clothes (sometimes) and move them around - to the dirty clothes basket, or back to the drawers, but usually just to another spot on the floor. Jacer Man wakes up, I move his stuff around. Sippy cups, "special" choc-choc wrappers, blankets, toys. Move baby to the floor, move her to my hip, to her crib, changing table, floor, hip, wash, rinse, repeat.
Why is that? After every task completed, however mundane, things must be moved either back into place or out of the way. Push the dirt around on the floor, move it to the trash, move trash to Dumpster, Dumpster to curb. I need to work out so I move my arms and legs and butt around till they can't move anymore. The only alternative, though, is to NOT move things. And when I do that, I feel rebellious, like I'm going on strike. "Hell no, move no mo'! Hell no! Move no mo'!!" But then I'm met with the inevitable dread when I look around and realize there's a LOT of things that need to be moved. It's a vicious cycle.
So what do I do? Stop moving things altogether? No, that's how people end up on 'Hoarding: Buried Alive'. I guess my real dilemma is that it just seems so pointless, such a time-sucker, like there's so many better/funner/important things I can be doing than shuffling my crap around the house. But again, the alternatives are either working and not being home to move these things or to not have things at all. Hmmm...on that note...
Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to move I go.

the American Dream

You know, life doesn't get much better than this. Sure. The economy is crap. The world hates the U.S. Gas is high and morale is low. Our politicians can't agree on anything we elected them to do. Our kids are rotten and don't do what they're told and have too many tattoos. Movies aren't what they used to be and popcorn costs a fortune. The small towns are drying up. Cowboys are a dying breed. Unemployment is at an all-time high and Wal-Mart is taking over the world. But.
I've got a roof over my head, a nice new roof that covers a nice new house that I never dreamed I would be lucky enough to live in. I've got food in my fridge, even though some of it is moldy. I've got two wonderful babies, one of which told me I "scared the crap out of him" this morning. And I've got a working, non-alcoholic, non-abusive, loving, caring husband whose American dream is to let me stay at home and raise our kids.
This is a bit sappy, yes. But the world just sucks sometimes. It's exhausting watching the news and hearing how we're all going to hell and how the world could collapse around us at any time. I was sitting on my back porch, absorbing some beautiful sun rays, reading a very sappy book, looking at my green grass, and drinking some iced tea and I thought, okay. The world has gone mad, but here in my little plot of Earth, things are just fine and dandy.

Is It Ever Enough???

It seems like every time I move I find stuff that I hadn't seen, well, since the last time we moved. Which in my case was only about 8 months ago, but still. Moving on. I came across some pictures of me from high school and early college days, and I think...wow! I was CLUELESS! And then I think, MAN! I was SKINNY!! But the sad thing is, at the time I thought I was fat. I obsessed about being one size smaller. About looking like her or her, fitting into that outfit, and worrying about my "huge" thighs and love handles. Quite simply, I'd kill to be in that shape again. No stretch marks, no marred belly-button ring scar, no odd belly flab that insists it deserves to be there, no weird looking skin under my arms that is starting to resemble Grandma Blanche's. Come to think of it, the worst body "defect" I had back then was my armpit stubble that never went away even after a fresh shave. I know, what a hardship.
But I guess it's as they say, It's All Relative.

I have three days left of a Biggest Loser Challenge and I'm holding steady in first place after losing more than 15% of my body weight. But this week, I've done nothing but stress about getting in a SECOND daily workout. It's not enough that I've been doing P90X EVERY day, a program whose mere commercials make some people tired. And I'm eating good food every day, even going to McDonald's and watching everyone else eat burgers and ice cream while I sit there with my dinky chicken nugget kid's meal and apples. But no! I've got to lose more, look better, work out harder, eat less, gotta win! And while some, okay a lot, of the motivation is simply my own competitive nature to beat my XY-chromosomed-cousin (have I mentioned they irk me?). I wonder if/when I see that magic number on the scale that says I'm socially acceptable, will I FEEL satisfied with my own reflection?

I'm gonna say yes to that one. I may feel a tinge of 'no' when I once again look at old high school pictures. But, as they say, it's the journey, not the destination, that counts. Considering what my body has been through in the past four years, I can handle a few battle scars.

The Crap in My Purse

While waiting on a friend today, I started digging through my purse just to see what has accumulated there. I'm not a big purse person. I never spend more than $15 on a purse and even then I keep it for a least three years when I finally break down and buy a new one. When I'm feeling frivolous, I buy one from Target...exactly. So after taking stock of its inventory, I felt like a list like this was just too odd not to share.

Seriously. This is what was in my purse.
1. Caress travel body wash (for those B.O. emergencies??)
2. Empty gum package
3. Hubba Bubba Gum Tape (not empty)
4. Four bottles of nail polish. If you've seen my nails, you would understand why this is so ironic.
5. A pair of socks. I guess you never know when your feet might get cold.
6. Three melted crayons.
7. A feather.
8. Raincheck receipt to Hobby Lobby.
9. A nut or some kind of questionable thing. All I know is it came from a tree.
10. An anklet, probably to make the socks look fancier.
11. A birthday card.
12. Broken pieces of candy cane.
13. A comb. Finally something that belongs in a purse.
14. Seventeen wrappers from who knows what.

What's NOT in there? My wallet. Poor Missy usually has the pleasure of toting it with her in the carseat.

I'm thinking I should clean it out, get a new one. But then, what the heck would be in there? Normal stuff?! Pi-shaw.

So here's a note to random citizens everywhere: If you're bored in the doctor's office, have a gander in my bag. Got dirty-puddle-splashed by a passing car? I gotcha covered. Wanna plant/eat/grow something? I've got your nut/seed/pod right here. Yes. You're welcome.


I mean, seriously. What IS that???

The official blog about nothing...

I've been encouraged to blog every day. I don't feel particularly inspired to write anything of great meaning soooo I'm really hoping something comes to me. I guess I can take a cue from my fellow blog buddy and just write about what's going on in my life right now. Nothing deep. Nothing profound. Nothing self-explorational (is that a word?). Just. what's up with me.

Here it goes...

We are closing on a house on Monday. Hopefully the last stinkin' time we do this ever. Okay, well, for at least the next ten years. I lived in the same house from the time I was 3 months old till I was 18, when I went running for something new and different. Now I think about my childhood home as a treasure, a haven. If it were suddenly gone, it would feel like a big piece of who I am disappeared with it.

My son is 3, turning 4 in April. This will be his fourth house to live in, not counting the four-month stint we lived with his grandparents. I'm not lovin the trend. We found a home in an area that WE love (what the grandparents think about it is a different blog altogether) and that we can call home for years to come. There's a peach tree in the back yard. I hope one day Lil Man tells his girlfriend how he hated picking up the peaches but LOVED the peach cobbler his mom made out of them. Or maybe he'll show his wife a patch of sheet rock that's a bit lumpier and newer than the rest due to an awesome curve ball he threw once. And Missy Girl...she'll take her first steps there. And have her first slumber party there. And have her first, well, all those unmentionable firsts that pubescent girls go through.


This was taken at our "Moore house" on "crazy sock day" at his preschool.


Everyone remembers WHERE they were when certain events happen in life. I want to look around myself 20 years from now and be able to point to where I was when my kids tell me they've won a special award, or made the team, or gotten into college.

Monday. We close Monday and the memories will begin. Not that they haven't till now. But this will be a chapter that isn't likely to end soon and I can't wait to start it.

Well, whaddya know? It turned out deeper than I thought. whoops.

Ten Mundane Things I Want to Do Before I Die

Okay, so everyone has a bucket list. A list of amazing, dramatic, nearly unachievable tasks they want to complete before they die. Some want to do crazy stuff like sky dive or bungee jump. Others are more culturally centered, like seeing every Pope during their life time. Some, still, have lofty goals like writing a memoir or solving a major social issue like world hunger. I, on the other hand, am aiming lower...much lower. Why set yourself up for failure, right? I'm not saying these goals are pointless or won't make me a better person. But I think they will be much more achievable in the long run.

1. Learn all the words to "Bust a Move". Cause you never know when the right Young MC lyric will be needed in casual conversation. Plus, it's just a fun song to sing.
2. Get one more tattoo. Yes. One and only one. I have absolutely no desire to put myself through the pain again, except one of my tattoos is of Jace's name. And, well, I have another kid now. Kind of seems like a no-brainer.
3. Paint every room in my house a different color. Seems easy enough, but then you have to consider who I'm married to: Captain Neutral.
4. Win a Karaoke contest. Not much to explain about that one.
5. Learn to play guitar. I mean really learn to play. I've dabbled a few times but still pretty much suck at it.
6. Grow a garden with actual edible food in it.
7. Get fit and then get certified to be a group fitness trainer. On my way to the "getting fit" part. I even had an opportunity to get trained to teach classes at the Simmons Center but passed it up. What was I thinking?
8. Get my master's degree in Exercise Science. Okay, so that one's not so mundane, but it is pretty achievable. More so than, say, curing cancer.
9. Ride/Own a bicycle built for two. I'll ride it and sing, "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do..." hands down, my favorite Meenie song.
10. Hmmm...I guess I'll go with run a marathon. I don't have much desire to do right now but someday I will and I really want those bragging rights.

So that's it. That's my grand mediocre list. And reading over them, my last few are all exercise-centered. Never really pegged myself as a fit-nut. But some day I will go back to work and that's really the only thing I ever thought I would really enjoy.

Just so you know, I do have a few stoic things in mind for my real bucket list. But I'll save those for me. I will say that three of them are living in my house as we speak.

Boys irk me. . . They're irksome.

Yes, Braylen, this is directed at you. And Hubby as well.

This is going to be a short blog. In a nutshell, it irks me that boys can just merely think about maybe considering to kind of want to attempt to lose weight and BAM!! They lose ten pounds instantly. I mean...what IS that?? It all lumps in with the the whole Eve-shooting-all-women-in-the-foot-when-she-ate-the-apple thing.

Grrr.

My First Hurdle

I've been handling this new fitness routine and lean eating like a champ. Like Rocky. I've even sang the theme song a time or two after finishing a workout. (seriously. try it. you'll feel 10 feet tall.) I'm on week five and currently in first place in a weight loss competition. I should have known that something would throw a wrench in my progress.
Friday the fam and I went to a local park to take advantage of the wonderful snow and do some sledding. I'm thinking 'yeah, this will be fun and extra exercise trekking back up the hill!' I'm in position for my first run and a lady next to us says, "Oh that's a good spot. No one's hit a tree all day." Ummm...give me 30 seconds and I'll change that. I wish the hubby had video taped it. Seriously. One second I'm about to hit a tree, the next I'm flat on my back with hubby standing over me. Luckily I stopped myself with my foot. UN-luckily I sprained my ankle. My first thought was....crap...crap. crap. crap. How in the crap am I going to do P90X, one of the most high impact workouts I've ever done, with a sprained ankle?
I was in so much pain that night but I don't think that was the reason I cried. I was mad because I finally had so much momentum going. I had that drive to succeed, the will-power to follow through. I had tunnel vision and the light at the end was my skinny jeans. I thought, this is it. This is what is going to throw me off course and send me back to the kitchen scrounging for chocolate.
So I gave myself a day of rest and thankfully the next day the swelling wasn't too bad and mobility much improved. This morning I made hubby dig out an old ankle brace and gave 'er a go. It wasn't bad. I hobbled through parts of the workout but still broke a sweat. Then, this afternoon, I felt myself being anxious to workout again (to make up for yesterday's missed session) and it hit me. YES! I've still got it! I'm still motivated! I'm still moving! I guess it's easy to be motivated when the workouts are getting easier and I'm winning a contest but to work through an injury, well, I'm just pretty dang proud of myself.
There's a deeper level to me that I've lost somewhere along the way. Three days into Army boot camp I sprained my ankle. Instead of telling anyone and risk getting held back for a few weeks, I toughed it out. I ran about 20 miles on it and did a road march with full ruck sack and gear. I dug deep and kept going. I think I touched on that a little today. I know it's still there, the will and the force to tough stuff out, but it's just been lost for a long time.

It's a good feeling to find a little piece of me.

New Direction

Okay, besides the overwhelming responsibility of making sure my kids have love, support, food, encouragement, safety, clothes, shoes, learning opportunities, social opportunities, exercise, love, and then more love...being a stay at home mom can sometimes make me feel a bit, well, pointless. I would like to say that I'm heading up a huge humanitarian effort that will change people's lives, but due to the responsibilities listed above, that's just not possible until the kiddos go to school. I need something to keep me going and motivated to be...a person. No other way to describe it.
I started last fall with some crafts. Making them for friends and family and even did a craft show and did some online orders. It's fun and I'll continue doing that as a "side business". But it's also VERY time-consuming. So I started advertising less. But it's fun knowing I have those skills because now I'm doing the decorations for a baby shower and looking forward to planning Lil Man's birthday party coming up.
Then Christmas came and the fam and I had fun doing all things Christmas - making candy, buying gifts, watching movies, parades, wrapping presents, making ornaments and footprint reindeer. And then, kablam. Christmas was over. I felt so down and lost when I took down the tree...like, now what?
Well, what comes after Christmas? New Year's! And what comes with New Year's? RESOLUTIONS!! Boom! Got a project! It started small. I got the idea while on a run after a conversation with my bestest bud about lack of motivation. I pictured a waiger among friends to see who could lose the most weight in a set period of time, like on Biggest Loser. Then I thought bigger...whaaat if several friends need the same motivation? More friends - bigger pot, bigger payoff for the winner! Jan 3, The Biggest Winner Challenge kicked off with 14 members!
I'm consumed with it. I check FB all day to see others' progress, comments, trials, so that I can comment and hopefully use some of my college education (half of it is in Physical Fitness). This is week 2 and I've been going strong. Haven't cheated once. Haven't skipped a single workout. Sometimes I even work out twice a day. But that's got me worried. What happens when the challenge is over?
I've been carrying around a lot of extra weight for, oh, about 4 years now. And I'm not just talking about body fat. Since having kids, my body has been completely wrecked. It's been so long since I looked in the mirror and thought, YES! I haven't even bought new jeans in that many years because I hate that feeling when I try them on and there's just a little too much hanging over the top.
But I can't change all that in 8 wks. I've got to keep the exercise up and the good eating up. Basically, as they say, change my lifestyle. So how do I do that and still fill my life with 'projects'? This challenge is a start. I will just have to keep finding challenges. Hubby wants me to get a road bike. That will definitely be a new challenge. Then there's several races I can enter. More new challenges. Then I'm thinking I will try to get on the cover of Runner's World Magazine...ha just kidding.
I guess the point is that even though I'm living my life for my kids right now, it's okay to do something totally and completely for me. In affect, my kids (and hubby) will see a happier, healthier, less grumpy, center-of-all-the-pictures-again Momma. If that's not a project worth taking on, I don't know what is!