Snow fun in the hood...

We have the best neighbors on the planet!

Thinking about getting over myself...

Talked to a friend today - one who I have known for at least 35 years! Wow. Can any of YOU guys say that? Today, well, today is HER 40th birthday. And, based on pics I have seen (because I haven't seen her in person in, oh, 15 years!), she is as strikingly beautiful as ever. Five wonderful children. Happily married. She sounded so wonderfully content and happy.

Somewhere in the conversation about how we can't believe we are 40!, dieting, aging, life...she said something that just smacked me in the face. "I have gotten to a point where I am okay with myself, just the way I am." Well, I have always been jealous of her beauty, her brains, her gorgeous straight blonde hair (when we were little) - but now, I'm jealous of her heart.

Not jealous in a bad way, but envious that I haven't quite gotten to that place. Here I am, STARVING myself, for what? A bathing suit. I have a wonderful husband, three gorgeous daughters, a nice home, supportive family, and a fun job. So, what do I do? I stress about my body. I am 5'10" and weigh 152. No matter how long I starve or workout, my body REFUSES to let go of another pound. I told another friend this week, "I'm thinking about just giving up." Not giving up on eating more healthy, but giving up on the notion that I might one time in my life have a bathing suit-worthy body.

I told her, I have realized that the whole weight issue, is really vanity at this point. I am at a healthy NUMBER. I am healthy. My blood pressure is 112/70 - every single time it is taken. My total cholesterol has never been over 115. The half of my thyroid that I have left, is dysfunctional, but under control and at proper levels. I can't fool myself into believing I am dieting for MY HEALTH! No. Vanity. Plain and simple. So, is it a sin? Probably. But, face it girls, admit it...this is a sin we Christian women would NEVER really bring up in small group. It is such an accepted slight - one we even kind of make spiritual in a way - by talking badly of ourselves, our bodies....takes the vanity away. Negates any bragging that might pop out. But, isn't it also vane to constantly worry about it?

So, hmmm....can I do it? I want to, but I know in my heart, three weeks from now in Aruba...there's gonna be a European couple on that dive boat. Never fails. Never. She? She will be a bronzed, dutch, blonde bombshell, not one ounce of fat, in a bathing suit I can fit in my wallet. He? He will be a middle-aged, balding, spindly, hairy dude in a speedo. Not fair. Charlie gets to look at THAT, while I am left with THAT! I swear there is the same type of couple on every boat. And, every time I try to tell myself, well....she hasn't had babies, she is all of 24 years old, she, she, she.

That's not me. And she's not me. She doesn't have my family. She doesn't have my wonderful children who account for those acres of stretch marks on my stomach and thighs. One sweet baby girl for each of the three wrinkles on my forehead. She doesn't have my laugh, or my smile, or my crazy fitted-sheet folding skills. Nope. Maybe I'll give up and just enjoy my husband and our trip ALONE. Hey, speaking of my husband! SHE doesn't have 24/7 access to Dancin' Jimmy's seriously strong dance moves! So, there!

I threw it on the GROUND!

So I posted a status update today on Facebook:

Afterwards, as I was painting Morgan's room, in the QUIET wonderfulness of my house today, I was thinking about how funny it was that nobody knew what I was referring to by saying, "I threw it to the GROUND!" Watch this:

The humor, for me, doesn't lie in the fact that nobody was up on their SNL Digital Shorts. No, in fact, choosing not to participate in mass media and modern pop culture, does not EVER slight anyone in my book. But, I admit I do enjoy me some Saturday Night Live from time to time. And, frequently, I cannot make it through the monologue before turning it off in disgust.

No, I was chuckling to myself (yes, alone, in my house - laughing out loud!) because our little nuclear family has several little pop culture things like this that we have clung to and which pepper our everyday interactions with each other.

An example. Charlie will come into the kitchen and stop me from what I'm doing, "Hey Kim, um, what should I do about Peanut? I gave her some cheese in her high chair. She ate part of it, and do you know what she did with the rest? SHE THREW IT ON THE GROUND!" Ha, ha, chuckle, chuckle, on with life.

Another example, comes from our 24/7 continuous loop of The Wiggles on TV. Watch this (advance to about 1:30min.):

Yep. He wants that groovy jacket. We have seen this probably 2,459 times. No lie. As a result, I'll be working at home peacefully, Peanut sleeping, and the phone rings. It's Charlie, "Did you know, that Captian Feathersword really wants to wear this certain jacket?" Then, a text to Morgan everyday that reads:

So, now we all have started doing this. The other day, I caught myself asking Peanut, "Hey Peanut! Did you know...I wanna put on, my my my boogie shoes? And, boogie with you? Yes, sure do." It is always spoken in everyday tone of voice, very matter of fact. Too funny. So, we do this stuff so often, that we sometime get stares because we will include outsiders in the fun - who do not have a CLUE what we're talking about. Oh, but we think we're SO funny.

Yep. We love our Charlie, and this little quirk he has brought to our lives is just one reason.

What I hate about you...

Weight-loss....here's what I hate about you. Two major things:



EXERCISE

HATE. It. Hate. Like, HATE. H - A - T - E. Seriously...HATE!!!!!!!!



Look at that thing. Standing over me, with it's little hands on its hips as if you say, "Come on, you fat slob. Get up and move, you bum!" Hate that elliptical machine.

And, no, I do NOT feel better after "a good run." No, it is not relaxing, stress-relieving, OR addicting. I do not get warm fuzzies over a new pair of running shoes. No, I do not. I can't even bring myself to fake enthusiasm over something so tortuous, so sweaty, so boring, and a complete waste of a good toddler-nap. Hate. It. Have I made myself clear? Hate.

Not to mention, the safety aspects alone. I mean, do we really want Mama wielding these when she is living in Crazy-No-Sugar-Ville?



It, however, is ESSENTIAL for weight-loss. Rarely, do you hear of success stories (regardless of the diet plan) of those fortunate to have LOST weight on a diet, that does not include the fact that they were SWEATING everyday. Seriously. You are kidding yourself if you think you are EVER gonna lose weight without exercising. And, the realization of this fact (ahem) PISSES ME OFF. Because, as I have said before I HATE it!

Better move on before I have an aneurism.



DIETING

This one is a strong second to exercise, because, well, Mama loves her sugar. And, bread. Love it. LOVE. IT. I could live on a diet of Sister Schubert's rolls alone, and never care about variety. I love that woman!



Okay - that's not true. I gotta have me some sushi. Let's see, that's sugar, bread, sushi, and (close your ears, girls) tequila. I enjoy all of them. They are good. They are enjoyable. I want them. But, for obvious reasons, I cannot be going around consuming them everyday. Lord, I'd be 400 pounds in a drunken stupor. Not pretty. Also, I am developing a hate-hate relationship with salad. Sick - of - it. I don't care if I ever eat another "leafy green" ever again in the 60-something years left in my life. I am sick of it. Sick. Of it. Blech.



I have now tried several diets, including Weight-Watchers, and the no-carb diet. Weight-Watchers is good, IF YOU FOLLOW IT. That's where I have the problem. :) I will be doing fine, but then, will get bored with the same ol' things everyday (because I get lazy about counting up points of new food items.) I do like that you can have an occasional M&M, without freaking out your body like with the no-carb. And, honestly, I once lost 20 pounds on a combination Weight-Watchers/Marital-Distress diet. But, it is really hard. I also have to say, Weight-Watchers, when done correctly, is the best life-changing-habits plan. The point system teaches portion control, and selecting better foods. Healthy = Less Points = More Per Day.



Now, no-carb. No-carb should be a valid defense in a court of law for homicide. Right up there with self-defense and insanity. You become an evil-death-monger. For about 3-7 days. Then, you get over yourself a bit. It is good because you are really not hungry. You're eating plenty of protein, veggies, nuts, and some even eat fruits. Just no sugar or bread. It is amazing how addicted to sugar we can be. I was seriously desirous of physical violence. I didn't care who or why. Just wanted to put my fist into something.

Sadly, the very best weigh-loss plan I have had results with - MARITAL STRESS. Yes. Twice in my life, I have lost a LOT of weight and got really skinny. And, I LOVED it (being skinny - not divorce.) The plan, however, is NOT for me. And, thankfully, I don't think Dancin' Jimmy is up for the program either. So, it's off to the evil elliptical machine, Biggest Loser for Wii, and my Points Calculator. Grrrr. Now, if I get this weight off despite being happily married, I will REALLY be proud of myself!

Aruba...here I come!

My dad gave me the bird.

Not really an animal person. Nothing against animals. Just, I don't seem to get those warm-fuzzies from cuddling up with a non-human. They are cute and all. I mean, really! And, I guess I do love little puppies. But, then they grow. And smell. And shed. And poop. And chew. And I just don't think the benefits of an adorable little puppy, outweigh the adult version's mess.

My OCD may be part of the culprit. Oh, and then there are the allergies. I'm allergic to everything except horses and feathers...and feathers are if-y. Anyhoo...

My Sweet Little Brady Lady? She is an ANIMAL LOVER! So is Dancin' Jimmy. So, I guess at some point I will just have to deal. But, right now, it's Shelby. Shelby is a dove. Only, Shelby is a little species confused. Or is is phylum confused? I dunno. Frankly, I think it is amazing that I even remember the word "phylum." Shelby and her life-partner, Snow (we really aren't sure who was a boy, who was a girl, or if we had both), were a gift to Bradyn from my father when me and the big girls moved in with my parents. It was 2005, after my ex-husband and I split. Pa got them for her to help take her mind off of everything. They built them a cute little apartment. Then, 8 year-old little Bradyn, to help them feel at home, painted a jungle scene on the back of the cage. You know, 'cause everyone knows that a dove's natural habitat is the JUNGLE. Love that girl.



Oh man. Brady Lady was fit to be tied, she was so excited. A week after she got them, after having tortured them every day for hours a day, ran in the house and announced, "Nana, Mama! I taught the doves a new trick - and they hardly shake at all, anymore!" Poor doves. But, they grew to love their new little playmate. Thank God they were not the kind of birds that could fly any sort of distance. Silk doves. Bred for magic shows and stuff. They weren't going anywhere, and Bradyn capitalized on that fact everyday as she carefully placed them on her tummy and taught them to crawl up her shirt and kiss her. I can only imagine the emotional turmoil that would have ensued, had we been forced to deal with a fly-away pet.

The doves have remained with my parents - living in the barn where my dad does his woodworking. Well, we lost Snow this past fall. It was horrible. There was a memorial. And a plaque to go with it:



Not sure what caused Snow's demise, but we were worried about Shelby - in the barn, where possibly a snake had gotten to Snow. SO.....

My dad gave us the bird.



We finally gave in and let Bradyn's feathered buddy move in. Initially, it was to stay in the garage. Then, the crazy cold hit and we just couldn't bear to leave it out there. So, now we are the owners of the luckiest dove on the planet. Shelby hit pay-dirt. And, oh the mess. And, oh....what was that?

I'm in my office one day working like crazy when I hear, "Err - err - ERRR!" I swear, it sounded exactly like a rooster. I looked out the window to see if maybe one of my crazy neighbors was just being silly outside. Nope. Must have been in my mind, I thought. Maybe on TV. Then, again. Dang it, I got up and came down to find that silly dove cockadoodle-dooing. I am not even kidding you. And, although we have taught Anna (who is now in love with the bird, and MUST say "Night-night!" to the bird every night) that the bird says, "Coo!", Anna will certainly one day question our integrity. Because, this bird does not, in fact..."Coo!"

A very good baby-warmer…

First, let me begin with an excuse note for my absence. I have to admit that the blog became quite a monster there for a while. I was taking so many clients last fall (praise God!), and so many things were falling through the cracks, that I decided I needed to pick my priorities carefully. So, that’s why I haven’t blogged in like, forever. And, I have to tell you all – especially those of you who have protested my truancy – thank you all for even caring that I am writing at all. I mean, God love you, if my pee-pants little ol’ self is entertaining someone other than my Mama and Daddy, Dancin’ Jimmy, and my feminine peeps around here, my day is worth getting up for.

And now for something completely different...
(Guilty Pleasure #45,896 – Monty Python)

So, I got my dream camera. And, the past few weeks I have had the luxury of taking pictures FOR ME. Although, the people around here are no more impressed with my new camera than if I had bought a new bra. And, I’m having a heck of a time getting willing participants. And, all the booty-shaking, chuckling, funny faces, and goofiness that works on my clients (usually) is nothing novel for the people who share my DNA in this house. So, I like to call this body of work, officially, with a little smirk, "photojournalism."

AND....all that is to say, dude (as a certain fellow-mommy-blogger would say)! Look at this cute pic!



I was going through some snaps I took this morning while Peanut was playing dolls and saw this. My first thought was, “Aw…I wonder if boys have this intuition?” I wouldn’t know. Well, maybe…I really don’t remember my two brothers ever covering up a doll, or even caring if a doll were in the room. Maybe, if it was a “Fisher-Price Man” who was about to use his cool little car with a real pulley on the front to help his stranded Evil Knievel buddy out of a ditch. But, no. No motherly instincts.

This pic brings about the same thought, I think, to just about every mom of a daughter. Instinct. My good friend, and a favorite client, commented on this pic after I uploaded it to Facebook.



That was so sweet of her to equate it to me. But, it’s all a sham. Well, maybe not. Not if you are measuring my ability to make sure a baby is warm. I AM SO DOWN WITH THAT! I can make a baby warm. In fact, I probably am the best at it. If any of you need any help with baby-warming. Please call. I’m all over it.

However, what you never see a little girl do, is practice telling the baby doll how to pick the right man. Or, telling her what time to be home on a Friday night. Or, taking the doll and her friends to the mall. Or, cleaning up after her friends’ sleepover. No. You don’t practice as a little girl, how to tell your little ones that mommy and daddy will no longer be living together. Or, what to do when their boyfriend stands them up. Or, what to say when those mean girls at school don’t like their clothes.

Yikes. Parenting is hard.

I have attempted to dive into the mommy-blogging world. I have found mostly it is a lot of the same stuff. Another reason I haven’t blogged much lately. I feel like I’m repeating myself, and for sure – others. Most of the mommy-blogging, is baby-blogging. And, me, being a mom of a current “baby” of 20 months, I can so relate. I can relate to the frequent night wakings, the guilt over not nursing, the desire to hire a nanny, and the yearning for a glass of wine in the middle of the day. Yes, I can relate.

But, I can also relate to the women out there who are wading through the delicate world of how to teach your twelve-year-old what matches what, and how to do her own hair. How to decide which of my teen’s friends is okay to say, “Yes, it’s okay if I drop you off at the mall with _____, and I’ll pick you up later.” How to tell yourself it’s okay to let go. It is especially hard when you still have a baby at home. It’s not as easy to remember who you need to hold hands tightly with in the parking lot, and who you need to let go to start being the woman you are trying to raise. In the minutia of life, sometimes I find myself handcuffing my sweet Moey to my left arm, and giving Anna the keys to the car. Then, I do the animated double-take (eyeyeyeyeye!) and come to my senses.

So, yeah. I can warm a baby. Can’t nurse one, but man, my babies were WARM. But, I really have no freaking idea how to make a young woman. No clue. So, where are my peeps? Where are the mommies-of-teen-and-tween-bloggers? I NEED YOU!

Hip-hip-hooray…I’m here to try to find them. Wish me luck.