Each work day I drive 50 minutes to work and 50 minutes home from work. During that time, I often find my mind wandering to some very random thoughts. Many times these thoughts are not in sequence or connect with a previous thought, but just pop into my head and make me wonder...
Do people driving by me while I'm singing think I am in a band practicing my latest number or a hopeful American Idol contestant practicing for my big audition? Why do I hear more rock music on WSRS than WAAF lately? When did I become old enough to like WSRS? Why do birds only sit on the Ararat St. sign on 190 and not the one 100 feet before it or 100 feet after it? Why do people always cut me off when 190 becomes 290? Why am I never caller 14 to win things on WXLO? What am I going to have for lunch today? Did I take anything out of the freezer for supper? Maybe I should call home and ask Jake to take something out? How did my parents ever let me drive home alone through the night from South Carolina with no cell phone when I was 18? How did they sleep at all during the night while I was driving? Am I being ridiculous to ask Jake to text me when he gets to Haverhill, 45 minutes away from home? Will my hair be white or gray when I get old? Should I cut my hair? Why can't I remember this song on the radio? Oh yeah, "Rumpshaker", who sings it? Why does it make me shake my rump? Why do I know every word? Why do I still like this song? Why does it remind me of afterparties at Jeff Daigneault's? I miss ShBooms. I miss my Worcester friends. I should call Amy tonight. Maybe we can go out for our birthdays. What would I wear? Where would we go? Where do people our ages go in Worcester to have fun these days? Why do I always feel old and overdressed at dance clubs now? When did I become "the lady" instead of "the girl"? You know, like when you're in a store and a child bumps you, and the mom says, "Say sorry to the lady". When did I become the lady and not the girl? Will my girl, my daughter, still look like me when she's older? Will she get married and have babies someday? I loooooooovvvvvveeee babies. Will my sons get married? Will my daughters-in-law hate me because their husbands, my sons, are so used to having Mom doing everything for them? Should I teach them how to do laundry, how to make basic foods? HA HA, remembering when I made macaroni and cheese for the first time by myself, followed all the directions, drained the macaroni in the collander in the sink, put the collander back on the stovetop, read the next direction of adding milk and butter and added them, right into the collander, right on the stovetop, letting it all drain out into the gas burner, into the stove. Oops... the directions really should say to put the macaroni back into the pan before adding the milk and butter. Who came up with directions and original recipes? Who decided to mix such and such, taste it, and name it? Who comes up with names for streets? Why does every town have a street named for at least one kind of tree? Maple? Elm? Oak? Pine? Birch? What trees didn't make the cut? HA HA, remembering the one year I got a real Christmas tree, put it in the back of my pickup truck and drove across Worcester to the designated spot to drop off old Christmas trees, got out of the truck, no tree in the back anymore LOL. I liked my truck, I thought I was so cool in that little pick-up truck. I liked four-wheeling, and I was good at it. I've never ridden a four-wheeler, ATV or snowmobile, and someday I want to try that. I hate being cold though so maybe I should skip the snowmobiling. Man, it's hot in here, the kids are right, I do blast the heat in the car, maybe I should turn it down, then I'll be too cold, I'll just leave it on and open the window a crack. It never fails in the parking lot at work that someone always turns for the one open spot at the top of the lot before I can get there, and then I end up in the back of the lot. Oh well, it's the only exercise I do all day, I guess I can handle the extra 50 feet, how lazy am I? Oh shoot, forgot to roll up the window, back in the car, turn the key, roll up the window, shut the car off, lock the door and off to work. Hope there's a good song on the radio on the way home so I can fool other drivers into thinking I'm an aspiring rock star. Yeah, right, in my mini-van, that's what they think...
Yeah, random thoughts...anyone else do this? Yes or no? Circle one.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Laughter is the Best Medicine
They say laughter is the best medicine. I don't know if that is true, but I will agree that it can lighten a somber mood and take one's mind off of their sadness for a little while.
My children often ask what they were like when they were younger (younger than their current ages of 19, 11 and 9). Sometimes they want to know about their birth, sometimes about their toddler days and other times they just want to hear funny stories about times that I remember perhaps a little better than they do of their earlier days of life.
Yesterday was one of those such days, and I shared funny stories with them, and now I will share them with you, hoping to bring a smile to your face, make you chuckle a little bit and just to lighten a mood.
Jake was my funny guy, and actually still is. I recalled when he was about 4 and we lived in the heart of the city of Worcester. We went to the grocery store one day, where we were clearly the minority. As we were in the check-out line, and I was putting the items on the conveyor belt, I happened to notice a very tall African American man behind us. And then I heard it...my son's little voice asking "Do you play basketball?" The man chuckled and answered, "No, but I get asked that alot because I am so tall." And then I heard it again...my son's innocent and honest comment, "I didn't ask you cuz you're tall, I asked you cuz you're Black." Fortunately the man found that to be very funny. I did not.
As happens sometimes when you are a single parent, you end up bringing your child everywhere you go. One day, Jake had a snow day and needed to go to work with me. On the way home, as we were walking to the car, we passed a Dunkin' Donuts. I had promised him a doughnut after work if he was good, and so we stopped. He got 2 chocolate doughnuts and ripped into one of them as soon as we left the downtown store. As we walked up Pleasant Street, I could see ahead that there was a man rifling through the trash can. Jake noticed him too and asked what he was doing. In my most politically correct manner, I told him that unfortunately there are some in this world who don't have homes or food and that this man was probably one of those people who was looking for something to eat. That answer sufficed, and we kept walking up the hill. Jake decided he only wanted the one doughnut and threw the other into a nearby trash can. As we approached the man up ahead, I grabbed my child's hand and then I heard it...my son's little voice saying "If you are still hungry, there's a chocolate doughnut in the trash can down there." The man pulled his head up and looked at us, no expression on his face. I grabbed the little hand a little tighter and tried to get him to walk faster when again I heard it...my son's little voice saying "My mom said you are homeless and have no food so I just wanted to tell you about the doughnut." So I picked him up and walked a little faster.
And I saved the best for last...it was an unofficial company habit for some of us to go to Cactus Pete's after work on Fridays. One Friday, Jake joined us. We sat at a table with a co-worker Julie and a supervisor, who I will call Mr. L. This particular Friday it was quite busy, and Jake needed to use the bathroom. The women's room line was long, and no one was letting us cut, even though I said it was for my son. So I allowed him his first visit to the men's room. I told him not to talk to anyone and to do what he had to do and then come right out. Some time went by, probably not much time, but it seemed like a long time to me, and men came out of the bathroom, but not my little man. Finally, out he comes, and we go back to the table. The first thing he said was, "Did you see that man with the blue shirt on?" My heart jumped into my chest as I quickly answered, "Yes, why?" That's when I heard it...my son's little voice saying, "He had a huge private." Ahhh, yes, apparently the first visit to the men's room for a little boy who lived only with his mother had been quite an eye-opener. Fortunately Julie and Mr. L. found that to be funny. I was a bit embarrassed.
Nathan is my sensitive, caring and loving 11 year old, and although he is that way now, he was a little different when a toddler. He went through an angry coffee-table clearing, chair-throwing, biting stage as a toddler. He also went through a swearing stage, where anytime he got upset about something he would swear, almost as if he had Turrett's. There was one such day when we were in WalMart, and he bent to pick something up. As he stood, he bumped his head on the conveyor belt. I knew enough not to mention it and to just let it slide, but the cashier did not and probably thought I was the worst mother ever to not be addressing his hurt. Her mistake...As she said with deep concern "Honey, are you okay?", I cringed and for good reason, as the response was "Shut your mouth b*tch." Yes, he got picked up and carried out of the store immediately. We didn't go back there for a while.
But now Nathan is wonderful, and there is no sign of that angry little boy. He cares about other's feelings, and is a good big brother to his sister. A few years ago, I did my annual assessment of myself and decided it was time for a diet. As I announced that to Nathan and Allie, Nathan started crying. When I asked why, he said that he didn't want me to change. I thought that was so sweet, until he finished his sweet comment with "We like you fat." Another time, I was downstairs in the morning getting ready for our day and waiting for the kids to wake up, when Nathan came racing downstairs yelling my name. I thought something was wrong and turned to ask "What's the matter?" He said, "Oh never mind" and turned back around. I asked what that was all about and was told, "I had a dream you were skinny. But no, still fat." as he ran back up the stairs. Keep running, buddy, keep running :)
Allie is funny and sarcastic, but she is so cute that her sarcastic comments make me laugh, most times. When I ask her to do too many things at once, I get answers like "I still haven't done the 1st thing. I'm not a octopus, you know." Sometimes I catch her rolling her eyes when she doesn't get the answer she wanted. Sometimes when she wants to fill her (and my) entire weekend with sleepover after sleepover, and driving her or her friends all over the place, I remind her how I was only allowed one sleepover a month when I was growing up. Once she answered, "Well, maybe if I had 6 sisters like you, I would have people to play with at home." Point made, Allie, who's sleeping over this weekend? Ya, she's good.
So I don't know if laughter is the best medicine, but just writing this made me smile. Hope it lightens or brightens your day as well.
My children often ask what they were like when they were younger (younger than their current ages of 19, 11 and 9). Sometimes they want to know about their birth, sometimes about their toddler days and other times they just want to hear funny stories about times that I remember perhaps a little better than they do of their earlier days of life.
Yesterday was one of those such days, and I shared funny stories with them, and now I will share them with you, hoping to bring a smile to your face, make you chuckle a little bit and just to lighten a mood.
Jake was my funny guy, and actually still is. I recalled when he was about 4 and we lived in the heart of the city of Worcester. We went to the grocery store one day, where we were clearly the minority. As we were in the check-out line, and I was putting the items on the conveyor belt, I happened to notice a very tall African American man behind us. And then I heard it...my son's little voice asking "Do you play basketball?" The man chuckled and answered, "No, but I get asked that alot because I am so tall." And then I heard it again...my son's innocent and honest comment, "I didn't ask you cuz you're tall, I asked you cuz you're Black." Fortunately the man found that to be very funny. I did not.
As happens sometimes when you are a single parent, you end up bringing your child everywhere you go. One day, Jake had a snow day and needed to go to work with me. On the way home, as we were walking to the car, we passed a Dunkin' Donuts. I had promised him a doughnut after work if he was good, and so we stopped. He got 2 chocolate doughnuts and ripped into one of them as soon as we left the downtown store. As we walked up Pleasant Street, I could see ahead that there was a man rifling through the trash can. Jake noticed him too and asked what he was doing. In my most politically correct manner, I told him that unfortunately there are some in this world who don't have homes or food and that this man was probably one of those people who was looking for something to eat. That answer sufficed, and we kept walking up the hill. Jake decided he only wanted the one doughnut and threw the other into a nearby trash can. As we approached the man up ahead, I grabbed my child's hand and then I heard it...my son's little voice saying "If you are still hungry, there's a chocolate doughnut in the trash can down there." The man pulled his head up and looked at us, no expression on his face. I grabbed the little hand a little tighter and tried to get him to walk faster when again I heard it...my son's little voice saying "My mom said you are homeless and have no food so I just wanted to tell you about the doughnut." So I picked him up and walked a little faster.
And I saved the best for last...it was an unofficial company habit for some of us to go to Cactus Pete's after work on Fridays. One Friday, Jake joined us. We sat at a table with a co-worker Julie and a supervisor, who I will call Mr. L. This particular Friday it was quite busy, and Jake needed to use the bathroom. The women's room line was long, and no one was letting us cut, even though I said it was for my son. So I allowed him his first visit to the men's room. I told him not to talk to anyone and to do what he had to do and then come right out. Some time went by, probably not much time, but it seemed like a long time to me, and men came out of the bathroom, but not my little man. Finally, out he comes, and we go back to the table. The first thing he said was, "Did you see that man with the blue shirt on?" My heart jumped into my chest as I quickly answered, "Yes, why?" That's when I heard it...my son's little voice saying, "He had a huge private." Ahhh, yes, apparently the first visit to the men's room for a little boy who lived only with his mother had been quite an eye-opener. Fortunately Julie and Mr. L. found that to be funny. I was a bit embarrassed.
Nathan is my sensitive, caring and loving 11 year old, and although he is that way now, he was a little different when a toddler. He went through an angry coffee-table clearing, chair-throwing, biting stage as a toddler. He also went through a swearing stage, where anytime he got upset about something he would swear, almost as if he had Turrett's. There was one such day when we were in WalMart, and he bent to pick something up. As he stood, he bumped his head on the conveyor belt. I knew enough not to mention it and to just let it slide, but the cashier did not and probably thought I was the worst mother ever to not be addressing his hurt. Her mistake...As she said with deep concern "Honey, are you okay?", I cringed and for good reason, as the response was "Shut your mouth b*tch." Yes, he got picked up and carried out of the store immediately. We didn't go back there for a while.
But now Nathan is wonderful, and there is no sign of that angry little boy. He cares about other's feelings, and is a good big brother to his sister. A few years ago, I did my annual assessment of myself and decided it was time for a diet. As I announced that to Nathan and Allie, Nathan started crying. When I asked why, he said that he didn't want me to change. I thought that was so sweet, until he finished his sweet comment with "We like you fat." Another time, I was downstairs in the morning getting ready for our day and waiting for the kids to wake up, when Nathan came racing downstairs yelling my name. I thought something was wrong and turned to ask "What's the matter?" He said, "Oh never mind" and turned back around. I asked what that was all about and was told, "I had a dream you were skinny. But no, still fat." as he ran back up the stairs. Keep running, buddy, keep running :)
Allie is funny and sarcastic, but she is so cute that her sarcastic comments make me laugh, most times. When I ask her to do too many things at once, I get answers like "I still haven't done the 1st thing. I'm not a octopus, you know." Sometimes I catch her rolling her eyes when she doesn't get the answer she wanted. Sometimes when she wants to fill her (and my) entire weekend with sleepover after sleepover, and driving her or her friends all over the place, I remind her how I was only allowed one sleepover a month when I was growing up. Once she answered, "Well, maybe if I had 6 sisters like you, I would have people to play with at home." Point made, Allie, who's sleeping over this weekend? Ya, she's good.
So I don't know if laughter is the best medicine, but just writing this made me smile. Hope it lightens or brightens your day as well.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Learning from Dad
This week my Dad learned that a spot on his pancreas, originally identified as a cyst, was actually a malignant tumor. He also learned that some other spots on other organs, initially thought to be of little concern, would now be biopsied as well. He also learned that the tumor on the pancreas was wrapped around 2 veins, and inoperable and that he would need to begin radiation in hopes of killing the cancer, shrinking the tumor and/or keeping it from growing and spreading its nasty little germs. Sounds like a pretty crappy week, right?!
So I wait hours before I call him and finally think I've composed myself enough to have a conversation in which I am going to comfort him, tell him how much I love him and how much I'm praying for him and trust that God will heal him. The phone rings, once, twice, a couple more times, and his voice mail picks up. I felt a little better because I was sure I could get out a sentence or two on his voice mail. Ahhh, nope, not possible. So then I had to call my Mom and tell her to tell Dad not to listen to the message because I'm not the composed comforter I had hoped to be and instead am his blubbering daughter.
So the next morning on my way to work I feel ready to call. This time Dad answers, and the minute he answers with his cheerful voice, I ask, in my shaky voice filled with tears, how he is. He answers by telling me that he is fine, he really is fine, even if my sisters and I don't believe him. He then tells me that God has a plan for everyone, we don't know the plan and don't always understand it, but God has a plan and a purpose for everyone. I tell him that I don't want God to take him away from me. And he honestly answers that he isn't ready for that either but that we all have a time to go and that God is in control of our lives and the plan for our lives.
He then tells me about a conversation he had with his pastor friend who gave him a sermon to read about how not to waste your cancer. This is what my Dad wrote on his Facebook wall about the sermon.
I am trying to be positive, trying to have the peace and faith that my Dad has, and praying constantly for healing. The practical, worldly side of me knows what cancer means and what cancer does, and I hate not being able to reach into my Dad's body and pull out every bit of the poison that cancer is. I want to fix it, control it and make it all better for him and my family.
I will try to learn from my Dad, to listen to him, to learn from his example and to trust that God does indeed have a plan for each one of us, and a purpose for our lives which we may not always understand or see. Who are we to question God's plan for our lives and for the lives of those we love? In the meantime, while I'm learning, I will pray for my Dad, pray for his healing, pray for his courage and his strength. I will pray for the doctors, that they will know what they're doing and that they will do it well as we entrust them with our Dad. I will pray for my Mom and my siblings and our children that we can offer support and encouragement to my Dad and to each other. And I will thank God for this wonderful man that is my Dad, for the man he has been, for the man he is and for the man he will be. His example, his faith, and his peace are to be admired and followed. As my children have said on more than one occasion, "Grandpa works for God, and Grandpa is best friends with God." Who better to have in your corner than God? Who better to have as a BFF than God?
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us."
So I wait hours before I call him and finally think I've composed myself enough to have a conversation in which I am going to comfort him, tell him how much I love him and how much I'm praying for him and trust that God will heal him. The phone rings, once, twice, a couple more times, and his voice mail picks up. I felt a little better because I was sure I could get out a sentence or two on his voice mail. Ahhh, nope, not possible. So then I had to call my Mom and tell her to tell Dad not to listen to the message because I'm not the composed comforter I had hoped to be and instead am his blubbering daughter.
So the next morning on my way to work I feel ready to call. This time Dad answers, and the minute he answers with his cheerful voice, I ask, in my shaky voice filled with tears, how he is. He answers by telling me that he is fine, he really is fine, even if my sisters and I don't believe him. He then tells me that God has a plan for everyone, we don't know the plan and don't always understand it, but God has a plan and a purpose for everyone. I tell him that I don't want God to take him away from me. And he honestly answers that he isn't ready for that either but that we all have a time to go and that God is in control of our lives and the plan for our lives.
He then tells me about a conversation he had with his pastor friend who gave him a sermon to read about how not to waste your cancer. This is what my Dad wrote on his Facebook wall about the sermon.
My Dad is the godliest man I know. His faith and his relationship with God leave me wanting more, and make me feel ashamed for questioning how God could allow something like cancer to affect my Dad. My Dad has devoted his whole life to working for God and to reaching people for God so that they too may have the special personal relationship that he enjoys with his Saviour. Why would God want to take one of his greatest workers from the earth? And when that time comes, who am I to want to hold onto my Dad's ankle as God calls him home to Heaven?
I am trying to be positive, trying to have the peace and faith that my Dad has, and praying constantly for healing. The practical, worldly side of me knows what cancer means and what cancer does, and I hate not being able to reach into my Dad's body and pull out every bit of the poison that cancer is. I want to fix it, control it and make it all better for him and my family.
I will try to learn from my Dad, to listen to him, to learn from his example and to trust that God does indeed have a plan for each one of us, and a purpose for our lives which we may not always understand or see. Who are we to question God's plan for our lives and for the lives of those we love? In the meantime, while I'm learning, I will pray for my Dad, pray for his healing, pray for his courage and his strength. I will pray for the doctors, that they will know what they're doing and that they will do it well as we entrust them with our Dad. I will pray for my Mom and my siblings and our children that we can offer support and encouragement to my Dad and to each other. And I will thank God for this wonderful man that is my Dad, for the man he has been, for the man he is and for the man he will be. His example, his faith, and his peace are to be admired and followed. As my children have said on more than one occasion, "Grandpa works for God, and Grandpa is best friends with God." Who better to have in your corner than God? Who better to have as a BFF than God?
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us."
Romans 5:1-5
Friday, December 30, 2011
Yes or No...circle one
Last night I took my 9 yr old daughter and her friend to Roll On America for some good old-fashioned roller skating fun. On the way, I listened to them talk. "If L. is there, are you going to ask him to skate?" "Ya." "I'll give you $2 to ask him to skate." "I don't have $2." "$1?" This continued until the rate became a quarter. I had to giggle, remembering my own visits to the roller skating rink.
Will so-and-so be there? Will he ask me to skate? Should I ask him to skate when it's Ladies' Choice? Will he hold my hand if we skate together? I remembered being at the rink with my friends, all dressed in our tight Jordache jeans, scanning the crowd for our Ladies' Choice victims. And as soon as the beginning sounds of Total Eclipse of the Heart started playing, and the DJ announced, "Ladies' Choice", we would skate over to our choice and shyly (not really) ask, "Want to skate?"
Then I started sharing with the girls how we used to communicate in the past before texting and emailing took over the world to a time way back when you didn't call a boy after 9 PM because when you were calling him, you were calling his home phone, and you didn't dare wake his parents. You also had to be careful when leaving messages on the answering machine, because the answering machine was one that was played by hitting a "play" button, with your message sounding aloud for all in the near vicinity to hear. There was no texting; you had to actually speak to say what you wanted. You had to actually dial the phone number and ask to speak with the "boy of your dreams". And most times you had to ask this of one of his parents.
Then I asked if girls and boys still write notes to which they giggled and never answered. I assume that is a "yes". I explained how our notes were quite simple: Do you like me? Yes or No (circle one). My daughter responded, "What if the answer was maybe or a little?" I said there wasn't a choice for that, it was yes or no. She said I was kind of bossy for giving them directions like circle one. What can I say, honey? Sometimes the boys Mommy liked needed it spelled out for them. Her friend asked if the boys always circled yes, and I had to honestly answer no. I told them of a time when I stepped up my game a little, and the note you see here had further instructions, such as "Leave the answer by the pencil sharpener." So I passed the note and waited and waited. Finally, the "boy of my dreams" went to sharpen his pencil, and when he left, I saw that he had left my triangular-folded note behind. So I tried to suppress a smile and my excitement as I went to sharpen my own pencil and retrieve the note. I was giddy as I raced back to my seat and slowly unfolded the note, only to read "Get off my case toilet face." Clearly this boy didn't realize he was supposed to ONLY circle yes or no, and a "no" would have sufficed because clearly I am still bitter over his response.
So L. wasn't there at roller skating, and there was no couples skate or Ladies' Choice, and no one owed anyone any money for their courage. And there was no Total Eclipse of the Heart and no Thriller video played on the big screen and so...I didn't see the need to rent skates for myself. Until....I saw the girls of Roller Derby practicing after our session, but that's a whole other blog.
Will so-and-so be there? Will he ask me to skate? Should I ask him to skate when it's Ladies' Choice? Will he hold my hand if we skate together? I remembered being at the rink with my friends, all dressed in our tight Jordache jeans, scanning the crowd for our Ladies' Choice victims. And as soon as the beginning sounds of Total Eclipse of the Heart started playing, and the DJ announced, "Ladies' Choice", we would skate over to our choice and shyly (not really) ask, "Want to skate?"
Then I started sharing with the girls how we used to communicate in the past before texting and emailing took over the world to a time way back when you didn't call a boy after 9 PM because when you were calling him, you were calling his home phone, and you didn't dare wake his parents. You also had to be careful when leaving messages on the answering machine, because the answering machine was one that was played by hitting a "play" button, with your message sounding aloud for all in the near vicinity to hear. There was no texting; you had to actually speak to say what you wanted. You had to actually dial the phone number and ask to speak with the "boy of your dreams". And most times you had to ask this of one of his parents.
So L. wasn't there at roller skating, and there was no couples skate or Ladies' Choice, and no one owed anyone any money for their courage. And there was no Total Eclipse of the Heart and no Thriller video played on the big screen and so...I didn't see the need to rent skates for myself. Until....I saw the girls of Roller Derby practicing after our session, but that's a whole other blog.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
New Year's Resolutions
Is it already the end of another year? I feel like I'm still coming down from the Christmas holiday. And now, as we approach 2012, comes the talk of New Year's resolutions. I am one who does make resolutions with the best intentions and follows them faithfully...for about a couple of weeks. I am one of those people who irritate a friend of mine, who writes on Facebook, that he can't stand those who make resolutions to exercise more and clog the gym, holding up faithful, daily gym fanatics like himself, while he now has to wait to bond with his precious Elliptical or Treadmill for the fatty in front of him to tire of their resolution and go out for a snack (paraphrased, but that was the gist of it). Ya, I'm that fatty.
So I try not to tell anyone of my resolutions. I can vividly remember telling my children years ago when they were about 5 and 7 that I was going to go on a diet to which they both burst out crying. I couldn't figure out why they were crying at that announcement, and I wasn't, so I asked them to which one responded with "We like you just the way you are," and the other responded, "Ya, we like you fat." As they got older, I asked them to be my willpower, and asked them to remind me in a loud voice, when I reached for something I shouldn't be eating, "You're on a diet Fatty, you can't have that." That was all well and good while we were home, but I neglected to tell them that on the rare occurrence that we went out to eat, and I tried to eat something unhealthy, they shouldn't yell those same words to me, because not everyone understands that I told them to say that to me.
Why is it that I feel that I need a harsh kick in the pants, or harsh words or a rude awakening to chase me to the gym and the fruits and vegetables section of the market? Why do I immediately wonder who is out to get me when I get Free Registration mailings from Weight Watchers? Who reported me? Who knows I am so cheap that the word "Free" might actually get me there?
I guess I've always loved food. I love to cook, I love to bake, and I love to eat. I don't always eat bad, and to be honest, my favorite meal is a well-balanced one with a meat, a starch and a vegetable. And, of course, if it's followed up by something with chocolate in it, I'm not complaining. I've tried Weight Watchers, I know how it works, and I do try to follow it in my eating habits. I don't count points, but I have a general idea of what each food's point value is. I know that a sandwich on light whole wheat bread with one piece of ham and one piece of cheese is about 6 points. Add 15 Baked potato chips for an extra 2 points, and to get the most of your 2 points, pick the largest 15 chips out of the bag - say no to crumbs, I always say. I know that vegetables for the most part are 0 points, and fruits for the most part are 1 point each. I know that a BLT on light wheat isn't bad, and neither is a taco. But I also know that a sundae will consume all of my points for the day and so when I have one, I should eat a dry salad for every other meal that day.
So, this year, I'm resolving to become healthier...healthier in my eating and exercising and healthier in my relationships with others. I'm NOT resolving to go to the gym 3 days a week, or to lose 25 lbs. in 6 months or to be the best mother and wife and friend and daughter and sister ever. But I will try to eat better, exercise more (which shouldn't be too hard considering I don't exercise at all now), and be a nicer person. I will try to enhance my relationships and disenhance (is that a word?) my waistline.
Good luck with your resolutions and Happy New Year!
So I try not to tell anyone of my resolutions. I can vividly remember telling my children years ago when they were about 5 and 7 that I was going to go on a diet to which they both burst out crying. I couldn't figure out why they were crying at that announcement, and I wasn't, so I asked them to which one responded with "We like you just the way you are," and the other responded, "Ya, we like you fat." As they got older, I asked them to be my willpower, and asked them to remind me in a loud voice, when I reached for something I shouldn't be eating, "You're on a diet Fatty, you can't have that." That was all well and good while we were home, but I neglected to tell them that on the rare occurrence that we went out to eat, and I tried to eat something unhealthy, they shouldn't yell those same words to me, because not everyone understands that I told them to say that to me.
Why is it that I feel that I need a harsh kick in the pants, or harsh words or a rude awakening to chase me to the gym and the fruits and vegetables section of the market? Why do I immediately wonder who is out to get me when I get Free Registration mailings from Weight Watchers? Who reported me? Who knows I am so cheap that the word "Free" might actually get me there?
I guess I've always loved food. I love to cook, I love to bake, and I love to eat. I don't always eat bad, and to be honest, my favorite meal is a well-balanced one with a meat, a starch and a vegetable. And, of course, if it's followed up by something with chocolate in it, I'm not complaining. I've tried Weight Watchers, I know how it works, and I do try to follow it in my eating habits. I don't count points, but I have a general idea of what each food's point value is. I know that a sandwich on light whole wheat bread with one piece of ham and one piece of cheese is about 6 points. Add 15 Baked potato chips for an extra 2 points, and to get the most of your 2 points, pick the largest 15 chips out of the bag - say no to crumbs, I always say. I know that vegetables for the most part are 0 points, and fruits for the most part are 1 point each. I know that a BLT on light wheat isn't bad, and neither is a taco. But I also know that a sundae will consume all of my points for the day and so when I have one, I should eat a dry salad for every other meal that day.
So, this year, I'm resolving to become healthier...healthier in my eating and exercising and healthier in my relationships with others. I'm NOT resolving to go to the gym 3 days a week, or to lose 25 lbs. in 6 months or to be the best mother and wife and friend and daughter and sister ever. But I will try to eat better, exercise more (which shouldn't be too hard considering I don't exercise at all now), and be a nicer person. I will try to enhance my relationships and disenhance (is that a word?) my waistline.
Good luck with your resolutions and Happy New Year!
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Christmas Rage
Obsessive-compulsive, perfectionist, anal-retentive, all things I have been called. I acknowledge it, I know it, I own it, and I have no intention of doing anything about it other than to try really hard not to inflict my personal issues on anyone else around me. And all that was diagnosed without sitting on someone else's couch, but admitting while sitting on my own couch... for free.
My friend and I have a term we use for the period of time before birthday parties, vacation and Christmas. We call it rage, meaning "too much to do in too little time". Party rage and vacation rage end once the shopping, cleaning and party end, usually within a few days, but Christmas rage lasts the longest.
Christmas rage, for me, begins the week of Thanksgiving when I begin to ask the kids for their Christmas lists in preparation for Black Friday shopping. Thanksgiving Day finds me surrounded by flyers, paper, a pen and their lists trying to find the best deals. Then after we come home from dinners with family, I tuck the kids into bed and head for the stores, armed with my lists, checkbook and Diet Cokes. The following day is spent getting a little sleep and then checking the internet for the items that I was unsuccessful in getting the night before.
Then there is a couple of days reprieve before Cyber Monday deals. Then comes the beginning of December when, I swear, new commercials and toys come out and get added to the kids' lists as "must have items". So back to the drawing board of trying to find deals in stores and online, coupons and online codes for percentages off and free shipping.
Then I start with my own lists...cleaning that must be done before the holiday, baking, recipes, etc. And for some reason, I have started to add more to my rage. Instead of making the 3 kinds of Christmas cookies my Mom always made, I have added another kind as well as pecan bars, Rice Krispy treats and 2 kinds of fudge. Instead of going to visit family on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I have decided to host my immediate family of almost 30 on Christmas Eve which brings on a whole other list of festive appetizers and desserts to try out on them.
And Christmas shopping brings out a whole other rage...parking and driving rage. People cut you off when you're driving, they turn in front of you when you're walking, they steal parking places, and sometimes they're just plain mean and make you really feel like decking their halls, if you catch my drift.
So...to my family and friends, if I seem a little stressed or smile a little less, it is a day of Christmas Rage, please don't take it personally for it shall soon pass. Oh yeah, and be prepared to duck, in case it's a particularly bad day, and a cookie sheet flies through the air like a frisbee at the beach, or a ball of wrapping paper cut too short to wrap a gift gets thrown across the room. I promise, I really do try to control it LOL.
My friend and I have a term we use for the period of time before birthday parties, vacation and Christmas. We call it rage, meaning "too much to do in too little time". Party rage and vacation rage end once the shopping, cleaning and party end, usually within a few days, but Christmas rage lasts the longest.
Christmas rage, for me, begins the week of Thanksgiving when I begin to ask the kids for their Christmas lists in preparation for Black Friday shopping. Thanksgiving Day finds me surrounded by flyers, paper, a pen and their lists trying to find the best deals. Then after we come home from dinners with family, I tuck the kids into bed and head for the stores, armed with my lists, checkbook and Diet Cokes. The following day is spent getting a little sleep and then checking the internet for the items that I was unsuccessful in getting the night before.
Then there is a couple of days reprieve before Cyber Monday deals. Then comes the beginning of December when, I swear, new commercials and toys come out and get added to the kids' lists as "must have items". So back to the drawing board of trying to find deals in stores and online, coupons and online codes for percentages off and free shipping.
Then I start with my own lists...cleaning that must be done before the holiday, baking, recipes, etc. And for some reason, I have started to add more to my rage. Instead of making the 3 kinds of Christmas cookies my Mom always made, I have added another kind as well as pecan bars, Rice Krispy treats and 2 kinds of fudge. Instead of going to visit family on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I have decided to host my immediate family of almost 30 on Christmas Eve which brings on a whole other list of festive appetizers and desserts to try out on them.
And Christmas shopping brings out a whole other rage...parking and driving rage. People cut you off when you're driving, they turn in front of you when you're walking, they steal parking places, and sometimes they're just plain mean and make you really feel like decking their halls, if you catch my drift.
So...to my family and friends, if I seem a little stressed or smile a little less, it is a day of Christmas Rage, please don't take it personally for it shall soon pass. Oh yeah, and be prepared to duck, in case it's a particularly bad day, and a cookie sheet flies through the air like a frisbee at the beach, or a ball of wrapping paper cut too short to wrap a gift gets thrown across the room. I promise, I really do try to control it LOL.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Bring On the Baby!
My sister Terry is in labor right now getting ready to deliver her second child and my new niece Giana. I can't wait. For those of you who know me, really know me, you know how much I love babies. I love to hold them, cuddle them, feed them, bathe them, rock them to sleep, smell them, there isn't much I don't like about them. Whenever I "borrow" my nieces and nephews, I return them to their mothers with apologies for rocking them to sleep and holding them for most of the time we were together with hopes that I didn't destroy whatever patterns they were trying to create, whether it be by laying them in their cribs to sleep or getting them used to not being held all the time.
My babies are 19, 11 and 9, and they no longer like to be held and rocked. They also no longer like me to pick out their clothes or smell them, and to be honest, they no longer smell like baby powder and Johnson's baby shampoo. They do, however, still allow me to feed them and hug them. I can still vividly remember the details of each of their births, the two times they sent me home from the hospital when I was in labor with Jake because things just weren't happening quick enough, the frustration I felt as I left and labored at home and on the 5 mile walk I took that day, and the satisfaction I felt when I finally went back the same day and they kept me, and then the incredible joy as I became a mother for the first time. I remember when I was induced with Nathan, going in one night and not having him until lunchtime 2 days later. I also remember not eating or sleeping that entire time, and being really slap-happy due to lack of sleep and exhaustion. I remember feeling that each method they used to induce me was going to "do the trick" and being disappointed when it didn't. I also remember 8 year old Jake saying at the time that he wouldn't want to come out either to just have formula and bottles when he could stay inside and get pizza and sundaes. I remember when Allie was born, waking up at 1 AM and feeling contractions, timing them and wondering if it was the real thing, calling the on-call doctor and being told that since I had just been in the office 2 days earlier and nothing was going on then that I could probably just wait until the morning. I remember an hour later waking up the boys and telling them it was time to go to Grandma's because Mom and Dad were going to the hospital. I also remember a normally 50 minute ride to my mom's taking only 30 minutes while the contractions intensified and I held onto the handle at the top of my door in the car, trying to deal with the pain without scaring the kids, while Brian drove faster and faster and treated red lights like stop signs. I remember him dropping me off at the hospital before bringing the kids to my mom's and then his surprise when he got to the hospital 15 minutes later and they hadn't given me a room yet. And then I remember delivering our little girl only a couple of hours later, and how easy that delivery was compared to those of her brothers.
More than anything, I remember how happy I was to be pregnant with each of them, how much I enjoyed my nausea-free and calorie-filled pregnancies, how every night following my due date I would go to bed wondering if that was to be the night I'd go into labor and waking each morning angry and frustrated that I was still pregnant. I remember the thrill of washing and folding the little clothes, preparing for their arrival, and then seeing their precious faces and holding them tight. I remember the nurses coming into my room at 11 PM and asking if they could take the babies to the nursery so I could sleep, and my answering each time, "No, just a little longer, and I'll bring him/her in to you" and then holding them close for a little longer.
I remember sharing my maternity clothes with my sisters as they became pregnant. I always felt a tug at my heartstrings passing those clothes off, and even though I don't plan on having any more children, I always ask for the clothes back, just to have them. And each time I pass along my baby clothes to them for their babies, I have to take them out of the bins and unfold them and refold them, and a tear or two always fall.
And tonight I'm a little envious of my sister, envious of the joy that she will soon feel as she sees her new baby's face for the first time, holds her, cuddles her, smells her and kisses her, and I can't wait to get my hands on her tomorrow! My gift bags are ready to go, and I've cleared an hour out of our busy schedule tomorrow. Yes, Auntie is ready to hold a baby again. Let's hope she smells good.
My babies are 19, 11 and 9, and they no longer like to be held and rocked. They also no longer like me to pick out their clothes or smell them, and to be honest, they no longer smell like baby powder and Johnson's baby shampoo. They do, however, still allow me to feed them and hug them. I can still vividly remember the details of each of their births, the two times they sent me home from the hospital when I was in labor with Jake because things just weren't happening quick enough, the frustration I felt as I left and labored at home and on the 5 mile walk I took that day, and the satisfaction I felt when I finally went back the same day and they kept me, and then the incredible joy as I became a mother for the first time. I remember when I was induced with Nathan, going in one night and not having him until lunchtime 2 days later. I also remember not eating or sleeping that entire time, and being really slap-happy due to lack of sleep and exhaustion. I remember feeling that each method they used to induce me was going to "do the trick" and being disappointed when it didn't. I also remember 8 year old Jake saying at the time that he wouldn't want to come out either to just have formula and bottles when he could stay inside and get pizza and sundaes. I remember when Allie was born, waking up at 1 AM and feeling contractions, timing them and wondering if it was the real thing, calling the on-call doctor and being told that since I had just been in the office 2 days earlier and nothing was going on then that I could probably just wait until the morning. I remember an hour later waking up the boys and telling them it was time to go to Grandma's because Mom and Dad were going to the hospital. I also remember a normally 50 minute ride to my mom's taking only 30 minutes while the contractions intensified and I held onto the handle at the top of my door in the car, trying to deal with the pain without scaring the kids, while Brian drove faster and faster and treated red lights like stop signs. I remember him dropping me off at the hospital before bringing the kids to my mom's and then his surprise when he got to the hospital 15 minutes later and they hadn't given me a room yet. And then I remember delivering our little girl only a couple of hours later, and how easy that delivery was compared to those of her brothers.
More than anything, I remember how happy I was to be pregnant with each of them, how much I enjoyed my nausea-free and calorie-filled pregnancies, how every night following my due date I would go to bed wondering if that was to be the night I'd go into labor and waking each morning angry and frustrated that I was still pregnant. I remember the thrill of washing and folding the little clothes, preparing for their arrival, and then seeing their precious faces and holding them tight. I remember the nurses coming into my room at 11 PM and asking if they could take the babies to the nursery so I could sleep, and my answering each time, "No, just a little longer, and I'll bring him/her in to you" and then holding them close for a little longer.
I remember sharing my maternity clothes with my sisters as they became pregnant. I always felt a tug at my heartstrings passing those clothes off, and even though I don't plan on having any more children, I always ask for the clothes back, just to have them. And each time I pass along my baby clothes to them for their babies, I have to take them out of the bins and unfold them and refold them, and a tear or two always fall.
And tonight I'm a little envious of my sister, envious of the joy that she will soon feel as she sees her new baby's face for the first time, holds her, cuddles her, smells her and kisses her, and I can't wait to get my hands on her tomorrow! My gift bags are ready to go, and I've cleared an hour out of our busy schedule tomorrow. Yes, Auntie is ready to hold a baby again. Let's hope she smells good.
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