Tonight I think I officially came to the conclusion that I cannot wear a dress. Which is really sad because I LOVE dresses. I love looking at them and I love it when people wear them and look cute in them, and I would like a whole closet full of dresses, please.
Except I don't look good in them. Besides being plus-size, I am miserably short and seem to have gained all my weight in my mid-section, making me look like the only non-pregnant pregnant woman out there. But seriously - all this celebrity gossip about who might be sporting a "baby bump?" Those tiny little protruding tummies are nothing but lunch. A serious baby belly looks like....well, mine. I used to lament my hips and thighs (and it didn't help that my sister called me "horse hips" and "thunder thighs") but I prided myself on my little waist and I was always well-endowed. So, while I had a little more "curve" in my curvy body than I would have liked, I looked just fine.
I distinctly remember getting "the pooch." Shortly before I was pregnant with my first child, I developed what would now be called a "baby bump" and I was more than thrilled when, a few months later, it really WAS a baby bump and I could breathe a sigh of relief and stop worrying about that annoying pooch that appeared suddenly. Now, I had an excuse! And for nine months (and 50 lbs of weight gain) I pushed that little worry to the back of my mind. I wasn't even all that concerned about getting back to my "pre-baby" weight after the birth, because I was too busy marveling over my newborn. Almost a year and a half later, I was pregnant again, having only dropped about 15 of the 50 lbs I gained. No biggie - I was pregnant again! Who would know? That time, I gained 35 lbs. And afterwards (ok a couple of years later), I dropped all but 15 lbs of THAT "baby weight." My third pregnancy I gained 38 lbs and after my son was born, I went on Weight Watchers and lost all of my baby weight and more. I was down to 130 lbs, which was the skinniest I'd been in ages! (Side note: at 5' 2" and 130 lbs I would still be considered overweight by BMI standards). I felt great and pranced around in size 8 jeans. Briefly. It wasn't long until I was back in a size 10 and then a 12, but I still felt pretty awesome. I had tossed all my size 14 jeans because I was NEVER going to be "that fat" again.
Which, as it turns out, was no big deal because I WAS never that "fat" again. I was fatter! I decided to finally do something about the anxiety that had plagued me since childhood and went on medication. It made me feel "normal" for the first time in ages, but it also came with a 40 lb weight gain! I really didn't want to keep gaining weight, so I switched medications to one that seemed to not have such an effect on my weight. But slowly, slowly, the weight crept on. Ironically, I was also becoming more physically active than I'd ever been and I wasn't eating any differently. But I kept gaining weight. I do think my medication makes it hard for me to drop weight. I haven't kept gaining. But I've stalled out at a weight that..........well, let's just say I didn't weigh this much on the day I gave birth to my firstborn! I'm about 30 lbs heavier than that - so no wonder I look pregnant! Essentially I am - I'm carrying around more weight than I ever did carrying a LIFE inside of me. And it's all concentrated around my middle. My waist is......non-existent.
Which makes wearing dresses less than appealing. There's nothing cuter than a dress that nips in at the waist, and flares out beyond - a classic, feminine silhouette. I have a whole Pinterest board devoted to dresses. I love them that much. And if my body would cooperate, I'd wear dresses all the time.
I'm trying to drop the weight. But some days I think it's hopeless. I'm weak and a sucker for sweets. I eat healthy and balanced meals, but I also love my treats. I drink mostly water - I don't down soda or eat chips from a bag nor do I watch TV for hours on end, or much at all. I exercise a few times a week, and I am on the move constantly. Sometimes I sit for hours on the computer, writing, checking Facebook and email, and researching. But I'm mostly up and down, doing things all day long. So, I'm working on it and I could do better. And I don't hate myself - I dress cute, I accessorize, I don't care what size my clothes are as long as they fit and look nice. I don't try to squeeze into things that are too small, and I don't wear clothes so large they hang on me like a circus tent. I like myself. I wish I were skinnier. I wish I could wear dresses.
I'm going to a wedding. In fact, I have three weddings to attend in as many months. And it just seems right to wear a dress to a wedding. My outfit of choice is jeans and a cute top. Capris in the summer months. A sweater over a tank top, or something with cute details. I almost never wear any other type of pants unless you count yoga pants! "Dress pants" make me cringe. I like things that are comfortable. Dresses are comfortable. But they are not very forgiving. From the side, in a dress, I look pregnant. I can't do much about the wide behind in a dress - there's nothing there to "break it up" - no cute pockets, no "line" where a sweater or top falls over the waistband of my pants. I'm smaller on top than I am in the middle, so I have to wear tops that are probably a size too big just to get them to fit over my tummy and not be tight. It's difficult to "fit" me. We're all so individual - our trouble spots can be anywhere - that it's a wonder there are even standard sizes. Certainly not one-size-fits-all.
I tried on all manner of dresses tonight - borrowing some from my daughter, who is several inches taller than me, weighs about the same, and looks absolutely amazing in dresses. I tried on maxi dresses, short dresses, dresses that showed off my cleavage, dresses that had sleeves, sleeveless types, casual, dressy and somewhere in between. And nothing was quite right. Nothing felt comfortable. I know the bride is the focus at a wedding - who is really going to care what I'm wearing? But I care. I want to feel comfortable and pretty. Effortless. Not needing to "suck it in" or wobble around in too-high heels.
I don't have time to find anything else, either. I only have one day before we leave so I'm kind of stuck with whatever I can scrounge up from my own closet. I could try to go shopping but with my limited time, I'm afraid I'll just go through a lot of trouble and come up empty-handed. So, what do I wear to the wedding?
Of course it's not lost on my how much easier this all would be if I dropped a few (or many) pounds. But I can't lose weight in two days. Maybe by the next wedding, I'll have managed to drop a few pounds and some of the few dresses I do have will fit better. But that doesn't help me right now. I just want to look fabulous - is that too much to ask? :)
Frustrated by tonight's failed dress-up session, I actually Googled pictures of "plus size women." None of them looked like me. Some were bigger, some smaller. I found a lot of articles about loving yourself just as you are (all written by skinny women!). I found articles about women accepting their flaws - those flaws being wrapped up in a body I would kill for. I wish I knew then what I know now. That my horror over my "horse hips" and "thunder thighs" at the time would get much, much worse. That the "fat" I was then is the "skinny" I wish I was now.
I'm not saying I don't have my strong points. I'm cute and have nice skin and pretty hazel eyes and curly hair like no one else (both a blessing and a curse) and I'm funny as hell, but I'm not skinny. And if I were skinny? I'm sure something would have to give. I'd have adult acne or be a bitch. I mean, seriously? Who can have it all? I like me, but I wish I looked cuter in dresses. That's all. And I still have nothing to wear to the damn wedding.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Motherhood. Not for the weak.
"I suppose every daughter eventually gets to this moment with her mother. You stand there, staring in disbelief over something she's done or said - or about to say because you can feel it coming. The truth is, you don't fully appreciate your mother and all she's been through in those moments, otherwise your reactions to the scene might be a little less selfish. But you are young, you haven't "lived" yet and you respond like a person of youth would.
So...you just sit there staring at your mother, wondering 'Why?'
And that is unsettling, right there in that moment.
When you don't have the benefit of years of wisdom, all you an see are your own needs. Such is the case with the young. You can't understand your mother the way you should. But, in all the non-verbal, unspoken measures of judgement you know something is happening that is powerful. Whatever it is will affect you greatly. Knowing this, you are shaken in how to respond. You know intuitively that you are an extension of your mother and you haven't yet figured out in life just how that is going to work for you. And so, whatever "it" is that is about to crash into your world, you are unnerved at what it will all mean.
In your mother, you see you.
And you don't know quite what to do with that yet. " ~ Helen Odenwald "In You I See Me"
I recently read this book, and those are the words that stuck with me throughout. The book is about two sisters and their mother and the "secret" their mother reveals that they have another sister. They eventually find her, make contact, and forge a relationship. It's a nice story. The book is not particularly well-written or organized, but it illustrates a mother/daughter relationship that comes full circle.
I have three daughters. Two biological, one "bonus" or "step" or whatever other term society likes to use to describe a child born of one mother and raised by another. I consider them all my daughters. But as individual as they each are, so is our relationship.
My oldest is 20 years old, and about to plunge headfirst into the adult world by her own choice. She has concluded that living on her own and supporting herself is the best way for her to "fit" into our family now, and that is ok with me. I'm supportive of a young adult her age taking steps to become a full-fledged adult, however misguided she might be in the actual facts of life (like needing a steady income, paying bills on time, prioritizing wants over needs). She will figure those things out by trial and error, just as I did, and hopefully remember some of the life lessons I've tried to impart along the way. Our relationship is as it should be - she, pulling away and sensitive to my input, me, wanting to keep her from being hurt, or experiencing stress, or any of the other negatives of the real world. But I can't. And, so, I must let go. And let her successes and failures be her own. And forge a new kind of relationship - a middle ground between being her mom and being her friend; still guiding but holding back a bit more. Biting my tongue when I see her about to fall into tricky situation. Helping but not hindering. Like me, she is full of big ideas and has definite ideas about how her life will unfold. But she is her own person. In her, I see me.
My middle daughter is almost 18. A near-adult, but not a bit ready to take on the world in that way. She, who is perfectly happy to reside at home, happy to be driven around instead of acquiring a driver's license, having no interest in adult rites of passage like getting a job or having a debit card. Nope, this one would happily live at home until.......well, forever, maybe. She likes the simple things, like snuggling with the dog, or watching movies. But her view of the "real world" - well, it's pretty grounded. She has a wisdom beyond her years, even if she doesn't always act on it. She's intuitive and "tuned-in," a great "reader of people" and always strives to make others happy. I worry, sometimes, that she puts others' happiness over her own. I worry that she won't get a job. I worry that she won't go to college. But I know she's still a kid. She's young and has struggles and will take a little bit longer to grow up. So, while I'm still fully her mom, I'm also her friend, and advocate and supporter. And, eventually, I'll have to push her. I just hope it's not too hard. Like me, she is funny and welcoming, warm and inviting. But she is her own person. In her, I see me.
My youngest daughter, and my "bonus" daughter, is 15. She is mature, responsible, eager to please and prefers her own company (along with her cat). She works hard and is completely confused about the trajectory of her life. As it should be. At 15, she is still at a crossroads and things could go so many directions. We get along well, she confides in me. But I am not her mother. I am her parent: the person who has raised her longer than her own mother at this point, the person who is in her daily life. I want for her all the same things as my "own" daughters. She is my own. I do not differentiate. But she is cut from a different cloth than her sisters - things that only biology can conjure - ways that only she can know because she is from another mother and has a different father. She is driven and athletic and competitive. Socially, she shrinks back. She prefers to be alone and keeps her few friends close and is fiercely loyal. Like me, she is shy and uncertain, organized and likes things orderly. But she is her own person. In her, I see me.
We're all a bit of each other. And that's what makes it so hard. And so beautiful.
In each other, we see ourselves.
So...you just sit there staring at your mother, wondering 'Why?'
And that is unsettling, right there in that moment.
When you don't have the benefit of years of wisdom, all you an see are your own needs. Such is the case with the young. You can't understand your mother the way you should. But, in all the non-verbal, unspoken measures of judgement you know something is happening that is powerful. Whatever it is will affect you greatly. Knowing this, you are shaken in how to respond. You know intuitively that you are an extension of your mother and you haven't yet figured out in life just how that is going to work for you. And so, whatever "it" is that is about to crash into your world, you are unnerved at what it will all mean.
In your mother, you see you.
And you don't know quite what to do with that yet. " ~ Helen Odenwald "In You I See Me"
I recently read this book, and those are the words that stuck with me throughout. The book is about two sisters and their mother and the "secret" their mother reveals that they have another sister. They eventually find her, make contact, and forge a relationship. It's a nice story. The book is not particularly well-written or organized, but it illustrates a mother/daughter relationship that comes full circle.
I have three daughters. Two biological, one "bonus" or "step" or whatever other term society likes to use to describe a child born of one mother and raised by another. I consider them all my daughters. But as individual as they each are, so is our relationship.
My oldest is 20 years old, and about to plunge headfirst into the adult world by her own choice. She has concluded that living on her own and supporting herself is the best way for her to "fit" into our family now, and that is ok with me. I'm supportive of a young adult her age taking steps to become a full-fledged adult, however misguided she might be in the actual facts of life (like needing a steady income, paying bills on time, prioritizing wants over needs). She will figure those things out by trial and error, just as I did, and hopefully remember some of the life lessons I've tried to impart along the way. Our relationship is as it should be - she, pulling away and sensitive to my input, me, wanting to keep her from being hurt, or experiencing stress, or any of the other negatives of the real world. But I can't. And, so, I must let go. And let her successes and failures be her own. And forge a new kind of relationship - a middle ground between being her mom and being her friend; still guiding but holding back a bit more. Biting my tongue when I see her about to fall into tricky situation. Helping but not hindering. Like me, she is full of big ideas and has definite ideas about how her life will unfold. But she is her own person. In her, I see me.
My middle daughter is almost 18. A near-adult, but not a bit ready to take on the world in that way. She, who is perfectly happy to reside at home, happy to be driven around instead of acquiring a driver's license, having no interest in adult rites of passage like getting a job or having a debit card. Nope, this one would happily live at home until.......well, forever, maybe. She likes the simple things, like snuggling with the dog, or watching movies. But her view of the "real world" - well, it's pretty grounded. She has a wisdom beyond her years, even if she doesn't always act on it. She's intuitive and "tuned-in," a great "reader of people" and always strives to make others happy. I worry, sometimes, that she puts others' happiness over her own. I worry that she won't get a job. I worry that she won't go to college. But I know she's still a kid. She's young and has struggles and will take a little bit longer to grow up. So, while I'm still fully her mom, I'm also her friend, and advocate and supporter. And, eventually, I'll have to push her. I just hope it's not too hard. Like me, she is funny and welcoming, warm and inviting. But she is her own person. In her, I see me.
My youngest daughter, and my "bonus" daughter, is 15. She is mature, responsible, eager to please and prefers her own company (along with her cat). She works hard and is completely confused about the trajectory of her life. As it should be. At 15, she is still at a crossroads and things could go so many directions. We get along well, she confides in me. But I am not her mother. I am her parent: the person who has raised her longer than her own mother at this point, the person who is in her daily life. I want for her all the same things as my "own" daughters. She is my own. I do not differentiate. But she is cut from a different cloth than her sisters - things that only biology can conjure - ways that only she can know because she is from another mother and has a different father. She is driven and athletic and competitive. Socially, she shrinks back. She prefers to be alone and keeps her few friends close and is fiercely loyal. Like me, she is shy and uncertain, organized and likes things orderly. But she is her own person. In her, I see me.
We're all a bit of each other. And that's what makes it so hard. And so beautiful.
In each other, we see ourselves.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
I just wanted to take a bath............
So, it's kind of cool today. The kind of summer cool in Seattle where, in the evening, you might want a jacket, or a fuzzy blanket, or even a bath! YES! A bath! That seemed just the ticket - I was a little bit cold, I had some new, yummy-smelling bath salts given to me by one of my students at the end of the school year, and I hadn't soaked in the tub reading a magazine in ages! I have a lovely, corner soaking tub (jetted!), scented candles, and a surround just big enough to hold my bath supplies and a large glass of milk and Hershey bar (I mean, essentials, c'mon!).
In fact,I hadn't taken a bath since.......last winter? I'm not sure but judging by the dust layer in the tub and the cobwebs on the candles, it's been a while. You see, in the winter, I love nothing more than a hot soak in the tub with lovely bubble bath and a stack of magazines. I have everything at the ready, and after a quick scrub of the tub, I'm ready to jump in and luxuriate in the suds.
Ah yes. Scrubbin' the tub. I'm very particular and like my bathtub to be freshly scrubbed before I soak. Which, let's admit, depletes a bit of the enjoyment because I have to WORK for my tubby, but there's nothing like spanking-clean white porcelain to greet my equally white ass. Whoops, did I type that out loud?
So, of course, I had to clean the tub. I decided the best way to do this was while standing IN the tub in my bra and underwear. I'm not sure why but it might have had something to do with the fact that it might be less offensive if someone were to burst in the door at an inopportune moment while I was bent over scrubbing the tub. A red-underwear-clad butt is always less scary than a nakey butt.
Boy howdy, was that tub dirty! When I'm not using it on a fairly regular basis, it becomes a breeding ground for stray hair, dust, and whatever falls off my counter into the tub on a daily basis. Tonight the tub contained one tube of sunscreen, a large sponge, the diffuser off my hair dryer, and a large, potted plant. My husband is responsible for that last part. I guess he was "watering" the plant by letting it sit under the spigot, collecting random drips.
I removed all of those items, and in doing so, I accidentally knocked over my container of bath salts which hit the dog's water bowl (actually a former baby doll bathtub that I keep in my bathroom for when the dog is thirsty at night) at just the right angle, spilling it over in a rush of flooding that swept under my laundry hamper and a cardboard box. Yes, there is a cardboard box in my bathroom. It's been there since Christmas and is actually filled with Christmas items. Shut up. I've never moved it and now it's got a partner - a similar box (empty) that sits on top and acts as a nice little collecting shelf for things like towels and clothes that need attention (sewing, stain removal).
I had to climb out of the tub to clean up the mess which is no easy feat. In fact, since this house was built, I've lamented how high the bathtub sits and how it's hard to climb in and out of it without ripping off my lady parts on the faucet. My husband graciously purchased me a step-stool that is painted and glossed so that it's as slippery as snot on a doorknob, so it's not really a safe alternative. However, I did manage to climb out and clean up the mess. When I moved the step-stool, I found a wad of hair so large it looked like a small puppy. So, THERE'S where all my hair goes when it falls off my head!
After cleaning up the hairball and the scouring powder that also spilled in the bath salt disaster, I climbed back in the tub to finish cleaning it. I had to wipe down the window sills, and, in doing so, had to move a very large sailboat my husband made in shop class in high school. He's already broken it once, and it only took him about ten years to fix it, so I had to be VERY careful wiping the dust off the sailboat. Despite my utmost care, the thing wobbled precariously and in catching it, the "lines" became entangled hopelessly in my cleaning rag. I finally shook it all loose and backed away cautiously. Next, came the other windowsill. I noticed some cobwebs and the crumbled-up carcasses of two large flies and one bumblebee. GROSS! Shuddering, I swept them into the rag and shook them out under the running water.
For some reason, the tub wasn't draining very quickly so that in a matter of seconds, the water was filling up and I was standing nearly ankle-deep in floating fly carcass bits. I turned off the water and danced around attempting to avoid the disgusting dead bodies and I saw a SPIDER crawling up my leg! I screamed and flicked the cleaning rag wildly, sending a stream of dusty, hairy, carcass-laden water into my EYE! And let me tell you, it's not easy to dispose of a spider down the drain through the blur of dirty water in your eye.
After catching my breath, I continued to wipe everything down and finally came to the actual cleaning part. I picked up my container of Comet (2x the bleach the label proclaimed! Hell to the fucking YES I want 2x the bleach! Give me 10x the bleach! My bathroom is infested with all manner of disgusting and I MUST destroy it!). I sprinkled it liberally around my feet and up the sides of the tub and bent over to start scrubbing.
OUCH! Back spasm! Back spasm! I felt my back seizing up in a most ominous way and I immediately attempted to counter-act it by doing yoga back bends. By this time, one boob had started to work it's way out of my bra and was bulging out at a most unattractive angle. So, there I was, in my bra and underwear, one boob ready to spring loose any moment, doing yoga in my Comet-covered tub. Did I mention the window was open? Apologies to any of my neighbors who happened to be in the park at that moment. Please don't put that on the internet.
Finally, blessedly, I scrubbed the whole tub, then had to stand, ankle-deep, for ten minutes while the ever lovin' tub drained slow as molasses. Rinse, drain, rinse, drain. I got the last of the Comet sludge rinsed down the drain. By this time I was NOT cold any more. Rather, I was breaking a sweat, my back was spasming, and all I wanted to do was put on my pajamas and get in bed. So, I climbed out of the tub and did just that. And knocked the damn bath salts over AGAIN.
After that experience, I thought I had a pretty good blog post that needed to be documented. Being lazy and tired by this point, I decided to just download the Blogger app on my phone. I could blog on my phone while lying in bed! Technology is great! Except, not. Because I downloaded the app and it didn't work. I was just about to stuff my face with my Hershey bar, drink my milk and bid adieu to this crappy evening when my son walked in. I begged him to bring me my computer, which he did, and that is why I am able to bring you this excellent bath experience that I did NOT have tonight.
Perhaps tomorrow, I will deem the tub still clean enough to enjoy a bath. Or not. No magazines were enjoyed tonight. No sudsy bubbles enveloped me in relaxation. But I'm still eating the Hershey bar. I'm not crazy.
In fact,I hadn't taken a bath since.......last winter? I'm not sure but judging by the dust layer in the tub and the cobwebs on the candles, it's been a while. You see, in the winter, I love nothing more than a hot soak in the tub with lovely bubble bath and a stack of magazines. I have everything at the ready, and after a quick scrub of the tub, I'm ready to jump in and luxuriate in the suds.
Ah yes. Scrubbin' the tub. I'm very particular and like my bathtub to be freshly scrubbed before I soak. Which, let's admit, depletes a bit of the enjoyment because I have to WORK for my tubby, but there's nothing like spanking-clean white porcelain to greet my equally white ass. Whoops, did I type that out loud?
So, of course, I had to clean the tub. I decided the best way to do this was while standing IN the tub in my bra and underwear. I'm not sure why but it might have had something to do with the fact that it might be less offensive if someone were to burst in the door at an inopportune moment while I was bent over scrubbing the tub. A red-underwear-clad butt is always less scary than a nakey butt.
Boy howdy, was that tub dirty! When I'm not using it on a fairly regular basis, it becomes a breeding ground for stray hair, dust, and whatever falls off my counter into the tub on a daily basis. Tonight the tub contained one tube of sunscreen, a large sponge, the diffuser off my hair dryer, and a large, potted plant. My husband is responsible for that last part. I guess he was "watering" the plant by letting it sit under the spigot, collecting random drips.
I removed all of those items, and in doing so, I accidentally knocked over my container of bath salts which hit the dog's water bowl (actually a former baby doll bathtub that I keep in my bathroom for when the dog is thirsty at night) at just the right angle, spilling it over in a rush of flooding that swept under my laundry hamper and a cardboard box. Yes, there is a cardboard box in my bathroom. It's been there since Christmas and is actually filled with Christmas items. Shut up. I've never moved it and now it's got a partner - a similar box (empty) that sits on top and acts as a nice little collecting shelf for things like towels and clothes that need attention (sewing, stain removal).
I had to climb out of the tub to clean up the mess which is no easy feat. In fact, since this house was built, I've lamented how high the bathtub sits and how it's hard to climb in and out of it without ripping off my lady parts on the faucet. My husband graciously purchased me a step-stool that is painted and glossed so that it's as slippery as snot on a doorknob, so it's not really a safe alternative. However, I did manage to climb out and clean up the mess. When I moved the step-stool, I found a wad of hair so large it looked like a small puppy. So, THERE'S where all my hair goes when it falls off my head!
After cleaning up the hairball and the scouring powder that also spilled in the bath salt disaster, I climbed back in the tub to finish cleaning it. I had to wipe down the window sills, and, in doing so, had to move a very large sailboat my husband made in shop class in high school. He's already broken it once, and it only took him about ten years to fix it, so I had to be VERY careful wiping the dust off the sailboat. Despite my utmost care, the thing wobbled precariously and in catching it, the "lines" became entangled hopelessly in my cleaning rag. I finally shook it all loose and backed away cautiously. Next, came the other windowsill. I noticed some cobwebs and the crumbled-up carcasses of two large flies and one bumblebee. GROSS! Shuddering, I swept them into the rag and shook them out under the running water.
For some reason, the tub wasn't draining very quickly so that in a matter of seconds, the water was filling up and I was standing nearly ankle-deep in floating fly carcass bits. I turned off the water and danced around attempting to avoid the disgusting dead bodies and I saw a SPIDER crawling up my leg! I screamed and flicked the cleaning rag wildly, sending a stream of dusty, hairy, carcass-laden water into my EYE! And let me tell you, it's not easy to dispose of a spider down the drain through the blur of dirty water in your eye.
After catching my breath, I continued to wipe everything down and finally came to the actual cleaning part. I picked up my container of Comet (2x the bleach the label proclaimed! Hell to the fucking YES I want 2x the bleach! Give me 10x the bleach! My bathroom is infested with all manner of disgusting and I MUST destroy it!). I sprinkled it liberally around my feet and up the sides of the tub and bent over to start scrubbing.
OUCH! Back spasm! Back spasm! I felt my back seizing up in a most ominous way and I immediately attempted to counter-act it by doing yoga back bends. By this time, one boob had started to work it's way out of my bra and was bulging out at a most unattractive angle. So, there I was, in my bra and underwear, one boob ready to spring loose any moment, doing yoga in my Comet-covered tub. Did I mention the window was open? Apologies to any of my neighbors who happened to be in the park at that moment. Please don't put that on the internet.
Finally, blessedly, I scrubbed the whole tub, then had to stand, ankle-deep, for ten minutes while the ever lovin' tub drained slow as molasses. Rinse, drain, rinse, drain. I got the last of the Comet sludge rinsed down the drain. By this time I was NOT cold any more. Rather, I was breaking a sweat, my back was spasming, and all I wanted to do was put on my pajamas and get in bed. So, I climbed out of the tub and did just that. And knocked the damn bath salts over AGAIN.
After that experience, I thought I had a pretty good blog post that needed to be documented. Being lazy and tired by this point, I decided to just download the Blogger app on my phone. I could blog on my phone while lying in bed! Technology is great! Except, not. Because I downloaded the app and it didn't work. I was just about to stuff my face with my Hershey bar, drink my milk and bid adieu to this crappy evening when my son walked in. I begged him to bring me my computer, which he did, and that is why I am able to bring you this excellent bath experience that I did NOT have tonight.
Perhaps tomorrow, I will deem the tub still clean enough to enjoy a bath. Or not. No magazines were enjoyed tonight. No sudsy bubbles enveloped me in relaxation. But I'm still eating the Hershey bar. I'm not crazy.
Thanks for watching my dog, here's a pie!
For the past three days we have been "babysitting" my ex-husband's girlfriend's daughter's dog. I'll wait while you decipher that. Ok, ready? The dog is a Yorkie, which is just Latin for "adorable face that hides the fact that I yip uncontrollably in tones that could break glass, and I also occasionally shit on your floor and bite your (bigger) dog in the face." At first, it seemed like a good idea (like having one more beer or another child) that turned into a not-so-good idea pretty quickly.
I mean, first off, you don't greet the house dog by biting her in the face. Well, you DO if you're a Yorkie, I guess, but Georgette, the princess dog of OUR house, did not appreciate it one bit. But did she retaliate? She did not. She simply snubbed Riley the Yorkie the rest of the time he was here and deftly avoided his sharp little teeth by minding her own business (and relocating rooms). She did exact a TINY bit of revenge by eating Riley's food a few times. And throwing up on my bedroom floor. Twice.
Riley the Yorkie had an affinity for my son, who was the only family member he had been previously acquainted with. However, my son was not in the greatest mood this week and less than tolerant of the hyperactive, bouncy love that Riley bestowed upon him. Hence, Riley's imprisonment in the bathroom for a good part of his time in our house. My son did feed and water the dog, and provided him with plenty of excursions outside (to the grass, because apparently Riley does not know how to pee on rocks). But his dad's suggestions to "baby the hell out of him" and "sleep with him" did not pan out.
Riley was quiet a good deal of the time, but when he wasn't - boy, was he loud! Each tiny "yip" was about as enjoyable as getting stabbed in the ear with a safety pin. And he would not shut up! There was no quieting the dog until HE was done. A few sleeping members of the family did not appreciate this at all.
Several times during the week, my son remarked that he "better" be getting paid for all this dog-sitting. Especially when he had to run around the house to catch Riley to put him in the kennel, or when Riley would not get off his lap while was trying to play guitar. Today, the ex and the girlfriend returned to fetch the little yapper and paid Harrison in........pie.
Granted, it was a fresh huckleberry pie from Mt. Rainier, but..........a pie.
We don't even like pie! Pie is an abomination to mankind. Unless it's chocolate or banana cream or coconut cream. Or anything except a puddle of gloppy fruit marring a perfectly good pie crust. Mashed up fruit swimming in sugar and corn starch that makes it glimmer like lip gloss is disgusting. Fresh berries? No problem. Gloppy berries? Horrific!
My son also took care of his dad's cat and watered his plants while they were gone. After looking at his dollar dreams disintegrate into pie crumbs, he looked eagerly at his dad and said "Your cat is still alive! So are your plants!" and held out his hand. The girlfriend shook it and said "Thank you!" and his dad replied "The pie is from both of us!"
Three days of Yorkie yips and we get a pie?
In yer face!
I mean, first off, you don't greet the house dog by biting her in the face. Well, you DO if you're a Yorkie, I guess, but Georgette, the princess dog of OUR house, did not appreciate it one bit. But did she retaliate? She did not. She simply snubbed Riley the Yorkie the rest of the time he was here and deftly avoided his sharp little teeth by minding her own business (and relocating rooms). She did exact a TINY bit of revenge by eating Riley's food a few times. And throwing up on my bedroom floor. Twice.
Riley the Yorkie had an affinity for my son, who was the only family member he had been previously acquainted with. However, my son was not in the greatest mood this week and less than tolerant of the hyperactive, bouncy love that Riley bestowed upon him. Hence, Riley's imprisonment in the bathroom for a good part of his time in our house. My son did feed and water the dog, and provided him with plenty of excursions outside (to the grass, because apparently Riley does not know how to pee on rocks). But his dad's suggestions to "baby the hell out of him" and "sleep with him" did not pan out.
Riley was quiet a good deal of the time, but when he wasn't - boy, was he loud! Each tiny "yip" was about as enjoyable as getting stabbed in the ear with a safety pin. And he would not shut up! There was no quieting the dog until HE was done. A few sleeping members of the family did not appreciate this at all.
Several times during the week, my son remarked that he "better" be getting paid for all this dog-sitting. Especially when he had to run around the house to catch Riley to put him in the kennel, or when Riley would not get off his lap while was trying to play guitar. Today, the ex and the girlfriend returned to fetch the little yapper and paid Harrison in........pie.
Granted, it was a fresh huckleberry pie from Mt. Rainier, but..........a pie.
We don't even like pie! Pie is an abomination to mankind. Unless it's chocolate or banana cream or coconut cream. Or anything except a puddle of gloppy fruit marring a perfectly good pie crust. Mashed up fruit swimming in sugar and corn starch that makes it glimmer like lip gloss is disgusting. Fresh berries? No problem. Gloppy berries? Horrific!
My son also took care of his dad's cat and watered his plants while they were gone. After looking at his dollar dreams disintegrate into pie crumbs, he looked eagerly at his dad and said "Your cat is still alive! So are your plants!" and held out his hand. The girlfriend shook it and said "Thank you!" and his dad replied "The pie is from both of us!"
Three days of Yorkie yips and we get a pie?
In yer face!
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Iced coffee..........
One of my favorite treats of summer is a homemade iced coffee. I pretty much follow the Pioneer Woman's recipe here: http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2011/06/perfect-iced-coffee/ with a few tweaks.
First off, I use two big bowls or, as I did yesterday, two of my biggest stock pots (you know, the kind you whip up a big ole batch of soup in). Divide a bag of ground coffee (any kind, you choose - this time around I used a decaf vanilla hazelnut and it's sooo good!) into the two containers, relatively evenly (don't stress about it being perfect). Cover with cold water - you can use Pioneer Woman's ratio in the link or just fill the pan most of the way with cold water. Stir well to get it all mixed up. Then, just leave it overnight.
The next day, you start the straining process. This takes a bit of time and is a labor of love, but it's SO worth it. I used a big gallon-sized cheap plastic pitcher I have lying around and a fine mesh strainer. Instead of cheesecloth, a la PW, I use plain old paper towels. They are cheap and easy and I don't usually have cheesecloth lying around. However, the first time I made this, I DID buy cheesecloth and the results were not as good as using paper towels (some grounds got through!). I start by stirring it all up (the grounds will have settled on the bottom), then scooping up the cold-brewed coffee with a 2-cup glass Pyrex measuring pitcher and pouring it through a paper towel-lined mesh strainer. I can usually get about 4 cups through one paper towel before it becomes too laden with grounds. I just gather it up, push it down to squeeze out all the liquid, and then toss it, lining the mesh strainer with a clean paper towel. Repeat until all the liquid is collected.
When it gets down to the "dregs" I usually just tip the whole pan into the strainer, stopping just before the really thick grounds go in. Warning - if you use the whole bag of coffee, as I did, you will end up with about 3 1/2 to 4 gallons of cold-brewed coffee so make sure you have enough containers to store it in! You may not want to make a whole bag at once, but in our family, we all like this treat, so we can get through it before it goes bad. It does keep for weeks in the fridge - as PW said - about 3 weeks to a month.
Once you've collected all the cold-brewed coffee, you're ready to make your treat! Fill a glass with ice (we like to use "cold cups" from Starbucks or elsewhere - the kind with a lid and a sturdy plastic straw). Fill your glass about 3/4 full (or a little more) with cold coffee. Add about 3 tsp sugar (or artificial sweetener, or syrups of your choice to taste), and then fill the rest of the way with half 'n' half (you can go anywhere from a splash to 1/4 cup depending on how much you like it). I've also done this with regular old milk when I'm out of half 'n' half and it's still delicious. You can also cut the calories this way! Stir and enjoy. It's so refreshing and yummy!
You could tweak this by adding flavored syrups or some chocolate syrup to make it more like a mocha (don't add sugar if using syrups). You can also used crushed ice or blend the whole concoction after mixing to make a frappe type beverage. You could add whipped cream! You could add ice cream! If you can dream it, you can do it!
Sorry, got carried away.
Enjoy your delicious iced coffee beverage while the sun shines! And don't throw away the used grounds - they are great for your plants in maintaining the acidity of the soil. Just throw 'em on top of your potted plants or in the garden and water to dissolve. Recycling! Yay! Now you can sit back and sip your delicious coffee while patting yourself on the back for being "green."
First off, I use two big bowls or, as I did yesterday, two of my biggest stock pots (you know, the kind you whip up a big ole batch of soup in). Divide a bag of ground coffee (any kind, you choose - this time around I used a decaf vanilla hazelnut and it's sooo good!) into the two containers, relatively evenly (don't stress about it being perfect). Cover with cold water - you can use Pioneer Woman's ratio in the link or just fill the pan most of the way with cold water. Stir well to get it all mixed up. Then, just leave it overnight.
The next day, you start the straining process. This takes a bit of time and is a labor of love, but it's SO worth it. I used a big gallon-sized cheap plastic pitcher I have lying around and a fine mesh strainer. Instead of cheesecloth, a la PW, I use plain old paper towels. They are cheap and easy and I don't usually have cheesecloth lying around. However, the first time I made this, I DID buy cheesecloth and the results were not as good as using paper towels (some grounds got through!). I start by stirring it all up (the grounds will have settled on the bottom), then scooping up the cold-brewed coffee with a 2-cup glass Pyrex measuring pitcher and pouring it through a paper towel-lined mesh strainer. I can usually get about 4 cups through one paper towel before it becomes too laden with grounds. I just gather it up, push it down to squeeze out all the liquid, and then toss it, lining the mesh strainer with a clean paper towel. Repeat until all the liquid is collected.
When it gets down to the "dregs" I usually just tip the whole pan into the strainer, stopping just before the really thick grounds go in. Warning - if you use the whole bag of coffee, as I did, you will end up with about 3 1/2 to 4 gallons of cold-brewed coffee so make sure you have enough containers to store it in! You may not want to make a whole bag at once, but in our family, we all like this treat, so we can get through it before it goes bad. It does keep for weeks in the fridge - as PW said - about 3 weeks to a month.
Once you've collected all the cold-brewed coffee, you're ready to make your treat! Fill a glass with ice (we like to use "cold cups" from Starbucks or elsewhere - the kind with a lid and a sturdy plastic straw). Fill your glass about 3/4 full (or a little more) with cold coffee. Add about 3 tsp sugar (or artificial sweetener, or syrups of your choice to taste), and then fill the rest of the way with half 'n' half (you can go anywhere from a splash to 1/4 cup depending on how much you like it). I've also done this with regular old milk when I'm out of half 'n' half and it's still delicious. You can also cut the calories this way! Stir and enjoy. It's so refreshing and yummy!
You could tweak this by adding flavored syrups or some chocolate syrup to make it more like a mocha (don't add sugar if using syrups). You can also used crushed ice or blend the whole concoction after mixing to make a frappe type beverage. You could add whipped cream! You could add ice cream! If you can dream it, you can do it!
Sorry, got carried away.
Enjoy your delicious iced coffee beverage while the sun shines! And don't throw away the used grounds - they are great for your plants in maintaining the acidity of the soil. Just throw 'em on top of your potted plants or in the garden and water to dissolve. Recycling! Yay! Now you can sit back and sip your delicious coffee while patting yourself on the back for being "green."
Monday, June 24, 2013
Exercising on vacation..........
Vacation is the perfect time to exercise! You have all this extra, unscheduled time just waiting to be filled by cardio, plus you're in a new location that is just begging to be explored.
Except, not.
I'm spending six (!) days in Boise with my family (and my youngest and only son) and I smartly packed a pair of Lucy yoga capris and a sports bra, plus three t-shirts. I figured I could get my cardio on at least three of the six days, and if (perchance) my sports bra or capris got toosweaty "glowy", I could give 'em a quick rinse in the sink and hang them to dry in the sun, awaiting my next sweat session.
Except, not.
Because, somehow, I've been way too busy eating Nutty Bars and napping to work in a little exercise. I mean, it's a lovely walking neighborhood, it really is. A morning stroll would be just the thing. But what if a rabid dog chased me? Or I got lost? Or there wasn't a coffee stand within walking distance? Turns out, there is, so all I really need is a walking companion.
Except, not.
My son, who would be my most logical walking buddy, has morphed into a true-blue teenager the past few weeks and spends an inordinate amount of time sleeping, followed by lying in bed looking at his iPad, followed by rising at the crack of noon and consuming massive quantities of food. This rigorous schedule does not allow much time for a brisk morning walk. No worries, though! We can always take that walk in the evening.
Except, not.
Because we're busy watching outdoor performances of Shakespeare, or going through McDonald's drive-thrus at late hours, purchasing mocha frappes and speaking in foreign accents. Or lying around, bloated and immobile after consuming copious amounts of baked beans and macaroni salad. Not a problem, though! We can always work a little excursion into our schedule that involves walking!
Except, not.
Unless you count running through Dollar Tree, Winco, Cash & Carry, Cost Plus and Tai Pan Trading company in record time before a party for which you are procuring items (and purchasing dark-chocolate Loaker wafers at Cost Plus and consuming the whole bag in two days). I mean, that's exercise.....sort of.
Except, not.
All is not lost, though! I think I broke a sweat twice setting up and taking down party items. So, there's that. Now, I just have to stop eating Fancy Cakes, Krispy Kreme donuts and homemade ice cream and eat nothing but fruits and veggies for the next two days to make up for my indiscretions and restore my health.
Except, not.
Starbucks run, anyone?
Except, not.
I'm spending six (!) days in Boise with my family (and my youngest and only son) and I smartly packed a pair of Lucy yoga capris and a sports bra, plus three t-shirts. I figured I could get my cardio on at least three of the six days, and if (perchance) my sports bra or capris got too
Except, not.
Because, somehow, I've been way too busy eating Nutty Bars and napping to work in a little exercise. I mean, it's a lovely walking neighborhood, it really is. A morning stroll would be just the thing. But what if a rabid dog chased me? Or I got lost? Or there wasn't a coffee stand within walking distance? Turns out, there is, so all I really need is a walking companion.
Except, not.
My son, who would be my most logical walking buddy, has morphed into a true-blue teenager the past few weeks and spends an inordinate amount of time sleeping, followed by lying in bed looking at his iPad, followed by rising at the crack of noon and consuming massive quantities of food. This rigorous schedule does not allow much time for a brisk morning walk. No worries, though! We can always take that walk in the evening.
Except, not.
Because we're busy watching outdoor performances of Shakespeare, or going through McDonald's drive-thrus at late hours, purchasing mocha frappes and speaking in foreign accents. Or lying around, bloated and immobile after consuming copious amounts of baked beans and macaroni salad. Not a problem, though! We can always work a little excursion into our schedule that involves walking!
Except, not.
Unless you count running through Dollar Tree, Winco, Cash & Carry, Cost Plus and Tai Pan Trading company in record time before a party for which you are procuring items (and purchasing dark-chocolate Loaker wafers at Cost Plus and consuming the whole bag in two days). I mean, that's exercise.....sort of.
Except, not.
All is not lost, though! I think I broke a sweat twice setting up and taking down party items. So, there's that. Now, I just have to stop eating Fancy Cakes, Krispy Kreme donuts and homemade ice cream and eat nothing but fruits and veggies for the next two days to make up for my indiscretions and restore my health.
Except, not.
Starbucks run, anyone?
Monday, June 3, 2013
Cleaning, 101..........
My kids are pretty intelligent. Really, they are very bright kids. Except when it comes to cleaning. And picking up after themselves. And doing what needs to be done. And seeing those things.
The parenting gurus even have a name for it: executive functioning. Which is psyche-speak for "learning how to get along in life without running to your mother."
So, I'm really trying to teach this executive functioning, but I fear it may be too late. Even though I, like most moms, fostered the art of toy picking-up, plate putting-in-the-sink, toothpaste wiping-up-off-the-sink, etc. nothing seems to have stuck.
Case #1, a few days ago:
Me (reading from chore list): You need to sweep the hardwoods.
Child (actually, adult. But I'm not naming names): *Sigh* Do we even have a broom?
Me (incredulous): YES, we have a broom. The same broom we've always had. Stored in the same place it's always been! For the 13 years we've lived in this house!
Child-Adult: That's a crappy broom.
Me: It's just fine. And anyway, I'd prefer you use the stick vacuum.
Child-Adult: It's broken.
Me: What? Since when is it broken?
Child-Adult (shows me stick vac): See? It's broken.
(Dust bin from stick vac is unattached. It clicks in and removes for cleaning)
Me: Oh. My. God. Are you serious? You have obviously never used this vacuum because it just clicks right in here....(clicks dust bin).
Child-Adult: *Sigh* Well, it doesn't work very well.
(Well, not without the dust bin, no.)
Case #2, yesterday:
Me: What are you doing?
Almost-Adult (again, not naming names): What?
Me: Why are you sitting there with your clean clothes on the bed, NOT folding them, and looking at your iPad?
Almost-Adult: I, I, ....I have a system. Just....don't nag me!
Me: What? FOLD the clothes while you're waiting for the other ones to wash and dry!
Almost-Adult: I'm waiting for them all to be done so I can just fold them all at once.
Me (incredulous): That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!! You have all this time RIGHT NOW to be folding and putting away your clothes!
Almost-Adult: Don't take out your frustrations on me! (Shuts door)
Me (opens door): I need to monitor your progress.
Almost-Adult: *makes unidentifiable sound - a growl?*
Case #3, tonight:
Teenage boy (no names!) "cleaning room" upstairs.
Me: Hears harmonica music.
I'm telling you, it's a lost cause. I know one day they will have their own houses. I can't wait to leave dirty dishes in THEIR sinks. Or wad up my dirty socks and stuff them in the corner. Or put candy wrappers under their coffee table. Or use the last of the toilet paper and leave the roll high and dry.
Oh, I have big plans!
The parenting gurus even have a name for it: executive functioning. Which is psyche-speak for "learning how to get along in life without running to your mother."
So, I'm really trying to teach this executive functioning, but I fear it may be too late. Even though I, like most moms, fostered the art of toy picking-up, plate putting-in-the-sink, toothpaste wiping-up-off-the-sink, etc. nothing seems to have stuck.
Case #1, a few days ago:
Me (reading from chore list): You need to sweep the hardwoods.
Child (actually, adult. But I'm not naming names): *Sigh* Do we even have a broom?
Me (incredulous): YES, we have a broom. The same broom we've always had. Stored in the same place it's always been! For the 13 years we've lived in this house!
Child-Adult: That's a crappy broom.
Me: It's just fine. And anyway, I'd prefer you use the stick vacuum.
Child-Adult: It's broken.
Me: What? Since when is it broken?
Child-Adult (shows me stick vac): See? It's broken.
(Dust bin from stick vac is unattached. It clicks in and removes for cleaning)
Me: Oh. My. God. Are you serious? You have obviously never used this vacuum because it just clicks right in here....(clicks dust bin).
Child-Adult: *Sigh* Well, it doesn't work very well.
(Well, not without the dust bin, no.)
Case #2, yesterday:
Me: What are you doing?
Almost-Adult (again, not naming names): What?
Me: Why are you sitting there with your clean clothes on the bed, NOT folding them, and looking at your iPad?
Almost-Adult: I, I, ....I have a system. Just....don't nag me!
Me: What? FOLD the clothes while you're waiting for the other ones to wash and dry!
Almost-Adult: I'm waiting for them all to be done so I can just fold them all at once.
Me (incredulous): That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!! You have all this time RIGHT NOW to be folding and putting away your clothes!
Almost-Adult: Don't take out your frustrations on me! (Shuts door)
Me (opens door): I need to monitor your progress.
Almost-Adult: *makes unidentifiable sound - a growl?*
Case #3, tonight:
Teenage boy (no names!) "cleaning room" upstairs.
Me: Hears harmonica music.
I'm telling you, it's a lost cause. I know one day they will have their own houses. I can't wait to leave dirty dishes in THEIR sinks. Or wad up my dirty socks and stuff them in the corner. Or put candy wrappers under their coffee table. Or use the last of the toilet paper and leave the roll high and dry.
Oh, I have big plans!
Friday, May 31, 2013
This is why men can't be in charge.........
Today Jeff and I are heading off to an overnight getaway to a cute little Bavarian town a couple hours from here. When he first mentioned it, I thought it sounded like a nice little road trip, just the two of us, in a quaint little town that I happen to enjoy a lot.
But of course there was a catch. The REASON for this trip (because, you know, there has to be a REASON.....who goes on spontaneous getaways just for the sake of romance? Psh!) is that Jeff has a Trout Unlimited meeting. Yeah, trout. Fish. A fish club of sorts. Or a political organization. Or something. Anyway, he's the secretary and that alone cracks me up. So, basically, I'm tagging along for company in the car and because there's a free hotel room in it for us. (Wink, wink!)
Except......at this particular moment, the morning of the trip, we are not sure which hotel we're staying in. Because Jeff made the reservation. And he can't remember. Because he pays no attention to details. Thankfully, there are only a handful of hotels in this small town, but this means we will have to do some detective work to track it down. He "thinks" the number he called is on a sticky note attached to his credit card. Of course. Excellent filing system.
So, I asked him, "Is this hotel a dive or what?" and he replied "Well, yeah, I mean, they usually pick kind of divey hotels - like it's not the Hyatt!" Um.......
So I'm not too particular, but I do enjoy a clean hotel room. One without bedbugs. That doesn't charge by the hour. With no hair wads in the shower, or used condoms behind the bed (true story). One with no stale Cheerios on the ground that my toddler eats immediately upon arrival ('nother true story). Ok, I'm a little bit picky.
But seriously? He cannot remember which hotel we're staying in? Or if it's skeevy? And he's perfectly fine to just drive up there and wander around until we find it. I need to KNOW. I need a PLAN.
While packing, he was careful to pack a shirt from a race that Trout Unlimited sponsored. He said it would make "that guy" happy to see he was wearing it. "That guy" from the race, who we talked to for a long time, who he's seen multiple times at meetings......."that guy" with a name he can't remember. Whaatt? Details.
We are having guests next week - a bunch of my family members who are traveling nine hours to attend my daughter's graduation. This means nine extra people in the house, which means some shuffling and planning for who is going to sleep where, etc. In the big scheme of plans, this involves purchasing a queen-size bed for our ever-growing son who has outgrown his twin size captain's bed. My husband has conveniently planned a "guys only" camping trip during the last two crucial days before "Zero Day" when the family arrives, extending one day into their visit.Which means he will likely not be around for bed procurement, moving furniture, cleaning the house.....the details. I know, grounds for divorce, right?
But he promises me he'll do all the things necessary before he leaves. Like the heavy lifting, heavy cleaning, and "whatever else" needs to be done. What he doesn't realize are all the small details that go into planning for such an event - the graduation party, the actual graduation, the fact that we're having a house full of guests for the first time in.....ever. He says, "Just tell me what needs to be done!" And to his credit, he will do it. But it is I who attends to the details.
If I had made the hotel reservations for this weekend, I would have shopped around. I would have compared prices, paid attention to the little extras, printed a confirmation.....you know, the details!
So, we're off to the mystery hotel. It's only one night and I spent one memorable night at a $59-a-night TravelLodge in La Grande, OR in a snowstorm with my entire family of six crammed into a room that barely held two double beds and may or may not have had a used feminine product on the floor when we arrived. We laughed, we cried, we hit the road so fast in the morning we didn't even partake of the stale danish and nasty coffee in the lobby. I can handle it. I can.
But just in case, I'm packing the Lysol.
But of course there was a catch. The REASON for this trip (because, you know, there has to be a REASON.....who goes on spontaneous getaways just for the sake of romance? Psh!) is that Jeff has a Trout Unlimited meeting. Yeah, trout. Fish. A fish club of sorts. Or a political organization. Or something. Anyway, he's the secretary and that alone cracks me up. So, basically, I'm tagging along for company in the car and because there's a free hotel room in it for us. (Wink, wink!)
Except......at this particular moment, the morning of the trip, we are not sure which hotel we're staying in. Because Jeff made the reservation. And he can't remember. Because he pays no attention to details. Thankfully, there are only a handful of hotels in this small town, but this means we will have to do some detective work to track it down. He "thinks" the number he called is on a sticky note attached to his credit card. Of course. Excellent filing system.
So, I asked him, "Is this hotel a dive or what?" and he replied "Well, yeah, I mean, they usually pick kind of divey hotels - like it's not the Hyatt!" Um.......
So I'm not too particular, but I do enjoy a clean hotel room. One without bedbugs. That doesn't charge by the hour. With no hair wads in the shower, or used condoms behind the bed (true story). One with no stale Cheerios on the ground that my toddler eats immediately upon arrival ('nother true story). Ok, I'm a little bit picky.
But seriously? He cannot remember which hotel we're staying in? Or if it's skeevy? And he's perfectly fine to just drive up there and wander around until we find it. I need to KNOW. I need a PLAN.
While packing, he was careful to pack a shirt from a race that Trout Unlimited sponsored. He said it would make "that guy" happy to see he was wearing it. "That guy" from the race, who we talked to for a long time, who he's seen multiple times at meetings......."that guy" with a name he can't remember. Whaatt? Details.
We are having guests next week - a bunch of my family members who are traveling nine hours to attend my daughter's graduation. This means nine extra people in the house, which means some shuffling and planning for who is going to sleep where, etc. In the big scheme of plans, this involves purchasing a queen-size bed for our ever-growing son who has outgrown his twin size captain's bed. My husband has conveniently planned a "guys only" camping trip during the last two crucial days before "Zero Day" when the family arrives, extending one day into their visit.Which means he will likely not be around for bed procurement, moving furniture, cleaning the house.....the details. I know, grounds for divorce, right?
But he promises me he'll do all the things necessary before he leaves. Like the heavy lifting, heavy cleaning, and "whatever else" needs to be done. What he doesn't realize are all the small details that go into planning for such an event - the graduation party, the actual graduation, the fact that we're having a house full of guests for the first time in.....ever. He says, "Just tell me what needs to be done!" And to his credit, he will do it. But it is I who attends to the details.
If I had made the hotel reservations for this weekend, I would have shopped around. I would have compared prices, paid attention to the little extras, printed a confirmation.....you know, the details!
So, we're off to the mystery hotel. It's only one night and I spent one memorable night at a $59-a-night TravelLodge in La Grande, OR in a snowstorm with my entire family of six crammed into a room that barely held two double beds and may or may not have had a used feminine product on the floor when we arrived. We laughed, we cried, we hit the road so fast in the morning we didn't even partake of the stale danish and nasty coffee in the lobby. I can handle it. I can.
But just in case, I'm packing the Lysol.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Blog in a blog.........
My cousin, Alex, passed this link on to me today:
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/30/worst-end-of-school-year-mom-ever#.UafIQJlh7PE.facebook
I can SO relate to this mom. Although she has younger kids, I've been there and now, even with teenagers, I always feel the slow crawl to summer starting around April. I think the biggest part of this is that starting around April, all of the "end of the year" stuff starts happening. As in, teachers try to cram in the stuff they haven't covered (I know we're doing it in MY classroom!), there are year-end banquets for sports, recitals for dance, last games and concerts.......by the time June rolls around, we've been known to be busy almost every night of the week.
This year it's not too bad. No one is playing sports, or taking dance. We have a couple concerts coming up, but mostly the kids are just in actual physical pain from having to go to school for ten more days. They contort and twist their faces in despair each day and put desperate pleas on Facebook for summer to PLEASE GET HERE ALREADY!
Of course, after the first day, they'll be bored. It's the same story every year. Unless I'm jumping through hoops and acting like a circus ringmaster to entertain them, they can't seem to find anything to do. I love to read their yearbooks: "Let's hang this summer!" "We're gonna tear it up this summer!" "We HAVE to hang out this summer!" But they won't. They will sleep until noon, drape their bodies over the couch and floor and watch TV for hours while simultaneously playing monotonous games on their iPads and texting on their phones. Most days will pass without them even knowing if the sun was shining because they will stay inside all day.
I bust my ass to plan outings. I put every outdoor concert I can find on my calendar, only to attend maybe one (if I'm lucky) because no one wants to drag themselves out of the house at 6 p.m. because they haven't showered yet. I always wait too long to plan camping trips so that by the time summer rolls around, I'm scrambling for a good spot so we can go "camping" (otherwise known as two full days of work for 1.5 days of sleeping in the camper in a marginal spot at a state park).
But I am counting down the days as well. My kindergarten class is not immune to senioritis, it seems, and they are getting a little squirrely. Ok, a lot. Most days I feel like having extra recess - for the whole day! Yesterday the math lesson was so boring and not one child was listening. I watched the teacher keep trying to slog through it and finally said to her under my breath, "This is so boring, we really need to move on to something else!" Improvise, teachers! You're losing the kids anyway, at least try to keep them engaged. One little boy asked me today how many more days until he was in first grade. I wasn't sure if that was because he couldn't wait to be a first-grader or he couldn't wait to get the heck out of dodge.
I will NOT miss making lunches every day. Oh. My. God. I hate making lunches. For one thing, how can you be creative with lunch 180 days a year? I get so bored with what to pack for the kids and the whole process just gives me a rash. Next year they are making their own lunches. I'm done. I feel a tiny bit bad because the younger kids always have to grow up faster than the older ones, but I don't feel bad enough to change my mind on this. In fact, I don't really enjoy feeding people at all. Unless it's at a restaurant. Cooking has lost all its charm for me and just throwing together a dinner every night at this point is like fingernails on a chalkboard - so irritating! Why can't we just have cereal and call it good?
The best part is that I also get the summer off. Working at a school has its advantages. But that also means I have to spend my days with four teenagers, two of whom will be out of high school, and only one of whom drives. That means I can't just send them all off on an adventure because they are scattered in a million different directions which means at least half of them are home at any given time. I really miss being alone in my house. A LOT.
I have big plans, too. Just like every summer: I'm going to get caught up on scrapbooks and photo albums, I'm going to write a best-seller, I'm going to exercise every day and get in the best shape of my life. I might sign up for a class! Go on a lot of hikes! Get a fabulous tan! Psh. Before I know it, summer will be gone and none of those things will have come to fruition because I've spent my summer ferrying kids around, pushing them out the door to get some fresh air and planning big adventures that turn out to be duds because everyone is fighting.
But, good news! I know from past experience that there will be lazy days that end in a delicious BBQ on the deck, lots of nights around the fire pit consuming too many s'mores, watermelon galore, iced tea and lemonade and some crazy road trips. Mostly the mind-numbing slogging through each day will be over and we'll wake up every morning for ten weeks with the promise of a whole day ahead to do whatever we want.
Like the mom in the blog, I haven't checked backpacks, homework or anything pretty much all year. I trust that my kids will do what needs to be done so they don't flunk out of school. My daughter is graduating by the skin of her teeth, which makes me both happy and sad. I'll have successfully (?) raised half of my children to adulthood. One year I found a half-eaten sandwich covered in mold and a bag of carrot sticks swimming in goo in my kids' backpack in August. I hadn't bothered to go through it at the end of the year. I probably won't bother to go through them this year either. They rarely bring home "keepers" these days - artwork, cute projects and things worth saving. I do love their writing, but they rarely show it to me anymore. I'll tuck their awards and certificates away in their keepsakes.
But boy, do I have some chores for them! C'mon, summer!
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/30/worst-end-of-school-year-mom-ever#.UafIQJlh7PE.facebook
I can SO relate to this mom. Although she has younger kids, I've been there and now, even with teenagers, I always feel the slow crawl to summer starting around April. I think the biggest part of this is that starting around April, all of the "end of the year" stuff starts happening. As in, teachers try to cram in the stuff they haven't covered (I know we're doing it in MY classroom!), there are year-end banquets for sports, recitals for dance, last games and concerts.......by the time June rolls around, we've been known to be busy almost every night of the week.
This year it's not too bad. No one is playing sports, or taking dance. We have a couple concerts coming up, but mostly the kids are just in actual physical pain from having to go to school for ten more days. They contort and twist their faces in despair each day and put desperate pleas on Facebook for summer to PLEASE GET HERE ALREADY!
Of course, after the first day, they'll be bored. It's the same story every year. Unless I'm jumping through hoops and acting like a circus ringmaster to entertain them, they can't seem to find anything to do. I love to read their yearbooks: "Let's hang this summer!" "We're gonna tear it up this summer!" "We HAVE to hang out this summer!" But they won't. They will sleep until noon, drape their bodies over the couch and floor and watch TV for hours while simultaneously playing monotonous games on their iPads and texting on their phones. Most days will pass without them even knowing if the sun was shining because they will stay inside all day.
I bust my ass to plan outings. I put every outdoor concert I can find on my calendar, only to attend maybe one (if I'm lucky) because no one wants to drag themselves out of the house at 6 p.m. because they haven't showered yet. I always wait too long to plan camping trips so that by the time summer rolls around, I'm scrambling for a good spot so we can go "camping" (otherwise known as two full days of work for 1.5 days of sleeping in the camper in a marginal spot at a state park).
But I am counting down the days as well. My kindergarten class is not immune to senioritis, it seems, and they are getting a little squirrely. Ok, a lot. Most days I feel like having extra recess - for the whole day! Yesterday the math lesson was so boring and not one child was listening. I watched the teacher keep trying to slog through it and finally said to her under my breath, "This is so boring, we really need to move on to something else!" Improvise, teachers! You're losing the kids anyway, at least try to keep them engaged. One little boy asked me today how many more days until he was in first grade. I wasn't sure if that was because he couldn't wait to be a first-grader or he couldn't wait to get the heck out of dodge.
I will NOT miss making lunches every day. Oh. My. God. I hate making lunches. For one thing, how can you be creative with lunch 180 days a year? I get so bored with what to pack for the kids and the whole process just gives me a rash. Next year they are making their own lunches. I'm done. I feel a tiny bit bad because the younger kids always have to grow up faster than the older ones, but I don't feel bad enough to change my mind on this. In fact, I don't really enjoy feeding people at all. Unless it's at a restaurant. Cooking has lost all its charm for me and just throwing together a dinner every night at this point is like fingernails on a chalkboard - so irritating! Why can't we just have cereal and call it good?
The best part is that I also get the summer off. Working at a school has its advantages. But that also means I have to spend my days with four teenagers, two of whom will be out of high school, and only one of whom drives. That means I can't just send them all off on an adventure because they are scattered in a million different directions which means at least half of them are home at any given time. I really miss being alone in my house. A LOT.
I have big plans, too. Just like every summer: I'm going to get caught up on scrapbooks and photo albums, I'm going to write a best-seller, I'm going to exercise every day and get in the best shape of my life. I might sign up for a class! Go on a lot of hikes! Get a fabulous tan! Psh. Before I know it, summer will be gone and none of those things will have come to fruition because I've spent my summer ferrying kids around, pushing them out the door to get some fresh air and planning big adventures that turn out to be duds because everyone is fighting.
But, good news! I know from past experience that there will be lazy days that end in a delicious BBQ on the deck, lots of nights around the fire pit consuming too many s'mores, watermelon galore, iced tea and lemonade and some crazy road trips. Mostly the mind-numbing slogging through each day will be over and we'll wake up every morning for ten weeks with the promise of a whole day ahead to do whatever we want.
Like the mom in the blog, I haven't checked backpacks, homework or anything pretty much all year. I trust that my kids will do what needs to be done so they don't flunk out of school. My daughter is graduating by the skin of her teeth, which makes me both happy and sad. I'll have successfully (?) raised half of my children to adulthood. One year I found a half-eaten sandwich covered in mold and a bag of carrot sticks swimming in goo in my kids' backpack in August. I hadn't bothered to go through it at the end of the year. I probably won't bother to go through them this year either. They rarely bring home "keepers" these days - artwork, cute projects and things worth saving. I do love their writing, but they rarely show it to me anymore. I'll tuck their awards and certificates away in their keepsakes.
But boy, do I have some chores for them! C'mon, summer!
Monday, May 20, 2013
Why you should never drink and drive..or eat and drive..or do anything and drive!
I like to think I'm the queen of multitasking. Well, maybe not the queen, but one of her ladies-in-waiting. Ok, her cleaning lady.
Anyway.
I eat in the car. A lot. Like every day on my way to work, and on my way home, or to run errands or whatever because I am never at home to sit and eat a meal until dinner time. So, I pack both my breakfast and lunch and just eat throughout the day. And it's a hazard.
I always, always, always, drop crumbs down my shirt between my boobs. I mean, I should wear a turtleneck. I don't even care anymore who sees me plunge my hand down my shirt to retrieve the crumbs. Because those suckers are annoying.
I also have a bad habit of dripping things on my shirt. At home, nary a meal goes by that I don't drop a blob of something on my "shelf" and my kids delight in making fun of me. My husband has even been known to tuck a napkin into my shirt when we eat out. Smart ass. I avoid this during my "commuter meals" by not packing messy stuff. Do you know how hard it is to eat yogurt in the car? Oatmeal? I've done it. It wasn't pretty.
Today while driving I attempted to drink my water while driving. I don't know why I have not remedied this situation yet, but I have a stainless-steel water bottle that I pack with me every day with a wide-open mouth, not a nice convenient straw. Needless to say, this makes it difficult to drink while driving. For one thing, you tip that sucker back and go over a bump and suddenly you're drowning while driving. Or, like today, you pour a little too fast and your mouth fills up to capacity in 1.2 seconds and you dribble all that water right down your chest in in between your boobs (you know, where the crumbs are!). And, really, there is no solution to that. Or any way to explain the wet shirt. I'm demanding one of those $900 titanium straws that Beyonce drinks out of. It's a safety issue.
A few weeks ago I was eating carrots dipped in peanut butter (I know, shut up) whilst driving and I somehow managed to choke on my carrot. I mean, for real, Heimlich-maneuver-necessary choking. I almost pulled over when I suddenly recovered, but I had that shaky, adrenaline, oh-my-God-I-almost-just-died feeling for hours.
Clearly I should not eat and drive. I mean, texting and driving is bad - so distracting! But no one ever says anything about eating and driving. Where are the billboards? The public service announcements?
Besides, imagine there being nothing in my bra but boobs. No more crumbs, water, or other foreign objects.
Or maybe I'll just get a really stylish bib.
Anyway.
I eat in the car. A lot. Like every day on my way to work, and on my way home, or to run errands or whatever because I am never at home to sit and eat a meal until dinner time. So, I pack both my breakfast and lunch and just eat throughout the day. And it's a hazard.
I always, always, always, drop crumbs down my shirt between my boobs. I mean, I should wear a turtleneck. I don't even care anymore who sees me plunge my hand down my shirt to retrieve the crumbs. Because those suckers are annoying.
I also have a bad habit of dripping things on my shirt. At home, nary a meal goes by that I don't drop a blob of something on my "shelf" and my kids delight in making fun of me. My husband has even been known to tuck a napkin into my shirt when we eat out. Smart ass. I avoid this during my "commuter meals" by not packing messy stuff. Do you know how hard it is to eat yogurt in the car? Oatmeal? I've done it. It wasn't pretty.
Today while driving I attempted to drink my water while driving. I don't know why I have not remedied this situation yet, but I have a stainless-steel water bottle that I pack with me every day with a wide-open mouth, not a nice convenient straw. Needless to say, this makes it difficult to drink while driving. For one thing, you tip that sucker back and go over a bump and suddenly you're drowning while driving. Or, like today, you pour a little too fast and your mouth fills up to capacity in 1.2 seconds and you dribble all that water right down your chest in in between your boobs (you know, where the crumbs are!). And, really, there is no solution to that. Or any way to explain the wet shirt. I'm demanding one of those $900 titanium straws that Beyonce drinks out of. It's a safety issue.
A few weeks ago I was eating carrots dipped in peanut butter (I know, shut up) whilst driving and I somehow managed to choke on my carrot. I mean, for real, Heimlich-maneuver-necessary choking. I almost pulled over when I suddenly recovered, but I had that shaky, adrenaline, oh-my-God-I-almost-just-died feeling for hours.
Clearly I should not eat and drive. I mean, texting and driving is bad - so distracting! But no one ever says anything about eating and driving. Where are the billboards? The public service announcements?
Besides, imagine there being nothing in my bra but boobs. No more crumbs, water, or other foreign objects.
Or maybe I'll just get a really stylish bib.
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