Look at what my clever kids came up with all on their own:
June 30, 2009
June 24, 2009
I don't usually feel fat.
I know, objectively speaking, that I am fat, it's just that I don't usually walk around feeling that way.
I was a skinny kid until I hit puberty and started gaining weight. I've been this size, the size I am now, since university except for a brief period in the mid-90's when I was bigger.
I felt fat then.
I was in my early twenties and, because I was only able to find clothes that fit me at plus-sized stores, I was forced to dress like a middle-aged librarian (not that middle-aged librarians are never stylish, but you know what I mean) . I was also out of shape and tired a lot of the time. I felt ugly and unlovable. I felt fat.
Then I totaled my car. I was rushing to work and blasted through a yellow light only to be confronted by a mini-van coming from the other direction and turning left across my lane. I swerved to avoid them, but hit them anyway. Smash! Crunch! You never forget that sound. Both cars did a full 360 before coming to a stop. No one was hurt. The mini-van was more or less okay. My poor little car, though, was a complete write-off. The front end was entirely smashed in.
After that I had to walk everywhere.
I lost weight.
My weight settled at what it is now. It settled in and bought curtains. It's been there ever since.
I'm still overweight but I don't usually feel fat. I'm smaller than I was. I'm able to shop and find clothes that fit in just about any store. I'm active and healthy.
Lately, though, I haven't been taking care of myself. It's been a stressful few months. I've been overeating. I haven't been getting to the gym. These things don't seem to make much of a difference to my weight but they do make a difference to how I feel.
I want to take better care of myself. I want to eat right and get to the gym. I want to feel good and healthy and strong.
And I'm worried that if I don't, I'll start to feel fat again.
Read More: Honesty is my new policy
June 22, 2009
Around 6am this morning Monkey crawled in bed with me and curled up in a small warm ball at my side. I rolled over, wrapped my arms around him and stuck my nose in his hair. It smelled like fresh air and mowed grass.
A few moments passed in silence. Then, as people so often do in the morning (or is that just me?), I farted.
Monkey patted my arm, snuggled in closer and said ,"Bless you, Mommy."
June 16, 2009
I told you how hard core the kids' soccer practice is in the rain. Yesterday's practice was hard core in an entirely different way.
I managed to get my SugarHoneyIcedTea together well enough to take the boys to soccer after missing last week because I was too busy packing for our move (which went very well, thank you for asking). I took a blanket and sat in the grass, periodically handing out drinks, snacks and hugs, while Monkey played soccer and Buddy ran around with his friends, climbing trees and frolicking on the play structure.
My hay fever was acting up making my face and neck itch and my nose and eyes run. I tried not to scratch or sniffle too much because I didn't want people to think I was weird.
Then I noticed a tickle on my chest. I pulled my shirt out and glanced down at my breasts. There was a bug running around in my bra. Gah!
In my bra.
I hate bugs.
I panicked a bit, reached down my shirt and slapped at it until I was satisfied it was either dead or gone.
I sighed with relief and looked up to notice some parents and kids were walking past my blanket looking at me warily out of the corner of their eyes.
It suddenly dawned on me that I'd been sitting there with my hand down my shirt slapping my breasts.
So much for appearing normal.
June 11, 2009
I'm socially awkward in conversation with just about anybody. Usually I'm the most socially awkward person in the room.
Today, though, I came in contact with someone who is possibly even more socially awkward than I am.
I had some time to kill before Monkey's school concert this morning. I picked up a coffee and wandered into the drug store to look at the magazines. I perused the selection of wedding mags, Men's mags, parenting mags, fashion mags and hobby mags with little interest, then I noticed Psychology Today. I've always been interested in psychology and I miss the psych classes I was taking when we lived in NB. I decided to buy it and headed to the cash.
The cashier greeted me and scanned my magazine. While I riffled through my bag for my card, she checked out the cover of the magazine. The stories on the cover are all related to mental health with titles like: "The hard knocks survival guide", "5 friendship fixes", "A new view of life in utero" and "9 ways to overcome failure".
She looked them over then glanced at me obviously wondering what mental illness or life crisis I was suffering from that made me need this magazine. I laughed and said, "I haven't read it before so I can't even tell you what it's like."
She raised her eyebrows and said, "Okay..."
I handed her my card and she rang it through. I signed the receipt. She said, "Thank you."
I said, "You're welcome," as is my habit. You see, I always say 'you're welcome' in response to 'thank you' because I was trained to when I was in customer service at IBM and I still haven't fully recovered from their brainwashing. I realized 'you're welcome' was an odd thing to say to a cashier at the drug store so I added, "Thanks!"
She raised her eyebrows again and said, "Okay..."
I walked out the door chuckling.
I'm not sure if I'm more amused by her or if she's more put off by me. I think it's a wash, to tell the truth.
All together now: Okay...
Read More: Honesty is my new policy
June 5, 2009
While I was making lunches this morning I noticed that my sandwich meat package proclaims, "Great new taste!"
I find this worrying.
I might be climbing out on a branch of the crazy tree here, but I need to know - shouldn't ham taste like (oh I don't know... I'm just going to throw out the first thing that pops to mind) ham?
I mean, it tastes like ham now. I can't help wondering - what did it taste like before?
Read More: Just Sayin'
June 4, 2009
When you give a girl who has a lot to get done and a huge talent for procrastination a laptop for her birthday and she suddenly realizes she can take snapshots with the built in webcam, what do you get?
You get this:
And then you get this:
Yes. I really am that ridiculous.
Read More: Just Sayin'
My horoscope this morning: Others expect a lot from you right now.
I feel bad for them. I really do.
I'm busy: We're moving a week from tomorrow and I'm responsible for everything that goes with that. I spend my days trying to pack and clean (I have to keep the house really clean in case the landlord wants to bring potential renters through) in between picking the kids up at school twice a day (Monkey is still in half days), making sure the kids aren't getting into thing they shouldn't and that they aren't hanging out windows or doing anything equally dangerous, making meals, letting the kids play outside and taking them to soccer, guitar lessons, gymnastics and swimming. I don't have a lot of extra time. Yesterday I spent the day running errands and cleaning. I didn't get any packing done and the house still looks like Amy Winehouse after a bad night.
I'm stressed: I have to take a French test soon because some parts of the program I've applied to at the local university are taught in French. J'ai la langue un peu rouiller (my French is a bit rusty, or if you want an exact translation: I have the tongue (or the language) a bit rusted). If I don't pass the French test I can't take the program. I have a meeting with the head of the faculty on Monday. The meeting is important. I still don't know if I'll get into the program.
I'm officially loosing it: Last night, after a frustrating day of running errands and cleaning and not finding the time to get any packing done, I was getting ready to take the boys to soccer. I fed them supper, did homework, packed their snacks, grabbed extra sweaters and sent them downstairs to get their shoes on. I went downstairs to get them into the car and remembered I hadn't grabbed their jerseys. I went back upstairs to look for them and found them still wet in the washing machine. I freaked out for a few mintues then I ran upstairs (we live in a 3 floor townhouse - garage and entryway on the 1st floor, living area on the 2nd and bedrooms on the 3rd) to try to find t-shirts in the team colours that the boys could wear instead. At that point we needed to leave immediately or we'd be late but when I arrived back downstairs the kids still hadn't put on their long sleeved shirts or their shoes. I lost it. I yelled, "Why are you not ready yet? WHY?" then I stomped back upstairs, threw my purse and keys across the room, yelled, "I'm not going anywhere," and went to bed. After a few minutes of laying on my face practicing deep breathing, I got up and yelled down to Hubs, "If you want them to go to soccer YOU take them." He had been planning to go and mow the lawn at the new house, but he took the kids to soccer instead.
I watched TV in bed and fell asleep at 10:30pm, or so. I woke up at 1:30am needing to pee and couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking of everything that needed to get done and what steps I needed to take to get it done. I pictured myself getting the packing done: filling boxes, taping and labeling them, sorting items to be taken over to the new house ahead of the move and taking down curtains and filling the holes left by the screws. I pictured myself getting started on the painting at the new house: painting the baseboards first, letting them dry then dusting the walls and rolling on tinted primer followed by the paint. I pictured myself taking down the ugly wallpaper in the kitchen and fixing the damaged paint in the bathroom. I pictured moving in and where I'd place the furniture. I pictured myself, after the move, returning to our current house and leaving it nice and clean. I pictured taking the French test and enrolling in the intensive French course in August. I pictured my upcoming interview: answering questions cleverly in French and English. I finally managed to relax and fall back asleep at around 6:30am. Hubby woke me up at 7:45. I made lunches and sent all my guys off to work and school.
Now if I can only rock everything as well as I pictured myself doing last night.
There's just one problem: I'm so tired from all that over night visualizing that I probably won't get much done today, even if I try.
Damn it. Foiled again. Stupid brain. Stupid stress. Stupid me.
Read More: Woe is Me
June 2, 2009
I took the kids to soccer in the rain yesterday.
When we left home it was barely raining; just a light drizzle. As the evening wore on it became a full-on downpour. Monkey's age group played first. They had a great time running around in the wet, muddy grass. Buddy joined in with Monkey's team for a while until his shoes were squelchy wet. Buddy was not impressed with the feeling of wet shoes and sat with me until it was time for his age group to play.
As Buddy's game started, Monkey found Buddy's best friend's mom, who was sitting under an umbrella and curled up in her lap where it was dry. She told him knock knock jokes and he repaid her with his big belly laughs. Buddy ran around after the ball in his squelchy shoes, his t-shirt changing from light to dark gray as the rain fell. For the second half of his game Buddy was in goal. He stood, shoulders hunched, shoes wet, with water dripping off of his hair and down his face until the end of the game. The ball didn't come anywhere near him.
For two hours, I stood on the sidelines with water dripping off of my hat onto my nose and off of my jacket and sinking into my jeans, watching the kids play. Gradually, I realized I hadn't been that cold, wet and miserable since 1993. 1993, frosh week, Shinerama to be exact. My Shinerama group was sent to do a car wash in the rain. A car wash on a rainy day is a wet, wet place.
We were car wash on a rainy day wet last night. We were iceberg cold.
By the end of Buddy's game the kids were miserable and I was asking myself why we'd stayed as long as we did. I encouraged the frozen, dripping children across the field and into the car by telling them we were super heroes and the rain was the bad guy and we weren't going to let the bad guy stop us, were we? "I can't do it!" Monkey wailed, dragging his feet. It looked like the bad guys had won. But Buddy, a true super hero, took Monkey's hand and pulled him along while I struggled with the bag of extra jackets and snacks and the two lawn chairs which were, by then, too wet to sit on. We made it to the car, I buckled Monkey into his seat and turned the heat on full blast.
At home I put the boys in a warm bath and I sat on the edge of the tub with my feet in the water. Warm at last.
I'm not sure I'm cut out for this soccer mom thing. It's crazy hard core.