Finding my Way Back to Healthy

More than four years after the birth of my daughter, I have reached the weight I was at when I first found out I was pregnant, 182lbs.  Six months after she was born, I had lost some of the weight and was about 202lbs.  But over the next 3+ years, I gained an additional 30lbs or so.  Yikes.  So there I was, at my daughter’s fourth birthday, knowing she only knew me as the blob of a human I thought I was.  I couldn’t stand it. 

I had tried Weight Watchers in the past.  The first time I did it, I lost 20lbs within a few months.  It all came back.  A few years afterward, I quit smoking.  I put on some more weight as a result.  Then I signed up to do Weight Watchers again.  I did it for a year.  I didn’t lose any more than 5lbs.  I gave up, and then I got pregnant at my heaviest weight ever, 182.  Anyone who knew what I weighed insisted that I “carried it well” or otherwise intimated that they never would have guessed I weighed so much based on how I look.  That’s sort of comforting, for about a second.

During pregnancy, I had a few food aversions.  But what I craved, I ate.  And ate.  I gave in to every food indulgence I was allowed and I did it in excess.  What did I eat most during pregnancy?  Peanut butter & jelly sandwiches.  Vanilla pudding.  Ice cream.  Lots of milk.  And obscene amounts of peanut M’n’ms.  Carbs, carbs, and more carbs.  I stopped looking at the scale when I visited the OB after seeing I was up to 232lbs.  I’m sure there were several weeks left in the pregnancy at that point, and the quickest weight gain usually takes place at the end of a pregnancy.  So I truly don’t know what I weighed right before giving birth.  I was too afraid to know.

I remember bringing my favorite Quizno’s sandwich over to my parents’ house and my mom warned me that I shouldn’t be eating a lot of stuff like that.  She told me she gained 60 or 70lbs with her first pregnancy and it was a nightmare taking it off.  I totally blew her off, thinking I was going to breastfeed and do yoga, and that everything would be fine.  Sadly, Mom was so right (as usual).

For a while after the baby was born, I knew I had a grace period for taking the weight off.  It didn’t make it any easier knowing how heavy I was, but I tried to cut myself some slack.  Then she was six months old and I didn’t feel I had the luxury of the grace period any longer.  Friends tried to extend it, but I knew at her first birthday that it was long gone. 

I tried increasing my exercise.  I tried watching what I ate.  My breastfeeding efforts had not gone as planned, and I stopped pumping when she was six weeks old.  My exercise and eating efforts were half-hearted.  I was tired and stressed out.  I was depressed.  Nothing about my lifestyle was conducive to weight loss.

Finally I tried hypnosis.  It was promising at first.  Then I was traumatized by an incident that left me back at square one.  I kept going with the hypnosis, and over the next 22 months I did make progress in other areas of my life, like stress management, organization, etc.  Practically every area besides the whole purpose behind starting the hypnosis program – weight loss.  Finally, in January 2011 I decided to strike out in some other direction and stop going to the sessions with my hypnotherapist.

One of the things I learned with hypnosis is that diets don’t work.  If you lose weight on a diet, you’ll just gain it back (likely plus more) once you stop doing the diet.  So I resisted every program out there.  Then I tried Dr. Natasha Turner’s Hormone Diet.  I lost about 6lbs at first on the 2-week “detox” beginning, when I cut out a lot of specific foods and added a lot of healthy foods.  Once the detox was over, the weight loss started to stall out.  Then I saw myself in pictures from my sister’s wedding in April.  Ouch. 

Finally, I decided to try Medifast.  I hear radio commercials all the time for their local Medifast Weight Control Center.  But online I discovered I don’t have to go to the center.  I can order the food myself and they can provide one-on-one health coaching for free.  So that’s what I did.  I ordered a month’s worth of meal replacements and signed up to get a health coach.

I received my food and talked to my health coach on the phone, and I got started the next morning.  April 30, 2011, a Saturday, was my first day.  It wasn’t a picnic the first few days, but I was ready and so I dug in my heels and did what I was supposed to do.  The first week I lost more than 10lbs.  Since then, my weight loss averages 2-2.5lbs per week.  Four months down, 47lbs lost.  It’s kind of unbelievable—I am not 100% sure the reality has sunk in that I am 182lbs again, for the first time in five years.

My daughter now weighs the equivalent of the weight I’ve lost.  When I pick her up, she is really heavy and I can’t carry her for too long.  How is it that only four months ago, I lived as if I carried her 24/7?  It’s no wonder my body was breaking down.  My knees and ankles gave me trouble, I developed mild plantar fasciitis in addition to my ankle tendinitis, and my energy was low.  Even though I knew my husband loved me, I didn’t feel he could possibly be attracted to me in the shape I was in.  My wardrobe was so limited and I was embarrassed that size XL t-shirts fit me, or at least I had no extra room when wearing them.  I’m only 5’2”, so if XL isn’t big enough, I am waaay out of proportion.

Now, I have purged my closet of almost all the clothes I wore four months ago.  I’m wearing things that are sizes like 16, 14, and 12, as opposed to the one pair of size 20 jeans I wore for a year and a half until they developed a hole in the inner thigh from my legs rubbing together when I walked.  Now, when I lie on my side, legs stacked, my knees feel too bony one on top of the other.  I can actually feel my hip bones, ribs, etc. when I try, as opposed to knowing everything is “in there somewhere.”

I’m hoping to continue until I reach the top end of the normal BMI range for my height (which would be 136).  I don’t know if my body will cooperate in this goal, and I think I will be happy wherever my weight loss stops.  I know I’ll lose another 20lbs at the minimum.  My ultimate goal would be to lose 100lbs, which would put me at 130.  At 5’2”, 130lbs is certainly not underweight.  My lightest adult weight was about 125lbs, when I was a senior in high school.  When people see pictures of me at that weight, they think I look too thin.  But the problem with me then was that my weight wasn’t a result of healthy living.  I was a smoker, I didn’t eat correctly, but I was very active, so I ended up being pretty thin.  But I didn’t have muscle tone.  This time, when I get to a healthy weight, I will have muscle tone, I will eat healthy, and I am not a smoker.  It will be a kind of me I have never seen.  And it will be wonderful.

For now, I continue the Medifast 5 & 1, which means I eat a Medifast meal every 2-3 hours, at least five times per day.  One meal per day is Lean & Green, which means I have one serving of lean meat (or meatless protein) and three servings of non-starchy veggies.  Drinking a lot of water helps (on my best days I reach 100oz of water by dinnertime, not including coffee, tea, or zero-calorie beverages).  Once I reach my weight loss goal, I’ll begin a transition period.  I will likely need a 12-week period to transition from Medifast 5 & 1 to healthy eating with my own foods.  I may continue using Medifast meals as part of my regular diet.  There are some that I really love.

From there, I hope to continue using Dr. Anderson’s Habits of Health to live the best way I can.  I’m not finished reading his book, but one thing I’ve learned so far is that there are not just two kinds of people: healthy and sick.  There are three: healthy, non-sick, and sick.  Right now I’m closest to non-sick, on my way to sick.  I’d rather be healthy.  So it’s up to me to regain my own health.

Alpha, Omega... Who Needs the Middle?

Did you ever see that email forward that described a study that said if you completely misspell words that the human brain can read the message anyway as long as the first and last letters were correct?  Like this:

Dsd ywu eevr sce taht eimal frrwaod taat dserciebd a sdtuy taht siad if ycu cmlpoeetly mpssiell wdros taht the hmaun biran can raad the mseagse awynay as lnog as the fsrit and lsat leettrs wree cceorrt?

I was always fascinated with that concept, that explains why we can all be bad spellers and fail to catch our own mistakes.  It is because of our amazing brains that we need spellcheck!

Speaking of amazing brains, (yes, here’s the part where I start bragging about my child), my Katy Rose certainly has one.  It seems only last week I was still trying to show her the correct way to hold a crayon or marker.  Now, she is picking them up and holding them without me even mentioning the correct way to hold it.  I can still remember thinking the way we were supposed to hold our pencils was dumb, so I fully expected her to resist.  There I go, making assumptions again.  (Yes, I said it, but that doesn’t mean you need to call me an a#$.  This is a family-friendly blog.)

You may remember I was recently elated to discover that Katy Rose knows how to make smiley faces.  She has really expanded on this talent, and now makes smiley faces on just about every object she draws.  She made a picture at dinner the other night of a cherry tree with a swing, a pumpkin, a sun, and other assorted goodies.  Yes, everyone gets to show their happiness, including the sun, the cherries, and of course, the swing.  I have joined the ranks of parents who are happy to plaster their kids’ handiwork not only on the fridge, but on any available posting space at my work station.

When I came home yesterday, I was blown away by the work she did at Grandma’s house.  She used four pieces of paper from a square notepad, and drew a puppy along with some “words” on the first one.  Then she duplicated the same puppy and words three times!  One for Grandma, one for Mommy, one for Daddy, and one for herself.  Is it just me?  Come on, this is incredible, right?  (“Yes, Wendy, of course it is.  She is an Artist Genius, obviously.”)  Thank you, that’s what I’m talking about!

The really cool part is what she wrote on the pictures.  I asked her to read it to me.  Under the puppy, she made an F and a W.  This spells “Woof” to Katy Rose.  Above the puppy, there is an S and a D.  That spells “said.”  Then above the puppy’s head is a D.  That means “the” (think “de” since she isn’t good at saying the “th” sound yet).  And at the top next to the D is PPE.  That spells “puppy.”  All together, the picture says, “Woof, said the puppy” (or “Woof, said de puppy”).

Wf, sd d ppe.  She’s got the basic first and last sounds down.  Do you realize what this means?  My kid can already spell like the rest of us! 

Look Out for the Nozzles!

My darling four-year-old is really into expressing her opinion.  Unfortunately for me, we have had a lot of clashes of opinion lately.  Well, actually, I suppose that should be unfortunate for her.  Because I am The Mom.  Which means I am In Charge.  Right?  Yes, that's what I keep telling myself.  And her.

We've been trying to get better at attending church, which has been challenging for a few reasons.  First, my husband's work schedule always involves at least one weekend day, and his schedule changes every 2-3 months.  Second, because we don't regularly attend, we don't know anyone at our church because even the family members that go there never seem to go to the same service we go to.  Third, we like going with my in-laws to the church where we were married, which is nowhere close to our house.  And fourth, we have a four-year-old who is opinionated.

For three weeks in a row, we attended mass on Saturday afternoon with Mom & Dad.  Each time, Katy Rose insisted she didn't like to go to church.  And so we made her go, like good parents do, and tried to keep her quiet and behaving well enough to avoid disrupting our neighbors in the pews. 

The first week, I grabbed a hotel notepad from the car just before we went in.  I now carry a box of Crayola crayons in my purse at all times, and it came in handy.  Katy Rose spent her church time drawing four pictures.  A pumpkin, a lemon, a carrot, and an apple.  The carrot and pumpkin are holding babies.  The lemon is jumping on a trampoline.  I was so delighted with her artwork, I took a picture of them after mass and shared it on facebook.  I didn't know she knew how to draw smiley faces already!

So, anyhoo, fast forward a bit and we are thinking of switching churches to a parish that is very close to home.  They have a school and a preschool where we plan to enroll Katy Rose in August.  So we wanted to attend mass there and see how we liked it.  I told Katy we were going to go to church, and she gave me her standard, defiant pout and delcared she doesn't want to go to church.  After a few words about why it's important I tried a different route.  "But there is music at church, and we get to sing songs," I said.  "But I don't like those kind of songs," she countered.  "Why not?"  "Well... because they're too God-ish."

I think I did a sort of double-take on that.  Goddish.  All things relevant to God?  All things Holy?  Hmm...

Almost as funny was when she said she wanted to show me how she can rub her nose when it is itchy.  Then she scratched the bridge of her nose and said, "This is how I scratch my nose when the top part is itchy, not the nozzles."  How's that for a visual?  Talk about a snot-rocket, double barrel!

Remind me to create a Katy Rose glossary.

Heaven is (not) a Place on Earth (posted 4/19/2011)

What do preschoolers think about?  Certainly not what mine has been thinking about: Babies, Heaven, and Death. 

Katy is four years old, going on ten.  Lately we’ve been having conversations on some pretty deep subjects that she has raised.  Many times, our conversations occur in the car while I’m driving.  Out of nowhere from the back seat, she has asked questions and made statements such as,

“Mommy, who will take care of my toys when I die?”
“Mommy, how do we get to heaven?  Can we drive there?”
“Mommy, I’m going to have a puppy.  When I grow up and die, who will take care of my puppy?”
“Mommy, how do you get out of heaven?  Do they have cars so you can drive out of there?”
“Mommy, what if I have to go potty when I’m in heaven?”
“Mommy, what if I get hungry when I’m in heaven?”
“Mommy, will you get God’s phone number?  You have to call her so she will come here because I have to talk to her about some things.  I can’t remember what she looks like.”
“Mommy, when I go to heaven to get a baby, I will remember what it looks like there.”

She’s asked me so many amazing and difficult questions that I’ve had to come up with a philosophy in pretty short order.  Since she was only three (and now four), my philosophy has consisted of the following:

Babies live in heaven with God and the angels before they get to be born here on earth.  The people we love that grow old and die go to heaven and get to help the angels take care of the babies.  (This came about because of a photo of my grandma, who died before Katy was born.)

Everybody dies, but usually not until they are very old.  (Had to quiet her fears as she went through a phase of, “Mom, I don’t want to die!”)  We needn’t be afraid of dying because when it happens we get to go back to heaven.  When we’re in heaven, we are with God, Jesus, and the angels, and we’re happy.
When a mom and dad decide they want to have a baby, they pray to God that they will get to have a baby.  Then God puts a baby in the mom’s belly for it to grow until it’s ready to be born.  (Phew!  Had to come up with that one on the fly when asked where babies come from.)

In heaven, you will have whatever you need.  (Katy couldn’t fathom being anywhere without a potty, so I finally agreed that they have potties there.)  Any food you want, it’s there.  Any game you want to play or thing you want to do, you can do.  (Upon explaining that one, she told me she couldn’t wait to get to heaven.)

God IS Love.  (Whoa… Wrap your mind around that one, Katy Rose!  She’s still working on it.)

Storyteller (posted 3/29/2011)

We just got home and Katy was chillin' on the couch.  Out of the blue she asks me if I want to hear the story of the doctor that came to the house just for Daddy.  Of course I do!  Here is the story, verbatim, as she told it to me.
-----------
One time I waked up and there was just a doctor and Daddy and me.
And I had a mysterious feeling.
And on that day, there were the only chocolate bunnies left that we could eat.
And that’s all my strangest feeling that day.  That’s all that happened.  I still know that.
-----------
This was so bizarre I had to record it for posterity.

Love = Hug (posted 5/12/2010)

As a first-time mom of a normal child, time does not operate the way it once did.  I’m pretty sure I have mentioned this before.  At this stage of the game, all the things that people tell you will happen actually do happen, but for some reason it is still a novelty because it is happening to you and your child, which has never happened before, technically.  Confusing?  Exactly.

For example, at some brilliant stage of toddlerhood, children begin repeating everything they hear.  This is the part where your kid repeats the least appropriate thing you’ve ever said within earshot of her.  And by “within earshot” I mean within a quarter mile radius.  For me, I was able to weather the storm when it came to profanity.  During the beginning of her “Black Beauty” phase, I said “sh#t” under my breath and realized it too late to stop it from coming out.  Immediately I sprang to recover, so by the time she said, “What did you say, Mommy?” I was able to cover with, “Bit.  I said bit.  Remember, the thing they put in the horse’s mouth, in the first part of the movie?  And he didn’t like it?  That was called a ‘bit,’ remember?”

Mike was not so fortunate.  He had a habit of cussing when things went wrong and he had no idea she was able to hear him.  So one day at Grandma’s house, she tried to tug a string off her dolly highchair that was terribly tangled.  As she was unable to free it, she said (to herself), “Fock, fock, fock.”  No, that is not a typo.  Grandma decided to investigate, and sure enough, Katy was using the words in the same sentiment that she had heard her daddy use them, but she pronounced them with a slightly different vowel sound.  When pressed on the matter, Katy simply replied that she heard Daddy say that. 

Grandma told me about this later that day on the phone, when Katy wasn’t around to hear it.  So I wasn’t surprised later that evening that the situation was still on Katy’s mind.  As she was sitting on her froggy potty, out of the blue she said to me, “My daddy says ‘f*&#, f*&#, f*&#’ all the time.”  I proceeded to try explaining to her that this is not a word we should ever say, and that girls, especially little girls who want to be like princesses, definitely shouldn’t say it.  She seemed to buy my explanation because I had done a pretty good job of not using the f word, and I am a girl.  But it was not the last time we discussed this.

When kids start repeating what you say, somehow it seems they know exactly which things are the worst things they could possibly repeat, and then say those things to the exclusion of anything nice that they’ve heard you say.  One day, Mike and Katy Rose were reading “Pat the Bunny.”  Mike pointed out that a character in the book, Judy, looked like she had a big butt on one of the pages.  (I’m just going to chalk that up to being a boy, like maybe they just can’t help it.)  I butted into the conversation and asserted that it was NOT nice to talk about other people’s butts.  The last thing I need is for Katy to tell me I have a big butt, or worse, someone else has one.  I once had a friend’s daughter giggle and say, “Mommy, Wendy’s fat.”  Yeah, let’s not encourage this.

Another amazing thing about this age is when kids start to recognize that they are growing.  We have a little hand and foot print framed on Katy’s wall from when she was 6 weeks old.  I’ve taken it down and tried to show her how we can use those to see how big her hands and feet have grown.  I soon learned that hands and feet are not the only things that grow.  One day while she was undressed, Katy came to me and proclaimed that her “bras” got bigger.  Oh boy.  Two nights ago, Katy informed me that her butt got bigger, followed by a show of one foot and the claim that it got bigger, too.  (Phew.)

Sometimes, though, this stage turns out to be purely amazing.  Suddenly, my two year old switched into a three year old, seemingly overnight.  Now and then I can almost see the wheels turning in her brain.  At this age, it is precious to witness Katy trying to make new logical connections based on what she already knows.  Last night I asked her if she wanted to sit on the big couch with me, or on the loveseat.  She knew them both as couches, so the loveseat term was new to her.  She tried repeating the word to me, so I said it again—the smaller couch is called a loveseat.  She thought about it for about 3 seconds and then said, “So… we hug it??” 

That’s right, love = hug.  <3

Tales from the Potty (posted 11/9/2009)

We are in the midst of potty training.  Despite my lack of do-or-die commitment to getting this completely done, we seem to be doing pretty well.  But this experience has opened up the door to some majorly funny expressions out of Katy's mouth.  So I'd just like to share a few with you.
The most common right now is: "Mommy, I want to do it MY-SELF."

"Mommy, I have pee pee to make in the potty!"
"Mommy, I made pee pee in my diaper."
"Mommy, let's read a hippopah-mus book.  Let's read two, three, four, five, six, seven books!  Get them, Mommy!"
"Mommy, these are pull-ups.  Daddy bought them for me today at the store."
"Mommy, I want to sit on the froggy potty."
"Mommy, I made pee pee in the potty!  Look!!"
"Mommy, I want to put it in the toy-wet.  I will flush the toy-wet."

And hands-down my favorite:

"Mommy!  I made poopy in my diaper!  And it's NAS-TY!  It's Bad News!!"

Yeah, you're welcome for that one.  :)

I Don't Sink So (posted 10/19/2009)

Well, alright, the title of this entry has nothing to do with what I wanted to write about.  I don't have a lot of time to write today, but I did want to tell you we have had some major, amazing, milestone action in the last 48 hours.

Katy Rose WENT PEE PEE IN THE POTTY!!!!!!!!!  YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whew!  Sorry, had to put that out there.  After months of having a little potty that has songs and a sensor to reward the child after doing some business, but not having success getting her interested in sitting on it, I decided a different strategy was in order.  We went shopping together and picked out a potty.  It's a froggy.  It's very cute.  It's very simple.  It's $12.

This weekend, Katy Rose managed to make pee pee in the potty a number of times.  I used books to keep her entertained on the potty, and Littlest Pet Shop stickers to reward her for trying.  We're early in the game, but kickoff has finally taken place, at long last.

Back to the title... whenever we ask Katy Rose if she has poopy in her diaper or has to make pee pee, she has gotten in the habit of smirking and saying in a teasing voice, "I don't sink so..."  What a little stinker.

Please, Lord, let me be able to donate the new, unopened tube of Desitin... Let's get this kid out of diapers!

I Can Only Imagine (posted 9/25/2009)

Well, childhood is in full swing here in the Tobin household.  And one of the most amazing, quirky, funny, and sometimes even annoying things about children is their imagination.  I know, imagine that, right?

I was talking with Katy Rose recently about bedtime and dreaming.  She told me about a dream she had, and it was not the first time she told me about this particular dream.  She said she dreamed that daddy put food on her head and that he put her in a stinky pot.  Not kidding.  I barely restrained myself from laughing at her because she said it so matter-of-factly.  Still haven't figured out what might have spawned that dream!

Another issue we have had is about a ton.  For a long time we had issues at bedtime or in the middle of the night when Katy would tell me about a ton.  I could not figure out what the problem was, but thought it must be related to nighttime shadows in her room.  Just recently she brought it up again, and it was easier to understand now that her vocabulary is larger.  She told me there is a big tongue that is in the bushes and she is afraid of it.  Yep.  And I'm still stumped.

My favorite part of her imagination is the funny part.  The part where she makes things act like people, makes them talk, etc.  Sometimes, when I have my feet up on the ottoman, she goes over to the entertainment center and makes a shhh noise like she's filling up a cup with water from the faucet.  Then she puts it down in front of my foot and tells my toes "There's some water for you."  Then she'll do it again, put it down in front of the other foot and tells those toes that she's given them some milk.  I am fully expected to make my toes drink each beverage and be satisfied.  Where on earth did this come from?  I can only imagine.

Digging for Treasure (posted 7/27/2009)

One of Katy's most favorite things to watch these days is "Pirates."  No, I'm not talking about Pirates of the Caribbean... too scary.  I'm referring to the Veggie Tales movie about the Pirates that don't do anything, or something like that.

We found this on On Demand (and she will tell you it's on On Demand--she knows) on the digital cable.  I thought it would be fine--it's Veggie Tales, after all--but there is something scary in this little movie.

At one point in the movie, one of the veggie wannabe pirates decides to give up on their mission and stay in a cave that the three of them had happened upon, because the cave is filled with cheese curls.  It so happens that this is the veggie's favorite snack food, and he figures staying there with a lifetime supply of his favorite snack is better than facing the danger and near-impossible tasks ahead of them.

After his two friends forge ahead without him, he picks up a cheese curl to take a bite.  It turns out that the cheese curls are not what they seem--they are vicious, biting little things that have no eyes, ears, limbs, noses--just cheese curl bodies and giant teeth in their mouths.  They turn on the veggie and start chasing him, trying to eat him.  They are creepy, mean little things, and they chase him even across the ocean to another island.

Needless to say, they sure creeped Katy Rose out, and I scrambled to come up with a way to soften their image.  So I started calling them "little guys" and downplayed their mean actions as best as I could.  Now that the "Toddler Repeat Syndrome" is in effect and she has watched it a number of times, I think she's okay with the little guys now.  

Here's the part where I make a very lame transition to something horribly off-topic... Speaking of the TRS (Toddler Repeat Syndrome), Katy Rose has a serious case of TRS as it relates to her nose.  Specifically, sticking her finger up there and digging around.  Whenever she gets something, no matter how small, she insists I get it off her finger with my fingers.  We're in Tissue Training right now.  

She's actually getting decent at blowing her nose into a tissue.  The main problem we have with blowing her nose is when she does it without a tissue.  Yes, I have been the unfortunate victim of a direct hit from a snot rocket.

Someday, when she's all grown up and behaving like a big girl, I won't have to worry that she'll create the same first impression as she did with some people last week.  She won't say hello, tell them her name and how old she is, and then stick out her index finger and tell her new acquaintance, "I got a booger."

Who's the Boss? (posted 7/8/2009)

Ah, the learning curve of new parents… Now that Mike and I have learned a bit more about how to “wear the pants” with Katy Rose, things have started to settle down.  Her tantrums are less frequent now, and less extreme.  I think she might be getting used to the idea that she is not in charge.  But sometimes, I think she’s still got some learning to do, like when she made a declaration yesterday morning, and her behavior going into Target last night.

Katy and I went to Grandma & Grandpa’s house earlier than normal yesterday morning so I could get in a workout on their Wii system, shower, and then go to work.  After my shower, I went to check on things with Katy Rose.  Grandma and Grandpa were both with her in the living room, and she had left her shoes right in the middle of the floor where people need to walk.  I had had a conversation with her at home about leaving things in the way, and how we need to move them so people don’t step on them and either break them, fall down, or both.

Grandma and I started telling Katy Rose to move her shoes out of the way.  We said they could go on the edge of the fireplace hearth, or against the wall next to Mommy’s shoes.  She wanted nothing of that plan, and immediately proceeded (complete with squeaky whining) to place her shoes right back down in the middle of the floor.  After several firm requests from all three of us, she finally did put them next to my shoes.  She went down the hallway and I stopped her to have a chat.  I explained that she needs to listen to what Grandma and Grandpa say, and do what they tell her to do.  She protested.  I said this is Grandma and Grandpa’s house, so they are in charge. 

Her response?  “No, Katy Wose uh, uh, an’ Mommy in charge.”  Oh, really?!  I set her straight on that one.  Before I left, I asked my mom if she heard Katy say that.  She said both of them were in the kitchen and heard it, and had to restrain themselves from laughing!  It is amazing where these kids get these bright ideas.  I have to give her points for thinking in the middle of her declaration and adding me in there.  She must have thought that would make it okay to claim to be a boss.  Well, not quite… more lessons to go!

Last night, Mike, Katy Rose and I went to Target to get some things after dinner.  Mike had given her two options: to walk, or ride in a cart.  She chose to walk, so he picked her up from the car to carry her to the store.  We told her we did not want her to walk in the street with cars, so he would carry her to the sidewalk and then she could walk in the store.  Well, being a bit tired, she protested loudly and tried to wriggle out of his arms.  This has been a major thing because it involves kicking, and Mike has talked to her about kicking on multiple occasions.  I imagine it is much more painful for him than when she does it to me!  (This is one situation that makes me grateful to be a woman instead of a man!)

When we got to the sidewalk he put her down and I made her come and talk to me, as she was still making a fuss about the whole thing.  A pregnant woman witnessed my attempt at discipline—who knows what might have gone through her mind… I told Katy Rose about how it was not okay to kick, and that I thought she hurt Daddy’s feelings.  I told her I wanted her to go to Daddy and tell him she was sorry for kicking him.  He had gone ahead into the store and was looking at the ads on the wall.  As soon as we got inside she said she was sorry, but he was too far away to have heard her.  So I said, “Go and tell him so he can hear you, and give him a hug and kiss too.”  She walked up to him and leaned in and kissed the side of his leg but didn’t say anything.  I prompted her again to tell him so he could hear her.  Finally he crouched down to her level and she said, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”  It was so sweet, and satisfying, to hear it.  He asked her for a hug and they made up.  The rest of our excursion was without major incident.  She even put things back when prompted, instead of insisting we bring them home!

So I guess there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  Eventually she will have really earned the label of “good kid.”  I’m so relieved to feel like we’re over the hump on this.  I’ve never had much of a need to be in charge before, but these days, I’d better be the boss.

Two (posted 6/23/2009)

Not that we were eagerly awaiting this stage in Katy's development, but at least I can say with confidence that she has definitely reached the "terrible twos." 

It was difficult for me to figure this out, because up until recently she was such a sweet little girl, and when she did act up it was either really cute or it was due to a problem she was having.  So when these tantrums started happening, and she started getting nasty, I naturally assumed it was because she was having a tummy ache, tooth ache, head ache, etc.  Granted, she actually is cutting her 2nd molars so that might have contributed.  But I finally realized she is just, well, two.

I think the official point of terrible two-dom could be named as the day Mike tried to take her to the grocery store, like he always does, except this time she went in the store wearing shoes and a diaper.  And that's it.  It was the floral dept. "balloon lady" that was able to talk her into wearing her shirt, bribed with a balloon, of course. 

That was only the beginning.  Last night she threw a fit because I cut her PB&J into triangles without asking, and she wanted circles.  Then she wanted squares.  What she got was a few minutes in her crib and then a plate of PB&J triangles. 

It's still hard because I think we were too easy on her for too long, and I didn't catch on right away about how, when, and why I should put my foot down.  Now we're both polishing our sheriff badges.  I'm hoping soon she will figure out this whole boss thing (namely, that she is not it).  In the meantime, Mike and I are doing our best to be better parents and exercise tolerance and patience.

Night-Night, Jesus' Mommy (posted 6/8/2009)

Each night, when we put Katy Rose to bed, we have a little routine that we follow.  After getting all ready – diaper changed, jammies on, two binkies down from “the top” as Katy Rose calls it (on the shelf above her changing pad) – then we say our good-night prayer.  I usually hold her while we do it, but on rare occasions she has allowed her daddy to hold her during prayers.

         Now I lay me down to sleep,

 I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

 Please keep me safe and well throughout the night,

 And wake me with the morning light.  Amen.

After we finish saying our prayers, Daddy gets the Holy Water from “the top” and we bless Katy Rose, Mommy and Daddy with it.  We have two bottles of Holy Water—one that is in the shape of a shell, which was given to us at Katy’s baptism, and the other in the shape of the Virgin Mary in a standing position.

Recently, Katy Rose pointed up to the plastic Virgin Mary bottle and asked me what it was.  She thought there was a castle on top of her head, because the bottle cap is shaped like a crown.  I explained to her that it was her crown (which is a new word—Katy’s version is “princess hat”), and that this is the Virgin Mary.  Then I wondered how to put it in terms she might understand better.  So, I said, “This is Jesus’ mommy.”

After that night, when we do our nighttime routine, she asks for Jesus’ mommy.  Now she is even in the habit of wanting to bless Mommy and Daddy with the Holy Water the way Daddy does it.  So Mike will bless our foreheads with it, and then Katy Rose does it too.  It’s nice to be so blessed!

Last week, as I was thoroughly embarrassed by Katy Rose misbehaving in the middle of church, when we got out to the fountain of Holy Water I was glad to have her occupied for a moment in a way that was silent… She got very busy blessing herself and her mommy while I gathered my wits.  This week, as Mike was with us, I did not have such a difficult time.  In fact, it was hard not to be entertained by her.  It’s amazing what connections a young child draws in her mind with such limited information coming in.

We were sitting in the pew as church had begun.  After singing the opening song in the Breaking Bread hymnal, I closed the book and put it back in the pocket in front of us.  Katy Rose wanted to see the book, so I handed it to her.  There was a depiction of the adult Jesus on the cover.  Katy Rose pointed to it and said, “Look Mommy.  Jesus’ daddy!”  She made sure to tell me multiple times, as I wondered about the value of trying to straighten this confusion out.  I think I explained to her twice that it was Jesus instead of Jesus’ daddy, and then decided to let it go and focus on the renewed effort to get her to whisper instead.

Then a woman with long hair walked up to the lectern to deliver the first reading.  Katy Rose saw her, pointed, looked at me and excitedly declared, “There’s Jesus’ mommy!”  I was at a loss for words at this point, as she made her declaration several times.  I looked at Mike and the two of us just tried not to laugh.  It was so precious and so cute… and so not quite right.  But hey, at least I know she is paying attention, right?  

God Bless Katy Rose, and Mommy and Daddy... and Jesus' Mommy, of course.

Let's Go for a Sim (posted 5/28/2009)

Summertime is here!  How do I know this?  Is it because:

a) the temperatures have reached triple digits?

b) the school year is ending and every store is full of graduation memorabilia?

c) I felt the need to paint my toenails an obscenely bright pink color?

While all of the above are actually true, my sense of summer is based on when we start going swimming in the pool.  This is probably because there are two requirements that must be met before I will go swimming.  First, the weather has to be really, really hot.  So in May or June, it has to be over 100 before I’ll consider it hot enough.  And second, the pool has to be warm enough.  If it’s really hot outside, then a pool that is about 78-80 degrees is perfect.  But if it is only starting to warm up outside, that pool is never going to be warm enough for me to enjoy it.  Yes, I am currently well-insulated.  However, I am not a polar bear.

This year, we went swimming for the first time after being outdoors for about an hour when it was probably about 105 degrees.  That was fantastic.  Perfectly refreshing.  That was a couple of weeks ago, and now we hear Katy ask to go again almost every day.  “Kayee Wose go simming?”  “Kayee Wose wear simming suit?”  “Mommy go simming too?”

Yesterday I got home right after Mike and Katy had changed back into their clothes after playing in the pool.  Even though I already knew because Mike had told me, and because I saw her new Ariel beach towel hanging up to dry on our gate, as soon as Katy Rose greeted me she told me, “Kayee Wose go simming wif Daddy!!”

The next thing I need to do is get this child swimming lessons.  She has made a ton of progress over last summer, when swimming consisted of clinging to Mama for dear life.  Now she likes to stand on her own, and sometimes go out for a kick-kick-kick session (which needs a lot of practice before I’ll consider it real kicking).  But I don’t think she’s figured out the fact that if we weren’t right there with her, she would be going under.  She sometimes has no fear and since I’m not sure about the idea of using floaties on her arms, I just stay right there with her unless Mike is right there with her.  She did have one experience about a week ago where she went under for maybe a second—I grabbed her and she was okay, just a little scared.  I guess we’re just going to have to make the time and pay for lessons somewhere.

Well, here’s to summer!  Now let’s all go simming!

Resilient: Flexible, Durable, Strong, Tough... Buoyant? (posted 5/19/2009)

I had an experience recently that really tested my resiliency.  What I mean is, it showed me how well I can come back to the barn for another lesson after falling off the horse.  Not that I've ever ridden a horse.  It also showed me why needing to use the bathroom CAN be a good thing.  But anyway... I'll break down the scene for you...

It was last Wed. night, which is my regular night to go to Positive Changes Hypnosis Center.  I start at 6:30pm and leave by 8pm.  Depending on the week, I could have a personal coaching session or my personal session with a hypnotherapist, or it could be the week in between where I have a "class" and then what they call Accelerations.  The class and accelerations are pre-recorded sessions that are delivered through headphones.  The class is actually about a half hour and is also on-screen, like watching a DVD.  The classes I watch cover various nutrition and health topics (I am doing a weight loss program).  Accelerations are pre-recorded hypnosis sessions that are accompanied by special glasses with strobe lights in them, which are supposed to help you relax and get to a semi-conscious state.  They usually have more than one voice talking at the same time into different ears, and I think ultimately they are also to help you unify your right and left brain.

So here it is Wed. night and (not surprisingly) I was the only person in class & acceleration.  I was in the classroom, which is a large room with probably 10-12 super-cushy recliners and soft blankets.  I picked out my chair and got comfortable, and the employee started my sessions and left the room. 

Normally, I doze off a little during the accelerations, and that night was no different.  What was different is that I had drunk a huge amount of water prior to leaving the office, and I woke up with the urge of a full bladder.  (Sorry, I know that is TMI.)  The reason I'm giving you such a personal bit of information is to illustrate that I probably wouldn't have woken up during the session... Being that they wouldn't be able to pause it, and I didn't want to miss anything, I decided to stay put until the session ended and then use the restroom before leaving the building.

The session finally ended... it was about 8pm.  I took off the glasses, waited... they're usually really good at coming in right when the session ends to turn everything off and get me out the door, since they close at 8.  No one came.  So I got my recliner footrest back down and stood up, when I heard an alarm.  It was a terrifying sound.  I thought maybe there was a fire and I needed to get out of there, so I grabbed my bag and opened the door.

Alarm turned to shock and fear when I opened the door to find the lights were off and the alarm was REALLY loud.  I stormed out of the room and tried to open the front door, which was locked.  Then I tried for what felt like several minutes to find the light switch, which was well hidden.  I looked in the other rooms to find small desk lamps turned on, but no overhead lighting.  The door, being in a glass wall, had the kind of lock that requires a key instead of having a knob or anything that I could turn from the inside. 

After finally finding the lights, and wondering why the police hadn't arrived yet to respond to the alarm, I was scared, angry, and by this time I seriously had to use the bathroom!  (It's okay to laugh.)  But I was afraid of ending up on the local news as one of those stupid criminals that tries to rob a place and gets locked in by mistake.  So I decided I needed to call someone first.  I scanned the area behind the front desk for contact numbers... nada.  Finally, I decided this was an emergency and I tried to dial 9-1-1.  I tried again three more times... I couldn't figure out how to dial out from their phones.  Sheesh.

I called 9-1-1 from my cell phone, and told the dispatcher I had been forgotten about inside a business, and the employees locked me in and went home and now the alarm was going off and I was trapped.  I had to talk very loudly over the alarm, so it probably sounded like I was freaking out, but it's just as well because I WAS trying not to panic.  The dispatcher then asked me if I was an employee or a customer.  ???  CUSTOMER!!!  (Yeah, I think I did say it a bit incredulously, but in hindsight it was a valid question.)

After I gave her the location, she told me that some units were on their way and we hung up.  I decided the time for the bathroom was now, or have an accident, so I went as quickly as I could to avoid being in there when the police showed up.  Finally I just stood in front of the door with my arms crossed and that darn alarm blaring.  Then a police officer strolled (yeah, as in "leisurely") up to me and he yelled through the glass, "Wendy?" and I nodded yes.  He asked if the door was locked (I guess he has to check... I am blonde, after all...) and we confirmed that.  Then he asked if I was okay.  I just kinda raised an eyebrow and gave him a look, as if to say I was not injured but could really think of better places to be at the moment. 

Then he told me to go to the back and look for a fire exit, and he went around the outside to meet me.  This is the first floor of a three-story office building, so this office is just a suite with several rooms... not all that big of a place.  I checked everywhere and found nothing but windows in some of the rooms.  No red exit sign, nothing but the locked metal and glass door in front.  So back at the front, he told me that he learned someone was on their way to unlock the door--he just didn't know how long it would take for them to get there.  I thanked him and pointed to the other end of the window-wall, further from the alarm, and said I was going to go sit down over there.

After a few minutes, the alarm stopped.  I had discovered in this experience that after so many minutes, the alarm stops.  But once motion is detected again, it will go off again.  So I sat in the chair in the corner and waited.  I had called Mike to tell him what was going on, but it was before the alarm had stopped.  There was nothing I could do but sit and wait.  By this time there were three police officers outside, chatting cheerfully about something.  As I was updating my facebook status from my phone, the original officer tapped on the glass again.  He told me to remain seated so as not to trip the alarm again, and said he had heard it would only be about five more minutes.

The owner arrived, unlocked the door and disarmed the alarm.  She walked toward me with a look that said she was worried and horrified.  I said calmly and clearly, "I am very angry."  (See, isn't that grown-up and un-panicky of me?)  She said something about how she understood and was sorry and I told her that it wasn't her fault because she wasn't there.  She responded that it was her fault because this is her business.  I recounted the experience for her.  She said she knew I was scared and asked if there was anything she could do, and I said I didn't know right then, that I just wanted to go home.  She said the door was open, and asked me to think about calling her the next day to let her know what she could do for me.  I left at about 8:45pm.

Looking back on this, Thank Goodness I had to use the bathroom, or I may not have woken up for several hours!  By that time, Mike would have been out of his mind with worry and unable to reach me, because I wouldn't have heard my phone.

I finally got home, and thankfully my Katy Rose was still up so I got an immediate boost to my mood and started to feel more stable.  Mike handed me a drink when I came in (after I got my huggies from Katy).  As much as I tried, I could not get to sleep later that night.  I kept telling myself this is not that big a deal, there was no fire, no one was injured, nothing was damaged, and I am okay.  But for some reason it really shook me up.  I think it is because this is one of those things I would have listed on a master list of Things I Would Be Scared Of If It Could Happen To Me.  I just didn't think it ever could or would happen to me.  I ended up in the living room doing puzzles until I was too tired, and then finally fell asleep.

The next day was pretty cruddy.  I had a headache and didn't feel all that great, but I plodded through.  I thought and thought about what I wanted from the business owner and finally wrote down my thoughts and then called her.  We had a good conversation in which she profusely apologized and explained that they actually do have closing-up procedures but they were not followed simply because the employees wanted to get out of work for the evening.  I knew the employees were in the room, and it was even more clear they were present when she quickly and firmly added that this was not how they run their business.  I asked to have at least a month added to my program because I felt that my scheduling had not been handled as well as I would have liked.  She upgraded me to add three months to my program.  I also mentioned that I didn't believe I could be comfortable going into the classroom again, even though my logical brain tells me this won't happen again.  Apparently they have an "out of town" version of the program that includes the strobe light glasses and I can take the accelerations home on CD and I get to keep them.  And she will include this for me at no charge.  She also said she would be the coach for my next personal coaching session, and she would make sure there was someone available every week in case I wanted to have a mini-coaching session every week if I want to.  So I was pretty pleased with our conversation.

Later that night, as I felt yuckier and yuckier throughout the day, I ended up getting sick.  I thought it was food poisoning from lunch.  Then I thought maybe my body was reacting to the stress of the night before.  Alas, by Saturday morning I learned the truth--it was a 24-hr stomach bug.  And the reason I know this is because both of my parents came down with it too.  Ugh. 

More than a week earlier, when Katy had the stomach bug, I taught her the word "sick."  So on Friday, as I lay miserable on the couch and trying to take care of Katy as she bopped around, I explained to her that Mommy was sick.  At first she cried, because she is so sensitive, and I think she first assumes that whatever it is applies to her and she didn't want to be sick again.  Then she understood that it was Mommy who was sick, and not her, and what it really boiled down to is that Mommy wouldn't really play but she would watch TV and DVD's all day. 

The cutest part of my whole weekend was when Katy came over to me when I was sitting up on the couch.  Very gently, she stroked my arm from shoulder to elbow, and with concerned eyes and a soothing Mommy voice as if she knew what would make me feel better, said to me, "Mommy take a nap?"  OH my goodness, I could hardly get over that.  What a sweetheart!  This 2-year-old business can be trying, but it can also be really awesome.

There is a quiz on About.com tells me I am 66% resilient.  I don't know... I could have raged against that business owner for what I had to go through.  I could have demanded all my money back and stormed out.  I could have busted through a window instead of waiting for the owner to get there.  I could have sued for psychological distress or something.  I could have done anything opposite than what I did and most people probably would not have questioned it.  But this experience, while I do admit it was traumatic, is not going to keep me from doing this program.  I believe it's going to work for me, and one reason I truly believe it is because the first side effect I had from my program is incredible and immediate stress relief.

I'm not going to sleep very easy since Wed., and have had some tummy issues even after recovering from the stomach bug.  Plus, I think about the incident a lot and replay it in my mind.  I know these are things that need to resolve, and maybe writing about it here will help me to do that.  I know I need to re-learn how to relax, but before I started this program I know I wouldn't have handled this quite so well.  So, 66% eh?  I think I might be more resilient than that!

Size is Relative (posted 5/9/2009)

Now that Katy Rose is talking and jabbering away at almost any opportunity, she has really shown her imagination with everyday objects.  From tipping her Little People giraffes upside down and using them to serve "coffee" to Grandma, to making her toys interact with each other, there is truly no limit to a child's mind.  

A friend said that her four-year-old son thinks she is 100 years old and 40 inches tall, according to his Mother's Day letter that they helped him create in preschool.  Another said her child thought she weighed 8 lbs.  Some children think their mom is 22, or 35, when actually she's in between... I wonder what Katy will say about me in another year or two?

I think I've mentioned the Mommy Pooh before in this blog.  The Mommy Pooh is the Classic Pooh that my friend, Amy, sent to her before she was born.  It is the Pooh I used to place next to her in photos each month of her first year to document her growth in a tangible way.  Other than the really big Pooh that is now up on the shelf, this Pooh is her largest.  

Another Pooh she has is also "Classic" and is actually a pull-string that plays a music box tune.  One day she started using the musical Pooh, which is small, to call out "Mommy, Mommy!" to the larger Pooh.  I learned that the large one is the Mommy Pooh, and the musical one is the baby Pooh.  Then she grabbed another Pooh that is medium-sized and referred to it as Daddy Pooh.

I could easily take offense at the thought that she thinks I'm the largest person in the family... even if it's (temporarily) true, I doubt any mom wants to be known as bigger than daddy.  But then I decided to reframe this: I am the biggest PRIORITY in her life... hee hee hee.  One of my old nicknames was The Queen of Rationalization.  Also, Queen of the Dorks.  But I digress...

Since then, whenever Katy has three items that are the same, only different sizes, she identifies them.  The littlest is always Katy Rose (pronounced Kayee Wose).  Then the largest one takes turns being Mommy or Daddy.  So I guess that kinda blows my idea out of the water.  But you know what, there isn't a whole lot that is cuter than Katy creating walking, talking "people" out of the pieces of a slice of cheese.  Yes, indeed, I have seen myself impersonated in pieces of food.  And I have been made to converse with a sippy cup calling out for me.  The most common thing that the sippy cup and other inanimate objects say to me when they get my attention: "Mommy! Mommy! Wah-u dooeen?"  So I could be myself, a piece of cheese, or a stuffed Poohbear.  Personally, I believe all three of those things are pretty wonderful.  I guess it's all relative.

Monkeys (posted 5/4/2009)

Thanks to free ticket vouchers through Mike's company, we set out on yet another incredibly exciting adventure yesterday--taking Katy Rose to see Sesame Street Live.  The show was called "Elmo's Green Thumb" and was a really cute show about Elmo's potted sunflower friend named Sunny and the adventure involved in transplanting Sunny into the ground.  Believe me, it was quite an adventure, complete with nearly every non-human Sesame Street character from Oscar to the Count, Cookie Monster, Telly, Grover... even Prairie Dawn, the girl puppet with blond hair.

We went with our sister-in-law, Siobhan, and her daughter, Ceilli.  (Sounds like Shuh-von and Kaylee.)  I thought it was a really great show, with tons of songs and a fantastic set.  The show was entertaining, the costumes were amazing, and so was the choreography and dancers.  I was highly impressed, even more than I was at Disney on Ice.  Katy Rose, who happens to be a huge Elmo fan, had a great time too.  She sat on my lap again, but this time it was because the booster seats that would have enabled her to sit in her own seat without it folding up ran out 20 minutes before the show even started.  But it was just as well, because she definitely had a better view from my lap.

After the show had ended, the five of us went out for pizza and ice cream.  We had a yummy Napoli pizza from zpizza, my favorite.  Then we went next door to The Pink Spot and had ice cream.  Katy Rose had a scoop of a low fat, no sugar added black cherry (which was actually quite delicious).  I had a double scoop of vanilla and kona coffee, with some Oreo crumbles on top.  Mike had a sundae with vanilla and strawberry ice creams, Siobhan had a sundae that had a brownie in it and looked amazing, and Ceilli had a scoop of cotton candy ice cream.  It kind of looked like an ice cream version of My Little Pony colors.

Katy Rose and Ceilli quickly found the game corner and pulled out some toys to play with.  One of the toys was a barrel of monkeys... I never had one as a kid, but I know what they are because of Toy Story.  (Sad, I know.)  They also hauled out some pieces from the game Cootie, which I did have as a kid and it was actually one of my favorites.  Between manipulating that spoon for some cherry goodness and making those monkeys oo ooh ah aah in the corner of the ice cream shop, Katy was thoroughly entertained.

As we were getting back in the car to go home, I said to Katy, "Wow, we did a lot today.  Did you have fun today?"  I got a one-word answer.  "Monkeys!"  Enough said.

Think Heavy Thoughts (posted 4/30/2009)

I am a proud blood donor.  Ever since I was in high school and they started having an occasional blood drive at the school, I have wanted to be a blood donor.  Back then, my problem was that I had to wait until I was 17, because that didn’t happen until November of my senior year.  But when they did have a drive, and I was finally old enough, I was super happy to be able to do it.  I had never had bloodwork done before, so it was definitely a new experience.  And I am really drawing a blank as to why I wanted to do it so badly.  Most people run from needles, right?  My best guess is that it was the closest I could get to a super-rebellious act that involves needles—getting a tattoo.




Those of you that did not know me back then may not realize what a crazy, rebellious teen I was.  Despite my mom’s best efforts to corral me into what I considered a boring, “preppy” doom, I did anything I could (within reason, of course) to defy her wishes and take off in a different direction.  The majority of my unruly behavior came in terms of fashion (and believe me, I use that term extremely loosely). 




In high school I embraced two, widely varying, directions when it came to my clothes and shoes.  The first could be easily guessed—we’re talking about the early ‘90’s here.  Yes, I’m talking grunge.  I had a collection of flannel shirts, starting with one of my dad’s old plaids that he used to wear for working around the house.  It was nearly threadbare in places and had paint spills here and there.  I still have it though.  I loved it so much I wore it in my first driver license photo. 




Along with my plaid flannels came pretty much anything else plaid, including shoes.  The plaid thing is two-fold.  One, I just love plaid.  Can’t explain why.  Two, one of my very favorite bands in the ‘90’s was a punk-rock-ska band called The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and they were all about plaid.  In fact, one of their songs is called, “Bad in Plaid,” and there is a lyric that I think sums it up: “Plaid is the color of my soul…” 




So back to shoes…I fell in love with Converse Chuck Taylor All-Star sneakers.  I had a black-and-white-checked pair of low-tops that I got for my 16^th birthday.  I wore those things out!  Later, I also got two pairs of high-tops: one that is solid purple, the other mainly black with maroon and white racing stripes.  Oh yeah, gotta love the chucks.




Speaking of shoes, when I was fifteen, my mom was president of the National Organization of Mothers of Twins Clubs, Inc. (NOMOTC).  The annual NOMOTC convention happens in a different city each year, and it is where the officer elections are held.  The summer I was fifteen, the convention was held in New Orleans.  We didn’t usually go with Mom, but since she was president, we were all going.  Literally two days beforehand, I managed to get to Abbadabba’s in Atlanta to buy the shoes I had been saving for.  I bought a pair of Kelly green 3-hole Doc Marten’s.  They were on sale, and I paid $87 for them, which was a steal at the time.  I LOVED those shoes, maybe even a little more than my chucks!  When we were in New Orleans, I dragged my dad all over the French Quarter and broke those shoes in but good.  Ah, my lovely Docs.  Yes, they’re still in my closet too.




The other side of my fashion statement could best be described as an early version of green chic… in other words, kinda earthy, like a hippie.  I became a fan of the Grateful Dead, and attended my first concert at the age of fifteen.  We went to see the Dead with my best friend, her dad, and another friend.  The next year, we went again (minus the dad)… and I showed up to school the next day wearing the T-shirt I bought at the show… which reeked of smoke from the show.  But I had to be That Girl.  [Tangent Alert!]  Just before graduation I learned that a lot of people assumed I was a pothead, which I wasn’t.  Hadn’t even seen pot except when the ex-con across the street pulled it out of his boot one time.  But that’s a story for another day.  I also learned that a lot of other people didn’t believe I was a pothead, but they did think I was a smoker.  This, unfortunately, was true… I was a smoker for a long time, which is a sad thing.  I smoked from age 15-27.  There were a few semi-successful quits in there, but I wasn’t able to put that addiction to bed until January 16, 2005.  But at the time I celebrated to myself that people didn’t know what to think about me.




The thing I liked about my style is that it didn’t make a lot of sense.  I thought if I could keep people guessing about what I liked, then they wouldn’t be able to label me, and that really appealed to me.  Yes, for you astrology lovers out there, I am a Scorpio.  One day I was wearing my green Docs and shorts and a plain green t-shirt, and I was wearing this necklace I used to wear all the time that was amethyst beads with a peace symbol pendant.  This kid in my class was blown away, and said I couldn’t wear a peace necklace with Docs because it didn’t make sense.  Yes, exactly.  Thank you.




Anyway, back to the story.  Hmm…  Oh yes, back to the needle thing.  I had decided when I was 17 that I would get a tattoo after I turned 18, but I was still struggling with the design I wanted to get.  So I put it off until I had the design figured out.  I am now 31, and still do not have a tattoo… I think I probably won’t get one at this point.  But if you told me then that I would never end up getting a tattoo, I don’t think I would have believed you!




When I was in college, there were more frequent blood drives at the student union, and I participated a number of times without much incident.  But after I moved out to Arizona and got a job, I tried three times and was turned away each time for having low hemoglobin.  This has a lot to do with not having enough iron to donate safely.  So I gave up. 




Last December, there was a drive at my office and I decided to give it a try.  It had been 9 years since my last attempt.  Lo and behold, I was able to donate!  I was so excited.  I donated again in February as soon as I was eligible.  I tried again last week and my iron was too low.  So I made major adjustments to my diet this week and tried again yesterday.  Oh, so close!  The tech told me I had increased it so much in just a week, that he thought if I kept doing what I was doing with my diet, I could be able to donate tomorrow.




Today, as I decided to try one last time (for now), I sat in the little office with the tech.  As she was about to stick my finger, I said, “think heavy thoughts!”  Unfortunately, they were not heavy enough… that darn iron.  It’s hard being a woman and trying to maintain adequate iron levels. 




Well, even though I still have a lot of those old clothing items and shoes in my closet, I can definitely say my style has changed as I’ve aged.  I may wish I could go out and get pink rainbow hair, but something tells me it just wouldn’t look right on me now.  And the piercings and tattoos… yeah, I can think of other things I would rather do with the time and money.  But one thing is still the same: I still want to donate blood.  I can, so I do.  And tell me, what could be more rebellious than that?

Everyone Likes Cheese (posted 4/13/2009)

For Easter Sunday, we took the easy road this year.  No fighting the parking lot at church.  No searching for eggs.  No mixing of toddler and sugar.  We did celebrate with lots of bunnies, pretty basket purses, and the infamous see-saw (more to come on that).  We even watched the Velveteen Rabbit thanks to Grandma.  But we didn’t quite get around to dyeing the eggs we hard-boiled.  The big deal this Easter was breakfast and the Big Show.

Breakfast wasn’t even all that, but I did make some darn yummy pancakes thanks to Bisquick.  Then we goofed around a bit and since Katy and I got up early, she went down for a nap early.  I told her that after she took a little rest, we were going to go see a big show.  I told her that Mickey and Minnie would be there, and we would see them and lots of other friends ice skate.  I mentioned that we would ride a train to go to the big show, and it would be lots of fun.  Does that sound okay to you?  “Oh-so.”  (That means yes.)

You may have guessed by now that the big show is Disney on Ice.  Mike got some free tickets from work, so we decided to try it.  We weren’t sure what her attention span would be, and figured if it didn’t work out, at least we weren’t out any cash for the experience, except for maybe the train fare.

Mike packed up the diaper bag, and we decided to bring my Ergo carrier instead of attempting to bring a stroller that would probably not be allowed in the seats.  We made sure to bring a couple of friends with us, the featured friends of the day being Cocoa, her chocolate lab stuffed animal from Bob Evans in Wooster, “Cah,” the plastic macaw figurine from the Rainforest Café, and Peep, the smaller one.  Katy refers to any yellow chick as a peep.  Grandma gave her a wind-up toy that is a little peep inside a hamster wheel.  It can roll the entire length of our hallway and then some.  It can also go quite far on the sidewalk before predictably veering off into the grass.  This marked our first experience since Friday without Katy’s see-saw.  Apparently, when at Walgreen’s with Grandma and Grandpa, Katy’s little laser vision locked onto a decoration that is a bunny and a peep on a little see-saw.  It’s not a toy—I’m quite confident it will break if dropped on the tile—but she insisted and the grandparents just had to go with the flow.  Ever since, it was practically glued to her hand or in its close vicinity until now.

We got on the train, which is where Katy can get into trouble because there are no seat belts or harnesses.  But she did great and we had fun.  She had been on the train before, when we went to the NBA Jam Session.

When we got off the train downtown, we decided to head to Seamus McCaffrey’s for an early dinner.  We loaded Katy onto my back in the Ergo, and headed over there.  She seemed to enjoy riding this way, saying, “Mommy, wassat?  Mommy, wook, Mommy, wassat?  Mommy, wassat?” over and over as we walked about a block to the pub.

Fries (no ketchup, please—here, let me put it on your salad plate, Mommy), quesadilla, and a little boogie action to some hard rock on the jukebox… don’t forget the milk, of course.  It was a good dinner and we loaded her back up on my back to walk down to the arena.  Once we got inside, it was really cool, with Disney vending booths all over the place sporting Incredibles figures and Mickey & Minnie stuff.

The place was maybe a quarter full, and our seats were at the 17^th row from the bottom.  We were pretty much the highest row—no one sat behind us.  I was amazed how few people were there, but then I would not have paid for tickets, so I guess it’s not that crazy.

The show started, and Katy was completely mesmerized, almost in a trance as soon as it began.  She spent a good deal of the show sitting on my lap and asking where Mickey and Minnie went, not caring about the current song and characters… it is all about the mouse, people.  The story went like this: the Incredibles, sorry, the Parr family, went to Disneyland for a family vacation.  When they arrived, they were chosen as the family to grand marshal the day’s parade.  Somehow, Syndrome showed up and kidnapped Minnie & Mickey with his big robot.  Thus began the Parrs’ need to get supersuits made by Edna so they could suit up and fight Syndrome to free Mickey and Minnie.  Along the way, Mr. Incredible damaged a good deal of the rides, saving his family from animatronic characters.  But I really enjoyed the old fashioned attractions that were included—the Pirates of the Caribbean, It’s a Small World, the Haunted Mansion, Space Mountain, and maybe my favorite—the Tiki Room.

We had a great time, and because the crowd was so light, it was no problem getting a family bathroom to change her before we headed home.  Back on the train, Cocoa had all kinds of adventures on the windowsill in the back row.  Thankfully, Peep stayed in my bag the whole time so we didn’t lose him.  Cah eventually ended up there too, which I discovered this morning after I got to work. 

Last night, as I was trying to leave the room after putting her to bed, Katy kept talking.  I stayed and we processed the events maybe about 40 times.  “Mommy, robot.  Mickey an Minnie, save.  Super.  Dihnney cassuhw.  Robot.  Mommy, Mickey an Minnie.”  I kept assuring her that the Incredibles, the super heroes, saved Mickey & Minnie; that they were safe and everyone was okay.  They told that robot to go home, and it did.  Everything is alright.  Mickey and Minnie were rescued, and they all went to have a big party in the Disney castle. 

Alas, she kept worrying about it.  So I talked to her about the other robot she’s familiar with—the one that stomps through downtown saying, “Cheese.  Cheese.  Cheese,” as the Backyardigans superheroes try to stop it.  Turns out that the robot just wants to have its picture taken, and when they figure that out, the robot poses and says, “Cheese.”  So I did the robot voice and the poses and said cheese a few (20?) times, and that finally put a smile on her face and she let the story rest.  Ah… good night.  Cheese saves the day.