clickmom

Cavemen in thongs, how Hollywood.

I was homeschooling with Matt for first time in a long time this morning. We were on a really good roll, when the damned phone rang. I asked Matt to copy down some SS vocabulary words for the stone age and wait for me while I saw who was on the phone. It was Husband, we spoke quickly and when I came back to the table, Matt had the words all copied and had begun to doodle. It looked like he was drawing cavemen in bikinis with spears. Two of the vocabulary words were spears and thong. When I realized he was drawing cave people in thongs I just lost it. Laughing so hard I wheezed. It took me a good few minutes to get the giggles out. A thong is a leather strap that was used in the stone age for a sling shot strap or a strap to tie two stones to the ends of for another tool called an ebola.

Cavemen in thongs, how Hollywood. I didn’t even know he knew what a thong is.

name my island, please.

Home from a long weekend on our as yet unnamed island. Finding a name is so difficult. They all start sounding like nursing home names to me. The island is forested mostly by pine trees, so names like breezy pines, tall pines, sunrise over the pines, pine, come to mind, but they just don’t have that essence I am looking for. A wonderful fabulous friend of mine has a family summer cottage in upstate NY. He goes to Twilight. Twilight sounds great to me, but I can’t use it because it is taken by the friend. So I need a Twilight equivalent. I am trying , but honestly, I got nothing. Suggestions welcome.

We had a great time at the cottage. We canoed, fished (successfully!) and even went to a drive in movie with the kids. It was great. We spent one afternoon with my lil sis, and the kids got to swim in her heated pool. So that worked out good too. They never even asked if they could swim in the lake and I am beginning to wonder if they have any country in them at all, or if I am going to have to drag them into the lake kicking and screaming. I am sure Evan catching fish inches off the dock will not sit well when I suggest it is warm enough for humans to go in. The devil dog didn’t even get her paws wet. Some retriever.

I did find time to work on the house and put together the dining room IKEA table. I also pulled the nastiest wettest moldiest carpet up from the 3 season porch, and scraped almost all of the decomposing 50 year old carpet pad off the painted (Noooooo!) hard wood floor. I started to remove the carpeting from the down stairs bathroom, (yes, dear readers they had a carpeted bathroom), but it was securely glued on and took way more time than I thought, so that will have to wait for another visit.

I wondered, Mr. W. loved that house so much, how could he let it fall into such a state of disrepair? It was grossing me out, and I feel like I just came back from a camping trip instead of a cute little island cottage, how could he live there 365 days a year and not see the leaks and peeling paint, the dirt and MOLD? I am going to have to get a mold guy in to tell me if all that mold is toxic or not. Mr. W. wanted to give me the name of his house cleaner, I was like, speechless. He had a house cleaner. Unbelievable.

I was starting to get anxious about finishing up all the little things I want to do, and had to talk myself down when I began to think about going up with a baby-sitter so I could do the hard labor all day long. I mean, if I am going to pay someone, let me pay them to do the work while I galavant with the kids, right? I can be so type A from time to time, I need a good slap in the face. Slap, slap , slap.

I can’t wait to go back.

Go Canoe: part II

The boating class is over. The first night Matt and I were passing notes. Mine said “Help!” his said “I’m doomed!” It was three days of mind numbing torture. There were moments when I thought about stabbing my thigh with a pencil to maintain awareness. I learned stuff that I’ll never have to know, since the boat will never make it out of the lake and much of the class was about boating on open seas.

I know all about buoys, and how to steer my way to open seas. I know what to do if a tug boat pulling a barge crosses my path. (unlikely on this lake) I know what to do when gassing up the boat (sniff for fumes before starting up the engine, gas cans filled on the dock not in the boat) I even know the correct part of the boat to step on when climbing in from the dock. But what I do not know is how to turn the boat on, or make it go. I asked husband if friendly boat donor planned on showing us how to do such trivial things and he didn’t think so. Oh, canoe, canoe, canoe.

On the third and final night of lessons, the teacher announced that several students would be taking the exam during the second half of class. On my way out of the lecture hall, I paused to ask a couple if the questions on the test were the same as the questions in the book. They said the questions were identical. Hoooooo-ray.

Matt and I spent the next day reading the correct answers out of the practice book, and when we were given the tests he cried out in joy “I’m NOT doomed!” 45 minutes later the three of us walked out with our temporary licenses. Matt was so happy. He walked out and said “Call me Captain Matt!” to his 6 foot 7 inch 240 lb father who was assigned the role of Polly for the rest of the evening. Polly did not enjoy the game, but Captain Matt was so relieved that he laughed and sang for the next hour. He celebrated with vegan chocolate chip pound cake.

Polly’s only thoughts on the class: “Well, those are four evenings of my life that I’ll never get back.”

Me, I’m still fantasizing about a canoe!

I loved that pink chicken

According to Canadian researchers parents take better care of pretty children than they do ugly ones.

I disagree. When my first was born, he was ugly. After a violent pitocin enhanced labor, he was born looking like he had gone a few rounds in the ring with Ali, his nose took up half his face. It was so swollen his eyes seemed tiny. He was long and skinny, and looked like a chicken. In addition to that his skin was pink, wrinkly, covered in infant acne, and he had werewolf hair side burns with a strip down his back too. I took one look at him and thought, “Wow, what a fat nose, wonder where that came from, and boy did I get an ugly one.” Then I proceeded to love and take care of him. When my sister was cooing to him a couple of days later I realized she was saying “What a beautiful baby, who is this beautiful baby, etc...” and I told her that she didn’t have to pretend, I loved him to pieces any ways.

P.S. Within a few weeks the nose swelling faded away as did the acne, the werewolf hair fell out, and he did become the cutest baby.

grudge girl

I am sure I have strep throat. Josh already has it, and thinking I may not is just plain old denial. Last night I was running a fever and sleeping fitfully. All night I woke up having strange dreams, but the only one I can remember now is the one I was having right before I woke up for good.

In this dream I was staying at a hotel, as I drove up to the hotel, I noticed fireworks in the distance, I wondered whether they were actual fireworks or people setting off boat flares. (This was discussed in the boating class earlier that night) I determined they were boat flares. By their red color and the way they fizzled right out. Then I was in my hotel room and having difficulty controlling the television which had many buttons on the bottom of it. Who should knock on my door but my ex-boyfriend. He got naked and laid down in my bed, so I got naked and laid down with him, and he began to discuss his inability to commit to a relationship. He was wanting my opinion. I suggested that maybe that he wasn’t a long term kind of guy, but he insisted that he wanted to be one. I said lets go over each relationship and see where it went wrong. He started with the girl he dumped me for (this was 16 years ago) and said she had died a few years ago, then he described how she had been taking photos at the edge of a lake and an alligator came up and bit her legs off, then came back and dragged her into the lake despite the best efforts of the new guy she was with. All I could think of was how gruesome that slow kind of death must have been and how she deserved it.

I woke up with a big smile on my face.

Now if I don’t know how to hold a grudge, then nobody does.

coming out of the pantry

I did something I never do. I announced my weight loss plans and even detailed my methods to a group of friends today. When ever I start a “diet” I always keep it secret, and am actually extraordinarily uncomfortable when people start noticing. During our book group meeting, while we were on a side topic, I mentioned my- in the future- plans for plastic surgery, ie: breast reduction and tummy tuck. I said it was totally going to happen for me, someone asked “When?” and I said when I lose a hundred pounds. I mean duh, they aren’t going to do the surgery on a fat chick! Also, if I did the surgery now, and then lost weight I might be left with nothing up top, which is not my first choice.

Any ways, P kind of nastily said “And how are going to do that?” about the weight loss, which kind of surprised me. I didn’t expect to have to defend myself. When I said “No wheat, no sugar.” A few of the women nodded in agreement and L said something like “That’ll do it” so I felt better, but still, I have friends who do not struggle with food or eating issues and have no idea what goes in my head every day. If I was trying to get off of alcohol or prescription drugs, I am sure I would not get any negativity or eye rolling.

Actually I tried to look at her long enough for her to maybe notice the weight I have lost already. A few friends have said something and for the first time ever their comments do not make me want to run and hide. I think I have overcome the desire for invisibility, not because I did anything, but maybe I just don’t need it anymore. Maybe my old lady self isn’t as scared as the young lady me. I have even been occasionally wearing clothes that are less loose and baggy and concealing than usual.

I wonder if the naturally skinny just think I should accept the cards that were dealt to me. Hey, I still have my health, but I am not sure for how long, so this life extending-life change is coming just in time for me. I can’t wait to look better, but the motivation for me is more health related, I am a worrier and am sure that obesity related disease is just around the corner. I took my blood pressure at the drug store and it was an excellent 103/65. That just tells me that my physical self welcomes the changes and is ready to bounce back.

Go me go.

Go Canoe!

When we got the island, I thought "Canoe!", the husband thought "Speed boat!" or some other kind of big, noisy, gas guzzling, lake polluting boat, I don't know the difference.

Well, since his clients are those who are richer than rich, one happened to have a 21 foot boat, that he had replaced, and was just sitting in his garage. Nice life right? So he is giving it to us. Also nice right? Now we need licenses to drive this boat and have to take a boating course to take a test to get the license. I walked in to the class completely confident thinking it would all be about safe driving type rules, not a new language that I had to learn. Now, I am having anxiety attacks. Last night was day one of the class. It runs for 3 days and then the test is on the fourth night.

I got the feeling that we were the only ones who hadn't at least been hanging out on someone elses boat, because every one else laughed at the instructors jokes, I didn't get them. Other people shared anchor stories. Nothing feels so good as being the one who doesn't get the joke! Ooooh yeah.

Matt came along to the class since he can get a license at 12, apparantly that qualifies, and it was hard for him to stay awake during the lesson. I totally remember the feeling from HS social studies. I will feel like a such a loser if I do not pass the test on Thursday. I will feel twice as bad for Matt if he doesn't pass, since it will be such a big deal for him if he can go out in the boat and drive next summer. (Especially when I am helplessly puking over the side of the boat, did I mention my little sea sickness issue?)

Now I am even more convinced that a canoe is the best way to go.

the never ending party

Josh (age 4) was invited to a birthday party today. It began at 2 and I figured I’d be out by 4. Then I could swing over to the grocery store and purchase food to make a wholesome dinner for my family.

Well, at 5:45 I was among the first to leave the party. I had to wait (and wait and wait) until the freakin hostess brought out the freakin cake, cause you can’t sneak a four year old out of a party if ya haven’t given him the freakin cake, for goodness sakes! I mean, they know about the cake! Lady, oh clueless lady, you are gonna make some serious enemies if you don’t learn that kid parties last two hours max! At least thank goodness the dad brought out a bottle of red wine which he shared with me. This was at 5. I downed my first plastic cup of wine in 5 seconds flat. Also luckily I was walking home. The last 1/2 hour of the party wasn’t so bad. Well, for me, cause after that plastic cup-o-wine I could easily ignore the 2 year old siblings of 4 year olds having their “we have been here toooooo long” meltdowns. I could also ignore the out of control older cousins of the birthday boy, who were just way to wild and wound up, after enjoying piñata candy, cake and make your own sundae ice cream. Josh was asking if we could go already and I felt so sad that I had to make him wait. I just wanted to be polite.

I don’t want to judge, but the more I look around the more I see families in need of Super Nanny. Feeling down about the behavior of the crowd, I came home to learn that Evan had gone over to a friends. I went to pick him up to find that the friends Aunt and Uncle were visiting. The mom told me that the Aunt had remarked that she had never seen a kid as polite and well behaved as Evan. My kids rock. They make me so proud.

PS They had bagels for dinner.

letter to Suburbanbliss

Melissa, you beat me to this topic. I often visit my elderly grandmother on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, where we take my children to the playground. Being completely out of the loop I had no idea that there was any such thing as a $700 dollar stroller, but she quickly pointed it out to me. They were every where! Seriously at least half of the strollers in the playground were these costly hideous models.

Twilight Zone, baby, totally Twilight Zone.

You know the next crime wave has to be the theft of $700 dollar strollers while the superindulged children are on the swings. I say we quickly patent a $200 lock to be placed on a $700 stroller to prevent thieves with a taste for the finer things in life from zipping off with said luxury items. Are you in?

a letter to finslippy

Oh, Finslippy, there is no easy way to deal with this.

Last summer, after years of questionable symptoms and inconclusive testing, my mother went to the Mayo Clinic to get to the bottom of her chest pains. It turns out she has a huge blockage between her hearts chambers. Two of three specialists thought open heart surgery was in order, the surgeon said he wouldn't touch her, she was not healthy enough to survive the surgery. They shuffled her medications and sent her home to clean up her diet and lifestyle. She did, she eats better, does some water exercises, lost weight and seems so much better, except the blockage is still there. So we wait. Wait and see if it will hopefully resolve itself, wait and see if she has a heart attack, or wait and see if she will be healthy enough to survive the surgery that could extend her life. Waiting is so hard. It's the hardest part.

My hopes and prayers are with your dad and you.

Clickmom

the last episode

I didn't get home from the hospital until late, so husband had to put Matt to sleep. Now that Matt watches TV designed for adults we often spend part of the evening sitting together on the couch and watching the sit-coms that HE enjoys. He was on his own that night. Going up stairs Matt asked if my grandmother was going to be OK. Husband told him that I had called and that she was going to be OK. Matt replied "Good because it was the last episode of Everyone Loves Raymond tonight and I wouldn't want Mom to have two things to worry about."

family crisis for a food addict

Yesterday evening I got a call from my grandmother. She was disoriented and short of breath. She thought I had been there that day and couldn’t understand where I was now, she thought I lived in her building, which I did as a child, but not since I left for college, 23 years ago. Then she got upset over an envelope of money she thought she had and now couldn’t find. She was getting worse and more hysterical, she was breathing faster and faster, and said she was sweating, and thirsty, and I tried to calm her down and convinced her to hang up with me and call 911. Then I called her back and stayed on the phone with her until the EMTs came. She couldn’t continue to speak to me the whole time, and I asked her to leave the phone on her chest so I could hear when they ambulance arrived, and thankfully I could hear her shifting and groaning and was then able to tell the ambulance driver what hospital and doctor she used. He got off with me real fast and I could hear the urgency in his voice which put me into my own panic.

I called a sitter, finished cooking the kids dinner and jumped into Big Olive for the ride into city. All I wanted to do before I left was grab a bag of something to cram into my mouth to soothe myself on the trip. I even looked in the drawer to see if there was anything I could grab. There were no wheat and sugar free snacks and I had to force myself out the door empty handed. Luckily it was after rush hour when I left, still light and hardly any traffic. I went straight to the hospital and got there around 7:40.

She was in the chest pain room, all hooked up, and much less confused. She seemed fine until I realized she still thought I lived in her building. The hospital was running all the standard tests, and thankfully the atmosphere was relatively calm last night. While there were people on stretchers lining the hallway, no one seemed to be in crisis, so the staff was warmer and more relaxed than I have experienced in the past.

At eight o clock they kicked me out for an hour during the shift change. The new staff needed time to familiarize themselves with the patients and there conditions. I went out on the street and decided to take a walk. All I could see were bakeries sandwich shops, and magazine stores filled with candy. It was all so tempting. That was only on the first corner! I took a deep breath, passed them by and kept walking.

Then I came to a candy store. The kind where they have tons of candy in clear bins, and you can scoop it into a bag that you buy by weight. Oh. colorful, sweet and sour, melt in my mouth candy, and chocolate. Omigosh, all kinds of chocolate covered everything. I could make love to chocolate. I pondered the dangers of buying diabetic sugar free candy, thought about the dried fruit, even thought for a millisecond about just throwing in the towel, and then I made myself walk away. I kept walking even though in the back of my mind I was still talking myself in and out of buying candy when as if my personal prayers had been answered and there before me like an angel out of heaven was salvation. Only the halo was missing out of this completely miraculous sight. It was the answer that would lead me safely out of temptation.

Oh latte, nice and warm and comforting, like a snugly down blanket on a cold windy night, creamy, soothing, and most of all satisfying yet sugar free, wheat free, and guilt free. And best of all the bladder bursting Venti size.

Armed with my cozy no foam latte (hey-the foam takes up liquid space in the cup you know!) I headed back to the hospital to sit in the waiting area among the other displaced visitors and soon to be patients waiting for the longest hour ever to be over. All the while I prayed for my grandma and also that no one infectious was breathing near me. When I got back in to the room she shared with 7 other chest pain patients (welcome to emergency care in NYC) it was clear that she was more her old self than she was even an hour ago. I stayed long enough to speak with the physicians assistant as well the attending, who was more worried about her confusion than the chest pain which he attributed to a panic attack brought on by the confusion. She got more blood drawn. I said goodbye around 10 after finding out that they were definitely going to admit her for observation. It was hard to leave her there among strangers, but also a relief knowing she wasn’t going to be alone for at least one night. At least she couldn’t OD on sleeping pills while in the hospital, and I doubted that she would have another panic attack while there. Being alone is so tough. I told her I love her about a hundred times. I vow to surround myself with loved ones and friends, keep busy with activities, and never let the world just run on and on while I sit in front of the TV day and night, just waiting for my time to come. Even if I make it to 93 too! I will never sink into a depression that lasts 35 years because I will know how miserable the end of my grand mothers life has been. It breaks my heart cause I love her so much, she is so sad, and I just wouldn’t want to to cause this much sorrow in the lives of my own kids.

What is art?

Yes there are some things I just don't understand. Today I photographed a towns Artist Studio Tour. Individual artists open their studios the public for the day, and the public can purchase maps with the artists locations and a brief description of each artists work on them. Then the map holders are free to spend a few hours travelling around visiting the studios. I met many intersting artists, who work to create real intellectual art and celebrate the beauty of the human form or nature, or even just have fun with color and design. It was a wonderful way to spend the day and I had a great time felt fabulous about the whole thing until my last stop. Tell me is this art? Are there redeeming qualities here?

life's a gamble

Go to mycrazyneighbor.com for a good laugh. I thought I was tough to live with! I am actually quite jealous that this blogger has a neighbor that puts on some great shows for her to photograph and write about. Once upon a time I was that neighbor, and in the past I have had those neighbors, but out here in the suburbs life is, well, with out much excitement.

I actually have to read the news paper to find exciting neighbor-type stories. People in this burb just do not display their private lives on the street. BORING! Here is the juice from my burb..... The woman who will be the PTA president for my kids elementary school next year was in a car accident. She tried to leave the scene of the crime, but her vehicle was so messed up, it only went a little bit before giving out. When the police arrived she refused to blow the breathalyzer, apparently a big mistake. I hear you get the maximum if you won’t blow, and you should blow no matter what kind of bad shape you are in.

What no one, meaning police or newspaper, is saying is whether or not the car she hit was parked or moving, or any of the details of the accident. I assume no one else was hurt or we would have heard about that.

Well, living in fear of making any type of mistake, I for one would never ever drive drunk, but I have to admit that if I accidentally hit another car and there were no witnesses I would take off for sure. My vehicle has been hit so many times, and never did any one confess or heaven forbid offer to pay for the damage they caused. I even got into a fender bender in a notoriously poorly planned parking lot right here in my town and it was the other woman's fault, (she tried to zip by me as I was backing up out of a spot) but somehow I had to pay her $800 dollars to repair her 12 year old car! The world owes me a few.

I saw the accidental driver at our towns little fair for kids today, and wanted to say something supportive, but all I could think was “I’d leave the crime scene too.” and I didn’t think she would know that that particular statement was meant to be supportive. Personally, I wouldn’t shame her out of town, or even care as long as I realized that this was a one time thing and that my children could play in front of our house without having to watch in fear of her vehicle coming down the street.

Of course if you ever, as I have done, walk down the street on the morning that the recycling is put out for collection you would see that there is an interesting mix of wine bottles and milk jugs in most homes recycling bins. They recyclers come every other week and many of my neighbors are able to fill an entire trash can with wine bottles, and they just aren’t having that many parties! (Cause I’d see the cars lines up on the block while I was doing my nightly spy, that’s how I know.)

Don’t get me started about the high concentration of Sr. citizen drivers either, I won’t even go there except to say there is a certain grocery store popular with the seniors that I try to avoid going near for fear of collision with behemoth older sedan type vehicles.

Then there are they teens, with nicer vehicles than I ever had. Around here teens are likely to drive BMWs, Jeeps, and even Daddy’s mid life crisis convertible sports cars. The teens tend to go too fast, vibrate down the street, and not do those silly things like stop for stop signs. Those silly stop signs, what are they for any ways?

So, you pretty much take your life in your hands every time you get behind the wheel of your gas guzzling behemoth SUV out here, but life is a gamble, and hey, aren’t we all players whether we admit it or not?

elevator music

I always have music on while in the car, and my kids know all the words to all the CDs that I play over and over and over. I have a some what eclectic variety of music going on with R&B, Jazz, rock, folk and pop. Right now I am into old jazz and R&B. In the mean time Matt has decided that he is quite the crooner. He belts out the mushy love songs with a look of seriousness on his face that just makes me want to giggle and guffaw, but I don't because he takes himself quite seriously.

Last week we went to the Mall, and in the elevator he bagan to sing "L-is for the (lyrics omitted intentionally) ....... O- is for the only one I see.....V is very very, extraordinary..." and the couple in the elevator with us got all smiley and started to look at with each other with goo goo eyes. Finally they looked at us and said that this was their wedding song and that Matt had made their day. He walked out of that elevator with the biggest grin on his face.

maybe a bit too real

I was walking home with the kids after school and Josh was tired. We were holding hands and to pep him up I began to sing "Hi ho, hi ho, it's home from school we go.." Then Evan, thinking out loud, says "Those midgets living in the filthy cabin must have been stinkin rich."

This is the same kid who yesterday wondered why all the kids in his class freaked when he told them that Santa does not exist.

I wonder how unhealthy it is for a kid to be too grown up. Doesn't a kid need to be a kid??

mothers day and food addiction

Sunday we went out for Mothers day brunch with my sister. mother, grandmother, uncle, spouses and children. It was a nice big group and I have already been feeling closer to my sister than ever, it was a warm and comforting feeling to be surrounded by the folks that we would eventually be the family matrons for with the people we will be replacing one day. I think we are on the way to building a much better frame work for family relationships, than the one that is already there and for that I am so thankful. The cousins all enjoy each other and are interested in becoming friends. I am hoping that this lasts a life time so that one day we can bring together a big happy group where there are good feelings, camaraderie, and friendship and not anger, resentment, and hostilities like there are in the generations before mine. Of course, what always tears families apart is money, and that has been the legacy on my side as well as my husbands, so I am bound and determined not to repeat the past. I want to break the cycle.

My sister feels the same, and it definitely helps that we have a similar attitude towards money, the underlying climate being one of generosity, and we know you always take care of your own. Money is what seems to tear families apart the most. I know it was a factor in my grandmother’s lack of relationship with her brother, it causes tension between my mom and her brother, and it is why my husband does not know his cousins. It will not break apart this family any more, and I know if there was an issue, like care for my mother one day, that my sister and I would work it out.

Back to the brunch, we were at this restaurant, I was felling good, and ordered a dish I assumed was safe, but as I ate the very last bite of chicken I realized it was in a gravy type sauce- which means it looked as if it was thickened with FLOUR. As in WHEAT FLOUR. We came right home afterwards and I took some activated charcoal, to disrupt the absorption process, and decided right on the spot that no matter what I felt or wanted I would not go off my program. Yesterday I was busy, which is always the best thing, so I wasn’t thinking much about food, but I tell you I could have eaten a truck load of donuts. I saw 3 boxes of them on the school secretaries desk this morning and had to walk away.

It isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, and I am still doing fine, I am determined enough to stay clean that it will not set me back, but have now made a new vow. I will always ask, no matter what language barrier issue I have with the waiter, or no matter how loud I have to speak to be heard. It is not worth worrying over, and definitely not worth rocking the boat when I am doing so well. But have to tell you, that was the most delicious lemon chicken I ever tasted.

more from medieval times

One aspect of Medieval Times that I neglected to mention to you, dear readers, was the “Museum”, which was a hallway filled with all sorts of medieval torture devices. They ask you when you enter if you want to go in the Museum, after they’ve told you to get there over an hour early, and you do because you are a rule follower, but then you realize you need something to do for over an hour until you are seated. Of course, the adults there that were not accompanied by children could imbibe in a variety of less than authentic libations, served in less than authentic cups. Then they sell you “museum” tickets for your whole family, including your four year old, and you get to the “museum” only to read the warning sign by the front door that the museum may not be appropriate for those under 18. Thanks, wenches.

There were things we know about in the “museum”, like chastity belts, stockades, and the stretching tables, and then there were other things that led me to believe that the whole entire population was on some sort of mind-altering substance. It was freaky. It was scary too, the thought that the folks who thought of these things were the ones responsible for upholding the laws, and not the criminals is disturbing. There is a fine line folks, a real fine line. In my opinion it was crossed, but hey that is just my 21st century point of view. Here is a sample of a mask that women were forced to wear when it was decided they needed to be humbled. Ummm.. Happy Halloween.

a whole month into detox

Whooo Hooo, the monkey is off my back. It has been over a month off of sugar and I finally-finally-finally feel like I am over it! Food is not occupying every thought I have, and I feel like I don’t hardly have anything to say on this topic. Free free free. Whew. Truth is I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it. This detox took a long time, and I was starting to feel weak. I was feeling whiny. I was being tempted. Now I am finally feeling like I am not powerless over sugar. For the moment I have the upper hand, and it sure is nice to be back in the driver seat.

One funny thought I always have when I am clean is that sweets are kiddie food. I feel all grown up when I am able to divvy up some contraband to the kids and not have the compulsion to stuff it into my own personal garbage chute, errr...mouth. This maybe one for the therapists couch.

We went to the lake for a week with the kids for vacation, and the dungeon/kitchen is so inconvenient that I can definitely see it working to my benefit, no more wandering through and grabbing a tid bit. Wandering through the kitchen/dungeon would involve going around the room, down the stairs and through the hall, then back again. Snacks are just not worth that kind of effort. I can’t wait for this summer. I have high hopes for clean living and weight loss.

My next step needs to be following the food plan that is laid out in FAA. It is so sensible and includes all the veggies that will promote a healthy me. I know it needs to be done. It works for me, I have done it before, and the food plan makes the whole program run so much smoother. I eat those veggies when they are prepared for me, I just seem to have a block in regards to preparing them myself. Goal for the week- make and eat some vegetables.

One of the few people I told about about this site is my sister. She does not share the food issues. She doesn’t get the whole addiction thing and thinks I write about food too much. She prefers the kid stories. I know I get many hits from folks searching detox from sugar, but I am wondering if anyone out there is tuning in because this is just what they are looking for. If you do or do not or have any constructive criticism regarding this topic or site please comment. I aim to please.

Thanks.

brooke shields on oprah

Really, I never watch day time TV. Really, like totally never, but today I watched Brooke Shields on Oprah. I was compelled to write to her afterwards, we have so much in common. I actually used to see her all the time as a young teenager, because her private school was around the corner from my public one. I think she used to pretend not to see me cause I am so much prettier than her, (kidding!) but it was a thrill to spot her back then. Anyways, here is the letter I tried to send, but couldn't because Oprah will only let me send a message of under 2000 characters, and I decided that every single word in my letter was necessary, therefore making my letter way to long. Hopefully Brooke will read this posting on line cause she is such a big fan of mine (kidding), but seriously, Brooke, if you need any advice just leave me a comment and I'll get back to you.

Dear Brooke Shields,

I watched you on Oprah today because I too suffered from post partum depression after the birth of my first child. I also had a traumatic labor and c-section, during which I also thought I was going to die, and felt oddly distanced from my new born son. I remember after a couple of weeks telling my husband I felt as if I was waiting for the real parents to come and tell me the baby sitting job was over. I shared many of the thoughts you had like wanting to hurt myself and imagining running away. Like you the only thing that prevented me from doing anything drastic was the baby. I knew I couldn’t leave him with no one to care for him.

When my mother discovered me sobbing in the bathroom at 6 weeks post partum, her advice to me was “Get over it, the baby is healthy and you are too.” I had difficulty discussing my feelings afterwards, but managed to put up a good front and disguise my depression as well as the Post traumatic stress disorder I suffered from for over two years. During this time I cried whenever was I was alone and slept for about 15 hours a day. When my baby slept, I slept, I even napped twice a day while he was little and napping twice a day too. During the night I would have flashbacks to the O.R. where my section was performed without anesthesia. I would wake up ready to burst out of the room, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Sleep was my only escape and my worst enemy at the same time. Eventually both disorders disappeared immediately following a miscarriage, which I believe put my body chemistry back on the right track.

I didn’t actually know that there was a label for what I went through, that it was all classifiable, since it made sense to me that I would be disturbed after such a nightmare of an experience, until I was pregnant with my second child, and told my new care provider that I was afraid of feeling the same way I did with the first. She sent me to a therapist who specialized in PPD, who validated and labeled the experience for me. I was carefully watched the second time around, and am happy to say that I did not have a trace of depression with my second, and only a mild case of the blues with the third.

My second and third births were not traumatic, and I emerged emotionally intact, which is why I think the depression did not reoccur. Going into another birth you will understand what is happening to you, and feel more in control. You will be prepared like you can only be with that kind of experience already behind you, and hopefully this transition will not upset your balance again. Just because it happened once does not mean it has to happen again, you may not become depressed at all.

Being so candid and honest will hopefully help women out there who are suffering like we did, who may not know that help is available. I am sure it is difficult for you to publicize the darkest parts of your life, but I am also sure that many other new mothers will benefit because of your courage. Good luck to you in all you do.

Amy

breast augmentation

Breast Augmentation. This is what I do not understand the most. I am not talking about women who get reconstructive surgery after cancer, or even those with none who want some. I am talking about those with perfectly attractive normal bodies who get those really disturbing looking, too round, mountainous,never move or jiggle, FAKE ones, that scream “I HAVE ARTIFICIAL BREASTS!!”

That being said I have tremendous breasts. BUT they are that way because my grandmothers both had ‘em too. Mine came in fast and early. I was a B cup in 6th grade, a C cup in 7th grade and by the time I got to High School I was busting out of the DD’s. Yes, the boys spoke primarily to my shirts, and plenty of guys who probably couldn’t ID my FACE in a line up offered to go out with me. The girls make jogging impossible. Unless jogging while trying to hold the girls down is your idea of fun. They also make buying bathing suits tricky, and all shirts tend to appear about three inches shorter on my front than on than on my back.

My graduation gift from college was going to be a breast reduction, but the surgeon informed me that I would likely be back for another surgery after having kids, and that he couldn’t guarantee I would be able to nurse. Thinking that children were around the corner for me, I thought I’d wait. And that is what I am still doing.

There the girls stayed, hanging out their DD’s, until my first pregnancy, 6 years after the visit with the surgeon, when at only 3 months pregnant I discovered that they actually manufacture bras that start with the same letter as the word Gigantic. It was an eye opening revelation. I recall standing in front of the bathroom mirror, in my new shockingly white G cups, and asking my husband if I still looked human. (No)

Then came years of nursing and two more babies, with more years of nursing, all of which kept them in G cups. I looked forward to the day when there would be no more pregnancies or nursing, and I could reclaim my girls, and see how far back down they would go, and much to my disappointment, they didn’t. They stayed the same, I was still packing G’s. So, no matter what the fashion, I continue to seek out tunic shirts.

Now, as you know I am 40, and a curious thing happened. All my favorite bras shrank at the exact same time, so I had to order more. And nightmare of nightmare, the girls are growing!! Aaaaagggghhhhh!! Sob, sob, sob. I’ll never see my toes again! OK, I am lying, they are growing, but they are kinda growing down as opposed to out. What? I breast fed three kids!

Seriously, the girls are annoying! It’s like getting tattoos when you are young, and then looking foolish when you are old. They were fun for a short while, but they bore me now. I have no use for them. I never stand up extra straight and push them out to attract a guy. I never unbutton a shirt to show a little cleavage. If I do that then crumbs just get trapped in the bra and fall out all over the bathroom at night.

They do so get in the way. For example, if I eat sloppily, nothing makes it past the nipple ridge of my shirt. It is like the shelf a pregnant woman gets with her big belly except higher. I actually bump into things with them, and like I said running is out. So is crossing my arms and so is lying on my stomach. So is lying on my back, because unlike the fake ones, these girls head straight down my sides towards my underarms, and that is not pleasant. Sometimes I even need to rearrange them when I roll over at night. And now that they have found new homes in bras that start with the same letter as the word Humongous I am starting to think about that surgeon again. So, I don’t get breast augmentations.