clickmom

letter to my very straight ex

I have to tell you something funny. After I spoke to you the other day, I told the boys that we would be getting pictures next week from you and they were excited. Then I told them that you had news, and that you had gotten married. Matt said "Wait a minute. I thought that wasn't legal."

It turns out he thinks you are gay! Hahahahaha. Nothing personal, it is just that so many of my other men friends are. Cracked me up good though. He doesn't understand, I reminded him that you used to be my boyfriend, and he said "I know, I just thought.... he ......(whispers-) changed." Hahahahaha. Well, you know if you can't have me, might as well give up on the whole gender. Doesn't understand. Definitely still a boy and not a man yet, my son. snicker.

So funny. Don't you think?

The above is an actual letter I just emailed to my ex boyfriend, who is now my "friend" I am wondering (after I click the send button ofcourse) if it is maybe a little....off? Weird? Emasculating? Oooops.

sorta air hockey

Looking for something different to do today we went to the local "sports center" There, we went on a couple of rounds of go carts, very fun, but built for really short legged folks, which I am not. One wonderful realization, it was much easier to get in and out for me than it was the last time we went last February, on that dark dark day when Evan broke my nose with a golf club during MINIATURE GOLF. Who swings during mini golf? The ease with which I entered and exited the go cart can be attributed to my now almost 30 pound weight loss. I feel so good, I can't believe I am still fat. Seriously, if I couldn't look down, I would imagine myself as a really slim size 6 or something. (Truthfully the last time I was a size 6- I was 6 years old and can not remember what it felt like) Bottom line-feeling good.

After the go carts Evan wanted play mini golf. With me! My heart started to thud and my mouth got all dry. PTSD anyone? Luckily Matt didn't want to, so I sent Evan and Josh off with the husband and went into the arcade area with Matt. There we saw the air hockey table. I love air hockey. He loves air hockey. We are so disastrously bad at air hockey. So, ofcourse I immediately got $5 worth of quarters (a buck a game! criminal) and we faced off for the best three out of five.

Now, you need some background here, in the game of life I am a turtle, not a hare, as in slow but steady wins the race. There are very few things I do quickly, my reflexes suck, and that is just how I have always been. Don't ever toss anything at me while shouting "Think fast!" Guaranteed it will end up on the floor. I am not sure how my lineage even evolved because in the survival of the fittest, they should have been eaten by the saber tooth tigers. They must have been quit the clever cro-magnum folks, my ancesters, yes, they were the clever ones, who tricked all the others into doing the hunting while they worked on developing some new uses for rocks. We are slow.

Thinking I was about as slow as humanly possible was a pretty safe assumption until Matt was born. Matt puts a whole new spin on slow. He was such an easy toddler, he didn't run until he was 4 and then only with lots and lots of prompting, and then not very far. You can imagine this lack of speed would not give one an advantage in a thrilling game of air hockey.

So Matt and I take our sides of the table, jokingly snarl at each other and begin. It is the most pitiful game of air hockey ever. I'd venture to say that it would be easy to find people who could play better than we did by using their feet. I soon realized that if I hit the puck so that it went side to side as it approached his hole he couldn't track it and wouldn't even see it go in. But, I need not have worried since he was just as likely to somehow tap my hits backwards into his own hole. He even managed to score for me in the goal he was supposed to be protecting when I didn't hit the puck back, and it was going real slow. He realized that if he managed to shoot his straight and fast I was more likely to miss it.

We were laughing so hard I had to run off to ladies room after the third game. It is even more of a challenge to play with ones legs in the crossed position. All the while there was a maybe seven year old kid watching us, totally not understanding how two such pathetic players could be having a good time. I could tell he wanted to ask me if we were for real, but just couldn't bring himself to talk to a stranger who just might be insane. So, I laughed louder. We were laughing and doing victory dances, and it if you think our playing was weird....

I won the first three games, and Matt took the fourth by a point. He declared the winner of the fifth would be the champion, and he used his straight and fast technique on me to obtain victory. We had such a great time, and I was so appreciative of it.

the mumbler

If there is one thing I hate it is mumblers. I am not talking about the kind of people who talk so low that they can not be heard. I am talking about the kind of people who say mean things under their breath and I always end up hearing them. In my experience mumblers only say mean things. I have yet to over hear any one ever mumbling anything like "She's fantastic." or "Great meal, how does she do it?"

Now, to be fair, I come from a long line of mumblers, my grandmother and mother both share that trait, and I am not among the most secure of gals, so when I encounter a new mumbler, I bring a fair amount of baggage with me in response to their insensitive remarks.

Enter Susan, the husband invited a work friend and his family to spend the day with us. They arrived at lunch time so I had prepared a feast for our two families to share. We ate out at the dock, so I used paper plates, but real cutlery. We all ate well, sat around chatting, and at the end of the meal decided to go for a boat ride. I said I had to clear the picnic table, so being guests with good manners, they all grabbed something and helped me move everything back into the house. While I reloaded the food stuff into the fridge, I heard Susan say "So wasteful, it's so wasteful." under her breath.

Being a host with good manners, I didn't spin around and start screaming at her, but really, give me a freaking break! I so totally wanted to hurt her. I wanted to ram her head into the floor repeatedly while screaming "Get the freak over yourself, Miss High and Mighty!" She looked pretty weak, I thought I could definitely take her. (Baggage remember?) I assumed she was talking about the use of paper products, since I was saving all the food, but truthfully don't know.

Back to hurting her, HOW DARE SHE? Rude, rude, rude. Even if that slut ho was thinking it, why not just keep it to her skanky self? Am I right? I mean, I didn't hear her say "No" to the special veggie burgers I purchased just for her? They were served on paper plates. She never once asked for a glass instead of paper while sucking up all of the husbands diet coke. (Which incidentally, came in a wasteful plastic two liter bottle)

Notice to any good friends and close family members: If I become a mumbler in my advanced age, just grab the rifle and take me down, it is just not who I want to be.

irresistable and sassy

I didn't really realize how far from "society" , as in the reality of my affluent suburban life, we are out here on the island until I had to shop for something. None of my favorite stores exist within 1/2 hour of where we are. So, for the first time in my life I have shopped at both K-mart and Walmart. It is a whole new world for me out here. (I have been to Walmart several times now) I was really excited when I picked up some Hanes pajama bottoms, they were exactly the style I like, soft, comfy and cheap too! Hey, I am all for a good bargain. When I came back to the house, I took a careful look at the tag. Here is what it tells me

!. Tagged Out: Label printed on garment means no more scratchy tags. (Yay! I detest scratchy tags, especially the ones that scrath my lower back. Thanks Hanes!)

2. Material Girl: Comfy stretch fabric is as irresistable as you are. (Well, gee..... thanks, I um...think you are kind of cute too....)

3. Logo a Go-Go: Playful Hanes logo adds a hint of sassy style. (OK, now you've too far cause the logo, as in the standard Hanes logo, is just like the one Michael Jordan has on his undies. Are you calling MJ sassy? 'Cause I wouldn't be calling MJ sassy if I were you.)

Where do they come these things? Someone got paid to write that tag. Sheesh.

guilt and more

I would be wasting real good guilt if I used it all up on the broken wrist thing because Josh is taking the whole thing in stride- beyond any relaxed attitude I could ever imagine. I mean, he doesn't even mention the cast and it seems not have slowed him down in the least. I mean, does this kid look like he is suffering?
I suppose the saying is true- It is hard to keep a good (future) man down. His outlook on life (total joy) is obviously impacting the way he is handling this arm episode, compleletly in stride. I am really trying to take a lesson from him.
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I have been noticing the abundant amount of fungus on the island and just had to stop and take some photos with my little point and shoot. One of the things I want to do this summer is experiment with pin hole photography and I think I may have found a subject. I'll post an album later tonight.

Speaking of photography, the husband told me today on the phone that my chanukah gift this year is going to be the 16.3 mega pixel camera body I have been fantasizing about. faint. So happy! Squeal!

Another goal I have is to take up the guitar again (played as a child) except when I was kid, I was given a sheet of paper with lyrics and chords, and never learned to read music. This would suit me just fine now, but oh my, did I get a funny look from the guy at the music store when I told him what I was looking for. Can't a woman just fake it in music? All I want to do is play for my kids, I already know the tunes, I do not dream of playing in a band. Jeesh. Then, it is a long story, but the store owner kinda accused me of trying to take something that was not rightfully mine, it was, he just didn't understand (or want to understand) what I was explaining to him. All I know is-it's now another store I can't go back to. Hmmph.

Matt made up this invention while eating lunch one day- he took the photo and he called it "Excaliburrito"

back on the bike...sort of

I picked up my bike during my 20 hour visit home, drove it back to the island, brought it in to a local bike shop, and told them my triathlon plans, asking them to look it over real carefully so that it was ready for my heavy training schedule. I picked it up yesterday, and later explained to the kids that I would be sneaking out in the morning while they were still asleep and that they should take care of each other until I get back if they woke up while I was gone. I wasn't really worried because Matt is the totally best babysitter ever, and knows his brothers inside and out, but being the worrier I am I had to make sure they were prepared for the possibility of my absence.

So, I woke up early as planned, got dressed, snuck out, grabbed my helmet, and whoops, you'll never guess, but there was a time when the she devil dog was a puppy, last summer, when one of the kids, used my helmet, left it in the den, and the puppy got it. I decided the bite marks were not severe enough to warrant purchasing another helmet. Then I placed it on my head and OW! Then pads were missing from the inside and the scratchy half of the velcro was brushing on my face, I decided I would deal with it for one ride (hey, it was only my forehead) and go back to the bike store for either new pads or a helmet later today. I pushed the bike down the gravel, pot holed causeway (my version of a warm up) and hopped on for the ride when I got to the road. I took the direction that I thought was less hilly, since 1. I am way out of shape and 2. I don't think the triathlon will be a hilly course. I was doing fine, I refamiliarized myself with the nifty new fangled gear shifts, and thought I was totally in business when whooosh the seat lowered about 4 inches. I felt like I was a clown biking on a tricycle, I pulled over to assess the situation and decided there is something wrong with the quick release for the bike seat, so not only did I have to ride all scrunched up, but the seat would wobble left and right with me as I went. Not a good ride, I tried, I really did, but soon turned around discouraged and started back for the island. I just decided to give up. I got off the bike, and walked the rest of the way back to the island. But, I really had wanted to have a workout, so I came in grabbed the dog and went for a two mile power walk instead.

What I noticed:

1. during my brief bike ride I used hip muscles that have been sleeping for 3 years, the last time I actually rode. I like waking up the body.

2. I am overly bothered by both my feet slipping just a tiny bit in my new sneaks and the fact that it is completely impossible to tie both sneaks exactly the same tightness.

3. I need to eat better, since my legs had definitely not recovered from yesterdays walk.

4. I am completely obsessing about what I am going to wear to do this triathlon. I just don't think I could possible wear one of those skin tight triathlon outfits, and anyways I really need to wear a bra during the biking and running (walking) part. I was thinking I could swim in bike shorts and a bathingsuit top then bring a towel cut as a poncho to change as discreetly as possible. I would take off the bathing suit top and slip into a bra and shirt to finish in. I really don't care who sees the girls as long as no one is taking pictures. That makes sense right?

5. I really-really-really want to do this, I like having a goal (Yeeesh, I feel like Oprah) and was actually thinking that the babes as a group should do other bike-a-thons and stuff through the year. I so want to reclaim my health.

6. I am pissed as hell at the bike shop for not giving my bike the check up I paid for. Jeez, and the owner kept telling me what a great thing he thought I was doing and everything. I thought they were going to take care of me! I might give him attitude when I go back today, (yeah, and then I'll walk out with a new overpriced helmet, I'll surely show him)

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Post Script: It is now 4 hours after the ride that barely happened and my butt muscles are killing me. I was not prepared for the soreness of biking. Also, as I put the bike back on the bike rack to go to the bike store I realized that the seat problem was only a screw that I could have tightened by hand while on the road. I needed a new helmet none the less, and did bring the bike in to get the lever looked at and the seat and handle bars tweaked ever so slightly, cause I may as well be comfortable, right? Who wants to be poked by a bike seat for 11 miles? Tomorrow is another day, but I don't think I'll be going the distances I planned on starting with. Baby steps.

committed/wrist update

As I am getting my mind wrapped around the possibility of doing this triathlon, (which I'll have you know blows my secret desire to be invisible right out of the water) I realize that I would like to do it with a companion (or two or three) in a non competitive atmosphere. I want to share the moment with a babe.

I am confident in the swimming and biking arenas, but me and the girls don't run. They just won't permit it. I could maybe fake a shuffle run kind of movement, (It is so hard to run and hold the girls down at the same time, and NO they do not make any running bras in my size-really) but truthfully I would rather just do a nice brisk walk and celebrate the fact that I make it over the finish line with out fainting, crying, or pooping in my pants. Basically- I am completely fulfilled if I finish.

So, to get ready I am totally definitely going to swim a half mile every day- and I also want to either walk three miles or bike around the lake ( 7 miles) every day too. If I can get into this routine I know the triathlon will be a breeze.

The problem is what to do with the children while I get all this exercise. I am thinking I can get up before them in the morning or at least plop them down with cereal in front of the tv and do the land exercise every day, but the swimming part is where I run into trouble. Yes, I have a lake outside my door, but that is part of the problem, the kids want to swim with me, and while Evan and I did a long swim today, he was slow, duh- he's 8, and the water was rough due to all the weekend boaters, and while I thought it was good practice for the triathlon, he was struggling. So I was worried and had to swinm really slow and stay right by his side keeping him in my sight. Not a great swim.

I need a sitter. That is what I need, but where do I find one? I don't know anybody here, I'll have to call my neighbor who knows every one and ask her if she has any connections. I think this may be harder than it should be. I am just too nervous with the kids around water.
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Tomorrow Josh goes to the orthopedist to get his cast, and I am so hoping that there actually is such a thing as a water cast, because otherwise he will be getting his traditional cast wet- How can I ask a four year old not to go in the water when we are living on a lake? I can't, even I wouldn't be able to take that kind of pressure. I hope Dr. Orthopedist is a nice guy, when I crushed Matt's finger in a door, and took him to a Dr. Orthopedist he turned out to be a super sweet guy, and it made such a big difference. My fingers are crossed.

I am totally sick with guilt since this happened and cannot believe that just because I couldn't take photos I wasn't standing close enough to my baby to prevent this. What a lame mother I am. If you see me on the street, feel free to slap me a bit.

Yesterday I took the kids out for a picnic at a playground. It was a beautiful day (hurray the weather turned!) I was so happy and I was trying to get a little outside time other than on the island, y'know, before our daily swim. We get fast food, set up at the picnic tables, when I realize that I forgot my CF card at home for my camera. I toss the camera back into the car, and sit down to eat with the boys. Now I am bummming because I can't take photos, so I hang at the table watching from a distance instead of being right there with them.

Josh is so excited to be at this playground that he adores, that he keeps running back forth from the picnic table to the playground. I am not worried because I can see him wherever he goes. Eventually Evan finishes his meal and runs off to play too. Josh follows along and I am all smiles because they are going to play together. They need to play, just the two of them and this is good. They go to the area where there are two platforms and a kid can glide through the air from to another hanging on a rope attached to a bar that runs between the two.

Josh climbs up on one side and Evan pulls the rope over and asks Josh to hold it while he climbs up. Josh reaches over and then s-l-o-w-l-y falls forward with his hands out stretched in front of him. Evan screams "Omigod Josh!" I am on my feet, knees buckiling. I know. With out even seeing him, I just know. My stomach lurches into my mouth and I know we are on our way to the emergency room. I know. Josh gets up, with his back to me, I can't see the expression on his face, Evan takes one look at him and calls to me, "I can't handle this one!" I am on my way like a flash. I know. I approach with caution, not wanting to exaserbate the situation, just needing to calm Josh down. He is tough and does not usually upset like this. I know. I feel the guilt and panic welling up inside of me and tell myself I will evaluate him for an hour before deciding what to do. But, inside I know. Josh is calm, he is also tired so responses are exaggerated. We stop at the rest room, he can not pull his own pants down. Pain, calm but in pain. We go back to the picnic table, he lifts his left arm up like a log and accidentally knocks his fries off the table. Tears again. I know.

We hop in the car to replace the fries, and he spots a Dairy Queen. He asks for and gets ice cream, guilty ice cream, why was I sitting so far away?, and he barely eats it. He cannot hold it in his left hand. I know. He does not complain. I feel worse.

I phone husband from the car to tell him we need to go to the ER. He is an hour away, good. I don't have to bring all three kids, we can go when Daddy gets here. Daddy isn't sure anything is really wrong, but I know.

Back at the island the brothers go swimming and convince Josh to come in too. He wants to lie quietly on my lap, but after 10 minutes reluctantly gets into the water. He can't use his left arm. It is lame, and I know. Husband arrives and questions the need for ER. I know, he doesn't understand that I just know. I say "Look at how he avoids using it. He is holding it funny. He is so brave, he doesn't complain. Look in his eyes, he is in pain." Husband says "Wait." I have to go. I think I might throw up. The guilt is choking me now, why wasn't I there to catch him? Husband is good at denial. But, I know. I say, "I will prepare your dinner and go to the ER. I have to go."

Josh still wants french fries and we drive thru and get him a large. He is happy. Then we go the ER. He wants the fries but can not eat them, he is in pain. He doesn't complain, he lies in my lap. The staff is nice. They think no, since he is so calm. I hear the nurse in the hall tell the other nurse how sweet he is. They will do the x-rays anyways. But I know. The x-ray technician thinks no, he is too quiet. They just don't cooperate like that, I shake my head and tell her "The pictures will tell."

Buckle fracture. Splint for now.

Heavens open up on the way home, Josh asks why we are out at midnight. It is 8PM. Thunder crashes and lightning crackles over our heads. We have to drive slow. It is just how I feel.

Orthopedist on Monday for a cast.

Oh my baby. My poor baby.

road rage

There is a good reason I do not own a gun. I do not own a gun because I would use a gun if I owned a gun. A perfect example of someone I would like to use a gun on is the A**hole, who just had to cut in front of me yesterday on the Bruckner expressway. He couldn't cut in behind me, or in front of the vehicle in front of me, the one I was following, he had to cut in between me and the vehicle I was following. Did he use his signals? No. He just started to wander sideways towards my vehicle, so I gave him a little "Hey, hey, my vehicle is already in this spot" honk. Then he kept coming, so I gave him the "I am not getting out of your way buddy." honk. He turned around and gave me a sneer that I am sure makes him a total psychopath, and he jerked his wheel towards my lane, forcing his crappy tin box against my massive truck, scraping the side of his beat up old Acura with Delaware plates (Yes, I have them written down) with the corner of my brand new front fender! Yes, Sylvia has been battered again. She has been mine for a short month and has withstood not one but two assualts.

Well, this A**hole just drives on and on as if he didn't do anything, and I continue to drive on and on behind him seething with a venom that is beyond description, fantasing about what I'd like to do with him, yet knowing he is a sick and dangerous man, and I can't do anything crazy because not only do I have my 3 children in the car who are blissfully unaware of what is going on, but my 6 year old nephew is in there with us too. They are all thankfully plugged in to the DVD system watching Pee Wee's Big Adventure (after wordlessly watching the whole movie they would declare it the worst movie ever) and haven't experienced the horrid new car metal scraping noise or my incessant curing that followed.

And that is why I do not own a gun. I would have totally blew this guys brains out on the spot. That being said, if you own a gun, are willing to defend my honor and happen to recognize him in your journeys....(kidding!)

to race or not to race

I am in this book group with some really amazing women. They had a meeting when I was already at the island, and someone brought up the idea of the group doing a triathlon. There will be a Danskin one for breast cancer in our area in the fall.

Do I dare? I looked on the web site and the few photos they had up were all of young pretty women, not mature fat ones, but when I checked out the triathlon wear website- they did carry a couple of styles in XXL. This is what the triathlon involves, a 1/2 mile swim, (I can do that) a 11 mile bike ride-relatively flat (I am pretty sure I can do that), and a 3 mile run (this will not be done by me) See, I just throw my back out trying to run while holding the girls down with one arm and letting the other swing. It makes me run with a limp like I have one club foot or something. But-the good news- one of the women in my book/social group (from here in referred to as BABES) had a hip replacement, so she will be walking and I figured we could walk together. I told P (a babe) that I would bring my bike to the island and that if I could make the 7 miles around the lake toting Josh, (all 60 pounds of him) in the bike trailer then I would definitely do the triathlon.

But still, I am not sure, P reassures me that there are senior citizens doing the race, and I suppose they would be supportive of me as I lay vomiting by the side of the road, but I just wish I knew for sure if I could do it. I just want to be able to finish it gracefully. I have until Sept. to decide.