clickmom

uninhibited

I went out to dinner last night with some childhood friends from sleep-away camp.  I'll write a nice post on that as soon as the friend who has the group photo that differs from mine only in that in her shot I am not turned slightly to the side (which is my worst view) and looking like a big old droopy boobed fish monger's wife in a house dress.  In her more flattering shot I am bodily facing the camera which is the only kind of photo I am willing to post.  People, let's be honest, I don't post the bad shots!  I will tell you however that I give the evening a big enthusiastic thumbs up

I mention last evening not to tease and entice you to come back over here looking for it (but lease do okay?),  but to explain why I am so incredibly tired today that I have the lost the ability to censor what comes out of my mouth.  Case in point:  Matt is preparing to leave for the birthday party of one of his bandmates.   Bandmates?  You ask.  Why yes, I say! Matt is in a band with two girls.  One is a beautiful thinner and younger version of Venus who cruises around the neighborhood on her skateboard dressed all in black right down to her combat boots.  The other band mate is a waifish doe eyed manga looking girl with black and pink striped hair.  And then there is Tiny Tim  Matt!  I know, I know, I want to be young again too!  It looks like so much fun!

Matt is walking out the door because he is getting a ride over to the party from the husband and I shout from the kitchen "Matt! Wait!  Did you brush your teeth!" and he says " ... uh ... yes ." and I shout "Good because maybe there will kissing games! Have a good time!"

And then I realize what I just did and I slink over to make yet another deposit into the kid's future therapy jar.

enjoy the journey

On Friday I am meeting some old camp friends for dinner.   I can't tell you how excited I am to be seeing these girls most of whom I have not seen since I was 14.  I tried to warn them about my size, because I didn't want anyone to be uncomfortable about what to say when seeing me so huge.  I used to think I was huge because I was always told I was huge, but I just spent the afternoon scanning old photos and I see now that I wasn't anywhere close to huge.  As a matter of fact I was beautiful.  No one ever told me I was beautiful. No one.  Shit, no one ever tells me I'm beautiful now.  I guess I just live this way.  If I could I'd go back in time and be my own best friend I'd tell myself how gorgeous and strong and sexy and healthy looking my body is and how simply lovely my face was.  I'd tell myself how fucked my mom was and make me learn to question everything out of her mouth. You want to know what I was told when I growing up?  I was told that I had a pretty face that no one could see through the fat so I should lose some weight.  And I heard it my whole frigging life.  Until finally I attempted to eat my sorrows away and the fat face and body part both came true.  

I remember when I got to go to this special program.  It was for gifted students and was held at Hunter college.  I'm pretty sure it was my 7th grade English teacher who recommended me for the program, so I am probably about 13.  One day a photographer showed up to shoot our class and I remember worrying about my sweater being long enough to cover my big fat stomach.  I could barely even think knowing this guy might be taking a photo of super fat me.  I thought I was DYING until he got out of there.  Here is the evidence of my out of control childhood obesity.  I'm in the white turtle neck sweater.

Clearly I was either delusional, all the mirrors in my house were warped like fun house mirrors or it had been a seriously good brainwashing job.   30 years of belly hiding later I know it was the brainwashing.   Today I am kind of pissed over it.  What a waste of my childhood - making me worry all the time like that.  There is no one to yell at about it either.  

I'm sitting around here, knocking myself in the head thinking how much I don't want to waste any more time.  And then I saw a video of Dietgirl doing a tv interview.  And in this interview she says something about making reasonable goals, not waiting to live until goal weight and ENJOYING THE JOURNEY.  I hit myself in the head again and thought "Brilliant!!"   I have to get the right mindset, because here I am on a journey and I don't want to hold my breath until it is over, I want to break out and live now. Or rather feel like I'm living, which pretty much means, not holding back and holding my breath and worrying about my weight all day every day.  I'm going to ENJOY THE JOURNEY.  If I was a tattoo type, I'd ink ENJOY THE JOURNEY right in a prominent place so I could see it all day long.

Weigh In Wednesday Results: Down 5 pounds despite my massive fruit consumption during week one.

no evidence

Tonight the opening scene of House (which the husband is addicted to) showed a teacher bleeding from the mouth and fainting in her classroom.  I turned to Evan, (always looking for that lesson moment) who was nearby and asked him what he would do if his teacher passed out during class.  Evan assumed a thoughtful pose, scratching away at the beard which hasn't appeared yet but I am quite sure is going to appear any day now, and after a moment Evan snapped his head up, smiled a cheshire cat grin and declared "Bury the body in the snow!"

fruit and bike

Since the fattie contest part II commenced last Monday night I started to be careful about what I eat (ate?) on Tuesday morning.  It was an exceptionally tough transition this time around, I think because I was eating like there was no tomorrow for the four days before Tuesday morning.  And by eating like there was no tomorrow I mean, eating allergic foods as well as every sugary substance I could lay my hands on.  Hello, hot chocolate.   

What I didn't count on when I foolishly began and told myself that for a good send off I would forgo carbs for the week and not only melt off a good chunk of pounds, but probably lose a quart or two of water with those pounds was that after the half week sugar binge I was going to crave anything sweet like a heroin addict just needs one more shot to make it through before committing to getting clean. I ended up allowing myself more fruit than I had imagined I would be eating on my carb-less first week.  I can really eat a startling amount of fruit.  I keep telling myself that fruit is a better choice than just about anything I ate in the 4 pre-contest days, so I am giving myself a pat on the back for that.   I have managed to cut down on the fruit intake each day, so good for me in that department too.  (Remember, the new mindset I am adopting here, I am encouraging my successes instead of berating my failures!)  Since I did stick to the part where I vowed to make it to the gym nearly every day for even just a little bit of something, I have managed to shed a few pounds already.  

I'm feeling conflicted just like I was the last time around.  I want to win this contest.  At least I think I really do, but I also want to fly under the radar and just do my own thing and skip happily to the finish line less heavy than I was 8 weeks before and be thrilled with that.   I'm not sure if there are any super competitive people who might be heavy without all my psychological drama (you know, .....like  men) that plan on starving themselves for the 8 weeks and taking the fattie contest part II honors.  I am pretty sure that if they gave an award for "Most Internal Conflict and In Head Melodrama"  I would win hands down.  In a perfect world my head would shut down and my mouth would zip shut.  

In other news, Kitten emailed me the other day asking if I would like to do this with her.  And I would!  But I am a little bit scared.  I'm not scared of the distance of the trip I am more scared of four other things.  

The first thing I am scared of is hills.  I'm not great on hills (though Kitten seems to think I am better than she is ?!?! on hills and she did this once before) and I like to know in advance if there are any intimidating hills on my rides.  I don't want up hill surprises.  

The second thing I am kind of afraid of are my pedals which require clip on bike shoes.  I'm afraid I will have some to a sudden stop and I topple over causing some kind of 97 bike pile up domino effect disaster scenario because I can't get my feet out in time.  This is a very real possibility for me folks, don't poo poo it!   I know I can switch out my pedals for sneaker friendly ones, but that seems like giving up to me.  How about you?

And the third thing, this is big, that I am afraid of is the condition of my privates after spending much of the day on a bike seat.  Remember that I am heavier than most, and therefore putting more pressure than most on my girl parts during the ride.  I also suspect that somehow I don't sit correctly on my bike seat.  My girl parts sometimes went numb by our 8 mile designated water break when I was doing the 15 mile (the longest course I have ever done, BTW) loop with my babes.  

And lastly, I fear my ability to keep up with KItten and the three other people she plans on doing this with (two of whom are men).  I'd like to have a leisurely sightseeing ride through my favorite place in the world, the center of the universe, and my beloved hometown.  I want to shout "I lived there!"  "I taught there!"  and stuff like that, and I am afraid that my leisurely pace is a good 3 or 4 mph slower than the leisurely pace of the others.

So, wondering who was dreaming, me or Kitten and wanting to know how realistic this was going to be for me, I mentioned the bike tour to the chiro, thinking he would tell me that it probably wasn't the best idea for me and much to my surprise, when I said my friend wanted me to do the bike tour he said "You could do that bike tour" as if he was talking to someone who could easily do that bike tour and I realized that obviously other people think I am capable of doing more than I believe myself to be capable of.  And now I have something new to obsess about. The fun never ends.

Do you still have to push?

I watch a tv while on the cardio machines at the posh club.  Most of the time I channel surf finding the general content boring and the commercials down right mind numbing.  Every once in a while I'll do something non gym related after I drop off the kids and before I go to the posh club and then I'll be there at the time when The View is on.  I'm good with The View.  It holds me most days.  Whoopi and Joy are most definitely the most appealing part of The View for me.  I can't stand Elizabeth (blech!!) and I won't get attached to the other one.   I imagine her as the revolving member of the cast.  And my dad actually new Barbra as a kid (he leased office space to her dad and she would visit after classes) so I have the 411 on her!  I can never decide if I like Whoopi or Joy more.  Whoopi is so wonderfully grounded, she's a real Switzerland, and Joy is simply hysterical.  

Today the Duggars were on the view with their 18th child.  I'm not savvy enough to post an actual video here, but click this link to see the almost three minute interview with the Duggars, and bask in the sheer delight that is Joy, who asked the giggly mother of 18 the one question for sure that was on every woman's mind:  "Do you still have to push?"  

I totally love Joy more than Whoopi today.

Speaking of the posh club, the fattie contest part II commenced Monday evening.  I suffered through another orientation, and filled out another questionnaire which asked if I had ever tried to diet before (WTF?).  Is there anyone out there who hasn't tried a diet before?  I mean, as far as I have noticed, even the skinny girls want to lose 5 invisible pounds.  

I weighed in on their accurate doctor's scale, and just as I suspected, I had regained about half of what I lost the first time around.  So I have a new starting weight, technically my round I in the middle weight but what ever,  and I started it all again!  One bad thing is that I started after a weekend of frenzied binge eating in utopia.  So Tuesday going cold turkey was not going to be possible.  But I did hold firm about the sugar and instead of bingeing on pure unadulterated white sugar I paced myself (my cravings) with fruit.  I ate more fruit than I should have, but I am good with the baby steps.  Today I ate a reasonable amount of what I ate.  Hold on. Nope.  Except for that whole can of olives.  But you know, olives are very Mediterranean, no?  Good fats?  No.  Yeah, I'm not fooling myself either.

I am however, making it to the posh cub every day and doing something, even if it is shorter than forever because some days I just gotta do other stuff too.  Tomorrow I am going for the whole kit and kaboodle and going in for some strength training and a spin class.  My reward at the end will be long hot sauna during which I will detoxify and cleanse myself of loads of toxins and then I will run around town like crazy and do all the stuff I would have leisurely done if I hadn't spent 4 hours at the posh club.  Go me!  

Just like last time the weekly weigh-in will be on Wednesdays.  You'll hear from me on Wednesdays.  Only this week they skipped it since we just started on Monday.  

The funny thing about dieting for me is that every single time I wake up on day 3 and am astounded to find that I am still fat.  Imagine that.  Happened just this morning.  It was more disorienting than usual since as far as my half awake self was concerned, not only was I all tight and slim, but I had just participated in a three way with Brad and Angelina.  But then I woke all the way up and realized that everything I thought was true was not true and I was happy about it too because Angelina kind of scares me.

change

Being a mere almost 44 years old I have only seen a few presidents into office.  There were the Bushes (I was 38 for Jr. and 22 for Sr.), and Clinton (age almost 30 for his inauguration).  I was 14 and completely politically oblivious when Reagan was sworn in.  I remember when Carter was the president, and vaguely recall the clumsy Ford years and the ensuing jokes.  I was 9 during Watergate.

So I consider myself kind of inexperienced when it comes to new presidents, but even so, I found myself watching the inauguration today with a surprisingly new and refreshing feeling.  I voted for Obama.  I declared my allegiance with my Obama lawn signs.   I whisper plugged my candidate while ducking the piercing glares of the hardcore Stepfordians.

I walked around today really rooting for Obama.  Sure I was happy the democrats had taken back the presidency, and sure I was thrilled I would not to have to move to Canada (too cold!) if Palin (shivers) was in office.  But it was different than my usual new president attitude.  Typically I sigh and say something about the lesser of two evils, but this time I feel hope.

I want so very much for our whole nation to be looking around a few years from now, smiling and laughing and declaring Obama the best president ever.

The bloggess thinks Obama should experiment with his gender identity while in office.  I was hoping he'd convert to Judaism.  Wouldn't that be fun!

PS How long do I have to wait before I start making fun of Michelle's ball dress? (Please don't squeeze the Charmin?)

white with black

I'd say the theme for this weekend could have been white.  We headed up for utopia where everything was white.  And cold.  On the way up we watched the truck thermometer going down and I learned (for the first time) that the truck thermometer does go into the negative numbers!  It was -2 when we pulled (or should I say slid)  into our utopian driveway.  Yay!  Go gloves!  And hats!  Scarves!  Wool socks!

I didn't get motivated to go out and freeze,  er, ah, shoot right away, but I did manage to come home with a little lump of acceptable shots.  I might use some for my one woman show in March.  

Holy moly, March (?!?!?)  I think I better get moving for that show!  

The sky cooperated for about 10 minutes (which means tiny little hints of blue sky appeared in the otherwise whiteness) this morning and thankfully it was the ten minutes during which I had pulled on everything I own and was standing out there with my rapidly draining (due to obscenely cold temperatures) camera battery.  No, just kidding!  This morning it was balmy.  It was 17.

Walking on the frozen lake was a thrill.  I made Evan come with me and he was terrified that we were going to fall through.  I told him to just save my camera!  No, just kidding, I told him that if he thought the ice was breaking to lie down and belly crawl his way to the shore.  I was kind of hoping he would have a panic attack and do it too.  I would have never let him live it down.  Also, I had the camera with me, so I could have gotten proof.   He choose to walk on the edge where he'd only go in knee deep instead.  What a chicken! 

The devil wasn't freaked out about walking on water at all.

good luck mrs. v. I'll miss you

There is a kind of woman I just love to be in the presence of.  Typically this woman I am attracted to (minds out of the gutter ! in an "I want to learn from you" way) is older than I am, because she's got a kind of attitude and style that comes with an awareness of life experience and that life well lived-I have learned along the way kind of sage "I've been paying attention"  wisdom.  (Naturally that which I call wisdom is agreeable to all of my own personal philosophies, do not misunderstand me here.  I'm not that deep)   I like to think of this kind of woman as a "salty dog" kind of woman.  Since am living here in Stepford, far away from the sea, you have to picture my personal salty dog, not a wrinkled fish monger's wife stepping off a lobster boat, but some kind of gracefully worn with time modern day kind of older lady.  She wears sensible shoes.

Matt's first grade teacher was this kind of woman, and so was his angel teacher of all time, his fourth grade (the one who restored his faith in man kind) teacher, and right now Matt's high school guidance counselor is that kind of woman.  I really adore Matt's guidance counselor, and have often fantasized about asking her to adopt my family.  I mean, really, can a girl have too many grandkids?  And who wouldn't want to throw my sweeties into the mix?  I don't think anyone could say NO to that, I'm just too shy to ask.  

But anyway, yesterday Matt and I had a meeting with her to discuss Matt's courses for next year.  I admit that when Matt and I walked in to her office I was kind of alarmed at her less than salty appearance.  A salty dog looks like someone you don't want to mess with.  She looked more fragile than usual.  Her hair was disheveled and she seemed smaller and delicate for the first time.  Then our meeting got going and I sat there for the hour basking in this salty dog's demeanor and admiring the ease at which she related to Matt.  I was looking for traits of her I could incorporate into my own repertoire.  I like her and I wanna be like her one day.

Then the bell rang and Matt ran off to his class.  And the salty dog, who I love, respect, and hopefully emulate so much (and sing her praises and rejoice regularly that she had been chosen to help me guide my precious baby) turned to me with tears in her eyes and told me that she would be retiring in June.  And then, much to the surprise of my unadulterated admiration, the salty dog told me how Matt and I have a special place in her heart, and how much she has learned about relating to students from Matt and how much she has learned by watching me parent Matt the past year and a half.  (???)  She said she learned so much from me!  She said she wasn't telling everyone about her retirement and had only decided to start telling people about it on the very day Matt and I were coming in because she wanted to be honest with me.  

I fought back my own tears as my heart quickly sank.  I suggested she phase herself out of the position by only taking juniors and seniors for the next two years, and she laughed.  She had wondered if that was possible too.   She felt conflicted about stepping away and leaving families hanging.   I suggested she become a freelance guidance counselor consultant so that she could (hold my hand) see Matt through high school, and she said she had thought of that too.

I told her I was happy for her.  She wants to travel.  I forced a smile and told her I thought she would have wonderful retirement adventures.  She wants to explore her creative side.  I suggested photography.

I'm trying not to convince myself that no one will ever be able to take her place. I don't know that other guidance counselors at all.  Someone else might be a great guidance counselor too, as inconceivable as that seems today.  I'm still marveling at the part where it seems like the admiration was some how mutual.  Imagine that.

bets on the boobs

I have been getting together with Peanut and another woman to watercolor paint once a week.  We are pretty loose about getting together, but we have been making progress.  I tried to master the watercolor technique before, but to be honest with you, I tend to struggle and struggle with watercolors before I end up just giving up.  We meet on Thursdays.  Peanut had hired a lady to be a live model for another class she is organizing and when I showed up at Peanuts on Thursday we drew from this live model (Peanut wanted to test drive her)  instead of doing watercolors.  That was fine with me.  I was initially a bit nervous, because I am pretty sure it's been at least a couple of years since I actually tried to draw a live person, but I think I did well, don't you?

The live model didn't really have such a large boobs, but as I told her before we began, artists tend to put some of their own attributes into their models.  Then I gave the model some big bazongas.  I could have given her a little button nose, a double chin or some chubby cheeks.  But, you see, there were other forces at work.  I didn't actually realize the boob thing until we were finished and then it was too late to reconfigure her figure.

Peanut made the model look like an old haggard beggar woman.  I got a laugh out of that one.   The model said she liked my drawing.  I'm not sure if she meant that she liked my depiction of her face. I think I really captured her hooded eyes.  She may have been looking at her amplified bosom.  My money is on the bosom.

taking the fifth

I saw Slumdog Millionaire with Boops this past weekend.  SInce I am somewhat of an uncontrollable movie whisperer (the kind that the big screen asks us not to be right before they ask us to turn off our cell phones) I just had to lean in and tell Boops my thoughts during the movie.  Boops is a movie concentrator, so we aren't really a successful movie going duo.  The exchange went something like this:

me (feeling all chatty): pssst!  That guy ... he sounds just like Ricardo Montalban

Boops (entirely engrossed in the big screen): That's not Ricardo Montalban.

me: No, he SOUNDS like Ricardo Montalban

Boops (can not take her eyes off the screen): It's not him.  Ricardo Montalban is dead .... I think.

me:  He SOUNDS LIKE him, I know it isn't him.

someone else in the theater:  SSSHHHHHHH!!

me: giggle giggle giggle

Then yesterday I was getting all of my celebrity news updates from Perez (Cause I am a thinker people! An intelligent middle aged thinker!), and what do you think I read!  Ricardo passed away yesterday, (imagine that) so I sent off an email to Boops, and our exchange was as fluid and sophisticated as our movie theater chat.

me:RICARDO MONTALBAN DIED THIS MORNING.

Boops:Are you KIDDING me??? OMG.

me: I hope you feel guilty for saying he was already dead.

       Maybe you caused his death.

Boops: And I said I wasn't sure.

me: I dunno you sounded pretty certain to me.

Maybe you should go to confession or something just in case.
(she wrote while fighting back the urge to laugh until she peed herself)

You do hear me winking here, right?  You know I am yanking your chain,
right?  (cause Boops needs these things explained to her.)

Boops: Well, the thing is, which I am kind of afraid to admit: I found he was still alive after the movie, and so I killed him to make sure I was in the right.

me: (well, I didn't send anything in reply cause I got busy with three kids or something or like that)

Boops: So, are you going to blog about Riccardo and the Dead or Alive conversation at the movies?

Don't forget the funny part where I thought you said the actor was R.M.

But you're not going to turn me in for the murder.