A special post for Kelly

Dear Kelly,
I also have a nephew who reads the blog.  Like you, I think he feels funny leaving a comment as the only man. . . .so he emails me instead.  I think my brother is also a reader as well.  And, occasionally, my Dad.

Just so you know, you are not alone.

I did notice, however, that none of you men commented on my earrings.  What, are they not your style?  Perhaps something simpler would suit you better instead of the dangly ones.  I'll get on that right away.  What is your favorite color?

Oh,wait, I forgot that my husband reads as well.  I'm currently working on a charming bracelet for him.

A Random thought

While we were at dinner last night, the conversation turned to which kid got what part of each parent.  i.e. Roger has my nose, Eliza has Dad's ears, etc.  D made a comment that he thought Davis looked like he did as a kid, but he was more handsome.

Davis's response, "What?  Do you hate yourself Dad?  Do you want to call yourself stupid?"

We just looked at him for a second and then started laughing.

A Quick Vent

ARGHHH!!  My vacuum cleaner's belt broke a couple of weeks ago.  After finally grabbing a new one a few days ago, I was distracted in my task and ended up putting it down--somewhere.  That was 3 days ago.  I keep thinking it will turn up, but in the meantime the floors are building up layers of crumbs.  I just know that as soon as I go to the store to get a new belt, the other one will show up.

I'll take a chick with that shot

D's got a patient right now who's in his mid-twenties.  Yesterday, he asked D if he really needed a certain shot/procedure he's been getting daily.  D explained why it was important and that he really needed it.

The young man's response, "Well, can you at least bring some chicks with you tomorrow?"

D told me there are some cute nurses on the service right now.

Confessions of a stay-at-home mom

These thoughts have been weighing (no pun intended) on my mind a bunch lately, and what better way to get them out than to confess them on the world wide web- purveyor of all things private, hah!?!

It is with sadness I confess I think I've gained 3 or 4 pounds in the last month or so.  At least that's what the scale says, so I'm going with it.  I was first tipped off to this fact when my jeans started feeling tight this week.  They are even my fat jeans- I still haven't even attempted my regular, pre-pregnancy ones!  I have always struggled with my weight and have serious issues with my self-esteem on this matter.

Having said that, I am just fed up with the system!  Why is it that when moms get together they all have to confess whether or not they've been working out or if they ate a candy bar that day?  Why do we all sit and complain about our bodies and reminisce back to our pre-children days? Why do we feel so bad if the buttons on our shirt are puckering a bit?  Why?  Why? Why?  Why are weight and size an ever hovering thought in our mind? Why do we label ourselves as good or bad based on what we ate that day. What we eat shouldn't make us good or bad.  It is how we treat others, right? I am sick and tired of weight-loss commercials on TV.  I am tired of the 'get-healthy-today' bits on the morning show and their 'helpful?' tips on eating better or shedding calories in our diet.

When the twins were 2 years old, I started an exercise regime and had lost only 1 pound in six weeks with intensive exercise.  I was so fed up that I joined Weight Watchers.  It worked great for me.  I lost 30 pounds, but got tired of everyone complimenting my new figure and telling me how good I looked.  My day to day activities at 30 pounds less did not change one bit (aside from my running 4 miles instead of walking them for exercise). It made me frustrated to feel that my self-esteem was so affected by this change. What suddenly gave other people license to comment on my figure? My favorite was this, "Have you lost weight?  You look great!"  Then inside I would reply to myself, "Oh, I must have looked really bad before."

After some other struggles, perhaps the topic of another post, and a Roger pregnancy later, I was introduced to a book called Intuitive Eating.  It is a great book that talks about making peace with food and ultimately, with yourself.  One part of this process is to let go of the 'diet mentality.'  I actually thought I mastered this concept until I got on the scale this week and was supremely devastated with the number. Those feelings of self-doubt and wondering if I look totally bad right now are flooding back in.  Now I feel like I am stuck in this circle of fear wondering if my weight will spiral out of control.  This stress doesn't help me AT ALL to eat more healthfully.  I start eating crap because I know I will have to start another diet soon and those foods will be off-limits.

I have an amazing friend who is overweight.  She is the most wonderful person ever.  She's kind and sharing and positive.  I want to be just like her.  And really, she's beautiful- long curly blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes.  She dresses beautifully.  She's a great mom.  She hasn't gotten a family photo in years because she's so embarrassed about her weight.  This makes me sad. I wish I could shake some sense into her.  I wish she could see herself like I see her.  But at the same time I can recognize some of her mistaken beliefs in myself.

So I am throwing this out there for anyone who has wisdom.

How have you made peace with food and your body?  I need help.  A prayer or two wouldn't be bad either.  I'll take anything I can get.

Hobbies

I frequently read about everyone else's trips and projects and, quite frankly, it makes me feel like I am a pack of poop.  I can't even keep my house clean.  I am not kidding.  As I take a look to my left there are toys all over the living room, and to my right, the kitchen table is covered with a stuffed tiger, the Book of Mormon (hey, at least I read), an empty baby food jar, a surgery text, and a Magic Treehouse Book.  I think I wiped it down after breakfast yesterday, but ummmm, it really needs another wipe down right now.

In another life, I loved making hand-made cards, sewed a quilt, scrapbooked, and even sat down to play piano on the side.  This doesn't really happen much (okay, at all) anymore. So, I figured I better post here that I actually am sometimes up to something productive. . . . for Christmas, I bought myself some beads and got a beading class for free.  I've made a few necklaces and bracelets, but have found that making earrings is simple and easy- mostly because I don't have to set up much or put away much.

So, yep, here's the proof of what I've been doing.  And it's really cheap.  I can make a pair of earings for a buck or so.  Aren't they cute?  (just say yes, even if you don't think so.  It will brighten up my day)

Poll. Response requested.

. . . .What is the average length (in months) that a brand new pack of toddler underwear gets totally filthy during and after potty training? (and on a side note, are they really potty trained if they keep having 'accidents' every week or so?)

Why do I ask?  Well, it just seems like I bought these ones last month.

Cheating can be so easy sometimes

Amid my frustration last night at my twins' disregard of their homework, I caught my first whiff of the inclination to cheat.  I also figured out why teachers want to split up twins.

The assignment.  Cut out about 25 words in the spelling word family of the week (oi and oy) then sort the words under their appropriate category card.  The assingment is really quite easy--except for the cutting part. The twins got this brilliant plan to circumvent the hard part.

"Here Davis, you cut up this side of words. and I'll cut up the other one."

"Hey, I was thinking the exact same thing.  That was my idea too!"

I interrupt the little cheaters, "Guys, you can't do that!  That's cheating.  You both have to cut up the words yourself."

"Why?"

"Because if someone else does your homework, you don't learn things for yourself.  If you guys weren't in the same class you'd both be getting different assignments anyway that you'd have to do separately."

"But, we're in the same class."

"But, you won't always be."

"But we are now."  Hmmm, abstract thinking.  At what age does that kick in?

"Just do your own work."

Honestly, I left the room, so I don't know if they listened.  I am glad, however, that I didn't get in the conversation about how scissor skills are necessary for their progression into college.  Cause I'm pretty sure I would have lost that argument.

Tonight

Tonight.

I get a call from my husband, "I'm coming home!"

5 minutes later, another call. "Two trauma's just rolled in."  He won't be home before bed.

As I'm walking from room to room, I am overcome.  Messes everywhere.  I pick up cars under the piano.  Go to the kitchen to tackle some dishes.  Then, I turn the corner, and there's my three-year-old.  With cars.  Scattered under the piano.

Questions are weighing on my mind.

Then, "Have you done your homework?"

"No."

"What have you been doing for the last half-hour?"

"Do kid's in first grade really have to do homework?"

"Yes.  If you don't do your homework, they will make you repeat that grade.  Do you really want to be in first grade again next year?"

"No," he mutters.

"So, go do your homework."

Time passes.  I cut the boys' hair.  They hate it.  And by it, I mean me.  Now hair is everywhere. But at least they don't look scraggly anymore.  The baby is crawling around in the just-cut hair.

Tub time. Jammies on. Put the baby to bed. Tackle the hair mess. And hit the boys room to bag up clothes that are too small.

Now, "I'm bored."

"Did you do your homework?"

"No."

"Eliza, did you do your homework."

"No."

"You two go do your homework!!!" It's already 8:30.  Bedtime.

I am going to scream.  But by some miracle I decide to go to my room.  I utter a little prayer, "Heavenly Father, please help me not to yell at my kids."  I stand up and make a concious decision to calm down and take a big breath.

I help Roger brush his teeth.  I gently tug the kids down the stairs.  We say prayers.  I tuck the kids in.  . . . Then, "Roger, did you use the potty yet?"

"No."

I help him out of bed, pull up his pants and tuck him in again.  I kiss the kids, pull out Eliza's laundry bin to start a load, then Roger asks for a drink.  And by ask I really mean he whines, "Mom, I need a drink!"  I go upstairs to retrieve the small paper cups I bought to remain in bathroom for such drink requests.  I fill his cup.  Give him the cup.

Then, "I hate this cup!  Too small.  I want a a big cup!"

Then, I loose it, "NO ROGER! You will use this cup or else I am walking out of the house and not coming back,"

Davis howls, "No, mom!"

I close the door and take another deep breath.  I come back in and take away the small cup.  I put it in the bathroom.  I turn off Eliza's lights.  Now Roger says, "I want that small cup!"  I take in the small cup and he takes a gulp.  Then he spills on himself.  "AHHHHH!  I'm wet!"  I turn on the light and change his shirt.  Inside I am cursing. A lot. I feel like slamming the door, but I don't.

I turn off the light and sit on the stairs in the hallway outside the kids' rooms.  I sternly lecture them about how I do everything in the house for them and all they do is just order me to do more.  I say it just like that.  Then, I'm quiet.

I feel bad.  They're just kids, for goodness sake.  I sing a primary song.  Then two.  Then a third and fourth.  I feel better.  I think they feel better.  I apologize and wish them goodnight. As I'm shutting the door, Davis says, "Mom, thank you for everything you do for us.  I love you."  Roger copies him.  Then Eliza pipes in with similar sentiments.

What a night.  Can I go to bed now?

No.  I still haven't finished the dishes.

It's all how you look at it, I guess

Last night I was minding my own business (aka my eyes were glued to the T.V.) when D brought the child brigade downstairs with cups full of ice cream.  This wasn't just your ordinary vanilla, it was the brightly colored 'playdough' ice cream left over from the twins' birthday party.  I raised my eyebrows at this, but figured if my husband was taking care of the kids, I should shut my mouth about breaking the food rules, and just be grateful.

Unfortunately, just minutes later, Roger spilled this bright blue ice cream.  D jumped up and got a towel, but the damage was done.  There was a blue stain that could not be coaxed out of the carpet.

D's reaction, "Well, I guess this is why it was a good idea to get dark carpet so it hides stains better."

My reply, "Or I guess it is a good rule to keep the food upstairs in the kitchen."

OR

I could have just rolled my eyes and said, "Men."