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I really should have blogged earlier in the day today, but I didn't. I was at the gym, enjoying the new workout playlist that my dear, sweet hubby made for me in a mere five minutes this morning. It was really great. Really. He knows the inner me. I didn't have to skip over even one of the songs. Perfection in a box.
Speaking of boxes, as I sat down to blog, I thought I would do another silly saturday post for you guys. Turning to my husband, I ask...
Honey, what's the funniest you tube you've seen in awhile? ('cause, like all ignoramous-ites, I call it The Google, The YouTube, The Whatever-the-Hell-you-want-it-to-be).
I don't know. Why?
Because I still need to post something on my blog today.
What? That's not cool. Why would you do that? (freaking out)
(more hysterical laughing)
It's not funny!!!
No, but your reaction is. I was just joking anyway. (more and more laughing)
Fine. I don't know. What about Keith Olbermann's countdown parody?
That's like 8 minutes long!
Yeah, but it's funny.
So, here it is. Apparently, Saturday Night Live is not cool enough to have everything on YouTube, so we'll all just have to settle for NBC. Happy Saturday!
Oh, and just so you know, he can last a REALLY LONG time in bed. No jizz problems here at all.
(bangs head) I don't want to be involved at all... in this blog.
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Another Wednesday, another weigh-in. Last week, I challenged myself to drink five glasses of water a day and to exercise for thirty minutes at a time, three days a week. I have to say, I did pretty well. Not only did I exercise three days, I actually moved my butt five days in the last week! Additionally, I hit my five glasses of water each day (using Nancy's recommended fill 'er up and suck 'er down method). AND, I cut out nearly all of my soda consumption. I even started to keep a food diary and attempted to stay within a set number of calories each day, using sparkpeople.com's free diet trackers.
Another positive move came when a friend of mine asked me to meet her at Planet Fitness each weekday at 6 AM. We started on Monday. And promptly skipped today. But that's not the point, huh? My friend, we'll call her Hampton for reasons she'll most certainly understand, inspired me to attack the most-dreaded stair machine. Seriously, every time I've gotten on this thing in the past, I've felt like I was going to d.i.e within minutes. Mere minutes, I tell ya! Yet, Hampton showed me a trick. You turn the incline down to 0 to get started on it. Then, gradually step it up over a few weeks or so. (Step it up, get it?) Easy-cheesy! The first day, Monday, I was on it for 15 minutes. Then, I ran over to my safety-blanket, the recumbent bike. Fifteen minutes was three times longer than I had ever used the machine before, but I still felt like a loser, compared to Hampton's 35 minutes. So, yesterday I forced myself to use the darned thing for 30 minutes. Thirty WHOLE minutes! Woo-hoo! Then, today, Hampton bailed on me so she could sleep in. So, I did, too. We'll go back tomorrow for sure.
And, now for my weigh-in number. See how I put it all the way down here? That can't be good news, right? Right. 232. I gained a pound and a half. I'm not sure how I managed that. Surely one night of drinking, plus an extra long cheese coney, plus Chuck E. Cheese pizza, plus ice cream, plus Buffalo Wild Wings, plus a REALLY GOOD Cobb Salad, plus, plus, plus, plus couldn't have done that, right? Right? It has to be water weight. Right? Someone? Freaking out over here...
Even with all my bad choices, I did stay within my calorie range most days. I did work my ass off at home and at the gym. I did drink my water. But, maybe I didn't do quite enough. Or, maybe the week prior when I did next to NOTHING and lost 3 pounds caught up with me. At any rate, next week has to be better, number wise. It HAS to be.
How will I make it better? More small goals, more baby steps. 9 glasses of water a day. 5 gym days. 3 veggies or fruits a day. That's my plan, and I'm sticking to it.
Weight loss Stats:
Starting Weight: 233.5
Current Weight: 232
Goal Weight: 150
Pounds lost: 1.5/83.5
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Last night, my husband and I finally watched the final episode of Lost. Yes, I know we're a bit behind the times. We didn't start watching until the show had gone off the air. That's not what this is about.
This scene had me tearing up for another reason, altogether. Okay, fine. Jack died. I kinda saw that coming. What I didn't expect was that Vincent, the dog, would come out of the jungle and lay beside him as he took his last breath. That's what really got to me.
When I was seven, my mom got me a puppy. Her name was Maggie. I will always remember the day I got her. My mother picked me up from school, where I was in second grade. It was February. We walked out to the car, where I immediately noticed a towel in the front seat. Lifting the towel, I found a tiny, wriggling black dog. She was small enough to fit in my still-small hands, and she was adorable. Most of all, she was mine.
I didn't always treat Maggie quite right. I can remember being resentful of her as I had to clean up her messes and take her out to potty in the backyard. I remember playing rough games, probably unintentionally inflicting pain in my play, but that she would always play right along. I would dress her up in my old clothes and put on doggie fashion shows, too, likely humiliating the poor mutt. There was one time when she sat down on my slipper and peed. I felt the hot liquid oozing around my toes and immediately freaked out. I was, after all, only seven and the idea of pee on MY toes upset me quite a bit. I picked her up and tossed her onto her newspaper in the bathroom. I didn't throw her, just a little toss, but it was still unkind.
Yet, I loved the dog. I baked her dog treats and cakes for her birthday. I filled her stocking at Christmas and made sure she had a new sweater under the tree. In fact, one year I even crocheted her a doggie sweater. She didn't like my human friends, but to me, she was the best.
As I watched Jack's death scene and Vincent came into the picture, I began to remember that Maggie was always around when I felt ill. On a normal day, she didn't like to go into my bedroom. However, when I was sick, she would come lay on the floor beside my bed. My mother once told me that dogs could tell when their people didn't feel well and always tried to make them feel a little better.
Maggie died several years ago. I wasn't by her side. I had moved away from home and she had been sick for a long time. Emotionally, I'd already buried her. She was no longer my friend. She was just my mother's old, crabby dog. I didn't help my mother wrap up her body and take it to be cremated. I didn't say goodbye. I didn't lay beside her as she left this life behind. Again, to me, she was already gone.
But, Maggie wouldn't have been that cold-hearted and careless towards me. She would have pawed me, licked my face, and made me realize that it was okay. Her presence would have relaxed me, as did Vincent's on Jack's day.
I have two dogs now and, to me, they're just pets. They aren't friends, they aren't really family. They're dogs who entertain me. They play with my kids. They live in my house and sometimes give me kisses. But, they're still dogs. However, in Maggie's memory, I'll be extra kind to my two dogs this Christmas. I'll bake cookies for them with the kids. I may even give them a stocking (no, probably not.) At any rate, I won't let them be cold or lonely because, like them or not, they are my companions.
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I'm beginning to think that Katie might be ready for potty training. She asks for diaper changes almost as soon as she pees and immediately after she "boop boops" her word for poo poo. I'm just struggling with two things. The first is how I'm going to go about training her. The second is how I'm going to go about training her without revealing her lady parts to her older brother.
I'm somewhat leaning towards the three day method in which we spend three entire days hence the name in the bathroom doing nothing but playing and going potty. However, after the three days are up, the child is supposed to go bare bottomed around the house for six several more weeks. So, if Katie is going around pants-less, how is it that Alex won't see her girly bits?
We've been very modest with relations between Alex and Katie due to the difference in their ages. Alex is seven and a half years older than Katie. He's getting curious about things and we thought it would be improper for him to learn about lady parts from his baby sister. His schoolyard friends would be a much better source, in my opinion. Likewise, we've allowed Alex to retain his privacy, changing behind closed doors, showering on his own, and so forth.
Now, I can't say that things haven't been seen, but it has been rare. Like the time when Nana didn't realize our feelings on the matter and took Alex along to change a diaper. Or, when Katie decided to run bare through the living room after a bath. But, it hasn't been all in-your-face oooh-I'm-nakey for days on end in my house. At least, not around the kids.
I have purchased many long tunics and flowy, cotton dresses that I'm hoping will help protect Kate's modesty. And, really, Alex is only home and awake for six hours a day anyway. Except weekends. Maybe we'll get to the underwear part really really soon. Or, maybe Alex will get an education in Family Life. Either way, it will be a learning experience. times two.
Potty training Alex was not a walk in the park. We started earlier with him, right around eighteen months. He didn't get it until the summer after he turned three. Yet, we persevered. I can't tell you how many pairs of poopy underwear I threw away. It just wasn't worth washing, sometimes. Oh my. It was bad. Really bad. The one good thing is that he loved to watch Bear in the Big Blue House. We watched the Bear potty video a lot. A whole lot. At least it was somewhat tolerable. I guess I'll have to go buy some sort of dvd for Kate because we no longer have a VCR. Remember those old things? I do.
So, my thought process is that if we start Katie now that she is exhibiting signs that she is ready, but before she hits the rebellious stages of the late twos, then she'll get it. Besides, she's a cloth-diapered girl. They aren't supposed to take as long, right?
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Today's my birthday, so Happy Birthday to me. I'm a little down in the dumps because everyone else seems to have an opinion on how I should celebrate my day. Really, all I wanted was to bake a delicious cake and have an easy dinner in tonight. Nothing big. Now, don't get me wrong. It isn't that I didn't want to acknowledge my birthday. It's just that, at Katie's age, it is much easier to eat at home than to go out to a restaurant and drop a lot of money on a meal that nobody gets to enjoy.
Nor did I want to have a boring birthday. I wanted to do something with my kids today, something that maybe we don't always get to do, and have a little fun. Maybe we would go someplace they like to go... a museum, or Chuck E. Cheese, or even just the park. I had even thought about taking them to one of the state parks to have a picnic and go swimming. We could do something to make a memory.
But, then I found out that my mother was taking today off from work. Why? I have no idea. She's done this for the past few years, and always expects me to be magically free to do whatever she wishes. It isn't like she ever took off when I was a kid. Why now?
So, my mother started insisting that I couldn't have a carefree birthday. I couldn't just stay in. I couldn't bake my own cake. I couldn't not go out to dinner. She said that my husband was being lazy by not celebrating on my birthday. In actuality, we have our own, pricey celebration planned to take place in a week and a half that she knows about. All of a sudden, my nice, fun, yet relaxing day turned into my mother's project. I would bring the kids over at the ass-crack of dawn and we would all spend the day at her pool, a typical summer event and one that really bores me. Then, tonight, we would go to a very popular, crowded restaurant that doesn't take reservations and is out of our current budget given the fact that we are spending so much to drive to Charlottesville to see Lady Gaga in 10 days. We would have to wait in a line to get in, outside, in the heat, with an already-cranky almost-two year old. And then, more than likely, my husband and I would get to foot the bill after she had planned and insisted on the outing. Remember, I want to stay in for dinner.
This morning, I got up, called my mother, and essentially told her to go fuck off. I'll have the day that I want to have. I shouldn't be expected to drop everything just because she takes the day off from work. At the very least, she should be willing to go along with plans I've already made, even if they are vague. It's my birthday. I'll do what I want to.
Now, I feel like a giant ass. I wouldn't want my children feeling this way on their birthdays when they are adults. I would want to see them and be involved. But, what can I do? If my mother is involved, she tends to take over. I'm a grown woman. I don't need rescuing.
What is it about cartoons that enthrall kids and (sometimes) adults alike? I recently took my children to see a free showing of Looney Tunes at our local Grandin Theatre, one of the last non-chain grand old theaters in our area. It may actually be the last, I'm not really sure.
So, anyway, while I was sitting there, holding my squirming not-quite-two year old and trying to introduce the characters to my nine year old, I realized something. These cartoons are very different from what my son watches on tv nowadays (there, now I sound old, huh?). I began to wonder if the other mothers I was with were perhaps offended by the subject matter I had invited them to go see. Now, I don't really think that they are sticks in the mud, but you just never know. Some moms don't let their kids play with guns. Some moms don't like superheroes. Some moms are offended by Looney Tunes. Yes, seriously. I have met them before.
Think about it. Daffy Duck and the gang portray premeditated homicide, assault and battery, domestic violence, suicide, child abuse, and many other themes in a funny, nonchalant style. On what channel can you even catch a glimpse of that now? Besides Cartoon Network, that is. In fact, I don't think I've seen the Coyote and Road Runner in a very long time. They are certainly not in the same league as Huckleberry Hound, who routinely visits through the tube.
Today's cartoons aren't violent. They portray kids being gross, disobedient, flatulent, ill-mannered, and just plain rude, but they aren't really violent. Not like Looney Tunes, it turns out. However, I would prefer my son to cuddle up with Bugs Bunny than to idolize Phineas and Ferb any day. The same goes for Spongebob and all those other popular kids programs.
Why, you ask? Because Looney Tunes (and other cartoons like them) are just plain funny. They make you giggle. They portray silly animals getting into and out of all sorts of situations. They instill a sense of thriftiness and utility. Need to off a neighbor? Don't bother bringing out the big guns, unless you're that crazy red-headed cowboy, just use some simple engineering to drop a piano on his head. Ate too much cheese and now you have a tummy ache? Beg your neighborhood cat to devour you. Need to rid yourself of a pesky road runner? Well, then you'll have to call up Acme to deliver the proper non-working gadget to your door. But, that's the exception to the rule.
The kids throughout the theater were laughing their asses off. The parents were, too. Does Nickelodeon actually bring families together the way Warner Bros. does? Are parents willing to sit down and watch disgusting characters do weird and revolting things? No, I don't think so. At least, I'm not. But, we can bond over some comic violence, just like in the good old days.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not advocating cartoons in which the characters blow each other's heads off. I'm not a big proponent of violence directed at entertaining children. But, I don't think it is going to harm our kids if we let them watch Bugs get squashed by a giant once in a while. After all, laughter is the best medicine.
