Every so often, I just like to write a blog about what I'm doing on the exercise front at the moment. It changes pretty much from month to month. I don't have a very good attention span. If you don't like exercise, then stop reading right now. This will be very boring for you.
This year, I started out wanting to run a marathon. I shelved that plan because, well, pretty much I don't like running enough to devote all the time needed to training runs. I love to run, don't get me wrong, but I've found that any distance over about 7 miles feels like torture. I can do it, as I found out when I misjudged the distance of a new route I took and accidentally ran 10 miles (I walked the last mile) but it's just too freaking boring. I can run for about an hour and then my brain wants to do something else. A marathon is not in my future any time soon. Someday, just to say I've done it, but not this year. I read somewhere that the average first time marathoner is a 38-year old woman, so maybe in 8 years I'll lose my ADD and be able to concentrate on marathon training. The longest distance I'll be doing this year is the Bix race---7miles. The first Bix at Six training run was last night. I made the mistake of going to yoga class first, so I was completely worn out. I ran up the first big hill, then ran into my mom and ran back with her. I was tired and it was a humid 90 degrees out. It was miserable, so I feel no guilt about wimping out. (Also, I've already ran the Bix route about 6 times this year, just for fun, once when it was ten degrees out)
Then I thought, maybe a triathalon would be fun. Running a short distance, biking for a part of it, and swimming. I took swimming lessons for a while but just kind of hated it, for various reasons. One, I was looking up my Y on Facebook and came across my swimming instructor's blog and it turned out she is a rabid, Ann Coulter-worshipping Republican, and I don't spend time with Republicans and I certainly don't trust Republican lifeguards. If she found out my political persuasion, she'd probably try to drown me. I realize this is a completely ridiculous reason to 99% of people, but some of you get me on this issue. Swimming just isn't my thing for other reasons too, like I could never figure out floating (lead bones), the chlorine was messing with my hair and skin, and you can't listen to an Ipod while swimming laps. Lastly, I seemed to notice a lot of fat swimmers. I'm so not saying this from a mean place, but I just seemed to notice that maybe swimming isn't really the best form of exercise for weight loss since 75% of the people in the pool were morbidly obsese.
So triathalon is out.
A new sport I did start up is kayaking. My mom, my cousin Michelle and I tried out kayaking in Galena a month or so ago and it was a lot of fun. I don't get out on the water much yet, but I've been hitting the rowing machine at the Y and totally love it. My mom liked kayaking so much that she bought a couple of kayaks, which I will be borrowing. I signed up for an "Adventure Triathalon" Adventure Triathalons are perfect for non-swimmers like me. It's a run, and some biking, and some kayaking instead of swimming. I'm pretty excited about that, although I'm sure I'll come in last place. I looked at last year's results and it was pretty much all guys.
So I will be working on the kayaking, in preparation for this, and also the biking. I was taking Spinning classes all last year and they were huge in my weight loss. I liked it so much I got certified to teach classes and I really enjoyed it. I attended a few cycling classes but once you've taught your own, it's really hard to go to others (mostly because of the music. Obviously I like my own cycling playlists better than anyone else's) So I don't go to classes anymore, but I do my own Spinning class about twice a week.
I have also actually started to ride a real bike. I bought a mountain bike a few months ago to start riding around the Sylvan Island trails (where my adventure triathalon will be). I haven't actually done that yet, I'd unhappy to report. Sylvan Island is a really neat spot---it's an island on the Mississippi that's a mixture of forest and abandoned factories, with trails throughout. Unfortunately, there are a lot of creeps there. The weirdo river rat fishermen kind of make me nervous to go out there alone. Once I buy some mace, I'll start riding out there or once I find a riding partner.
So I've been using the mountain bike on the bike path, and to ride around town a little bit. It is definitely too much bike for those purposes. So I decided I wanted a road bike. As I researched, I found that they are pretty expensive, but I lucked out. My aunt gave me an old road bike she had in her garage. It's a 1980 Schwinn but was in good shape. I brought it in to the bike store to be tuned up and the guy said it would be a good bike so yay! I have a road bike and didn't have to spend $800.
I'm testing it out this weekend. I'm doing the "Ride the River" bike ride. It's not a race, just a ride, but I pretty much signed up for it because they're opening up Arsenal Island (which is usually government restricted space). I've wanted to run on Arsenal Island for a long time. One time I tried to run there, and the security guy said I totally could----if I enlisted with the Army. So Ride the River is a good way to explore without having to attend boot camp.
As far as what else I'm doing, I've been taking lots of Zumba classes. It's just like a dancey aerobics, but it's fun and I usually burn a decent amount of calories. I've also gotten back in the weight training habit. I go the Y almost everyday, and lift a little before getting in my cardio. I love love love "the burn" I feel after lifting weights, although the activity of lifting weights bores me silly. Walking lunges, in particular, are really super boring but the ouch! factor you get the next day is amazing. I'm kind of a masochist when it comes to this. Exercise soreness is a great feeling. It makes me kind of understand cutters. Cutters should just try some walking lunges instead. It's a lot less messy.
I've also been trying to fit in yoga, but it frustrates me. I can't get up early in the morning to do it because I am a zombie all day long if I'm up before 6. I can't do it at home because I can't do anything that requires any concentration at all with the kids around. The Y doesn't offer many classes at a time when the childcare is available during the day, and I'm beat by the end of the day, so going to the yoga studios at night requires more motivation than I generally have left over by that time of day. So many excuses, right? I actually went last night, and it was not pretty. I totally sucked at it. If I don't do yoga pretty much every day, I tighten all up and lose any ground I've made. The biking, and the weight training and the rowing are so good for so many reasons, but not so good for flexibility. It's like one step forward and two steps back with yoga. So it's frustrating. But I do like it a lot and will keep plugging away at it.
I'm actually going for a Yogafit certification next weekend. When I was teaching fitness classes, I signed up for a Yogafit certification class. Then when I quit, I cancelled it and lost my $50 deposit. Then a few weeks later, they sent me a postcard offering me 25% off the certification, which is a good deal and would make up for the $50 I lost, and then some. So I wanted to take a little trip away on my own at some point this summer anyway, so I'm going to the Yogafit certification. I don't plan on pursuing teaching right now, but it will be good to have on my little fitness resume. I totally want to get back into teaching fitness classes once the kids are in school because I really love it, so it will help if I have this training.
So that's where I'm at on the exercise front.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I would so live on Gilligan's Island
Are there other people like me? Who grew up hoping they'd get stranded on an island somewhere and have to forage for themselves and create their own new society, a la Gilligan's Island?
I bet there are, the proof being the fact that Survivor is now on about season 73.
I would so live on Gilligan's Island. I would totally share a coconut hut with the Professor. I heart smart guys.
Actually, this blog isn't really about survival skills on a tropical island, but since I started with it I have to get a few more Gilligan's Island thoughts out of my head first. One, did you know I'm related to the guy who played Thurston Howell III? He's my great-grandma's first cousin. He kind of looked like my grandpa, even. Definitely a family resemblence---and since my son Heath kind of looks like my Grandpa's baby pictures, that means that Heath also looks like Thurston Howell III (and Heath TOTALLY makes this face when he's thinking about whether or not he should start to cry).
And two, if I was setting up my new society on a secluded island, you know what societal custom would be the first to be tossed out the window? Shaving legs. I really hate to shave my legs, but society says I have to, so I do. When I get stranded on a desert island, or start a commune (it's really only a matter of time before the latter), shaving legs will be verboten. Seriously, I really hate to shave my legs.
Okay, on to the real subject of this blog: coconuts.
I have been preaching about my new discovery to people in real life, so I'm going to do it here in virtual life too. Coconut oil is AMAZING!
I bought some coconut oil because it's supposed to help with eczema, and my son Heath has a horrible case of it. I got it to lather on him, and to feed him (it's supposed to work from the inside and outside)
But I started messing around with it myself and made some great discoveries (with help from google and the search phrase "benefits of coconut oil".
1. You will have the softest hair ever if you soak your hair in coconut oil. Well, first you will have the greasiest hair, but then it will be soft after that. I rub a little bit in my hands to soften it up, then run my fingers through my hair. It makes my hair really greasy, but I leave it in for a few hours (tied up in a bun if I'm out running around or working out---and it smells delicious) When I shampoo it out, my hair is like silk afterwards! Much better than any conditioner I've ever tried!
2. Best. moisturizer. ever. I am not really into moisturizers and cleansers and all that. I was my face and that's kind of it (besides makeup) I just don't like the smell and feel of the chemical moisturizers. But I've been putting rubbing coconut oil everywhere, and my skin is so soft! Face, body, everywhere. Also, because I've been eating the coconut oil, I think my skin is already soft from the inside. For a few days, I didn't rub any of the coconut oil directly into my skin, but I noticed that my skin was way softer than it's usual dried out state.
3. Candy bar on a spoon. I read that cocout oil is a good appetite suppresant and can help in weight loss. It's totally just a bunch of fat, but apparently it's a special kind of fat---it makes you feel full, like fat is supposed to, but it isn't as easily stored in the body as other fats. I've been eating a tablespoon of coconut oil before meals to fill me up. To make it really yummy, I've been eating it in a form I call "candy bar on a spoon". I take a tablespoon of coconut oil, and then put some pieces of dark chocolate (which is good for you too) and like 5 almonds (protein and more healthy fats) on the spoon too. It totally tastes like an almond joy candy bar, and completely fills me up. It kills my craving for sweets too. It's kind of crazy, but it works.
All of this advice pretty much goes out the window, if you hate coconut, like 90% of the population seems to.
I bet there are, the proof being the fact that Survivor is now on about season 73.
I would so live on Gilligan's Island. I would totally share a coconut hut with the Professor. I heart smart guys.
Actually, this blog isn't really about survival skills on a tropical island, but since I started with it I have to get a few more Gilligan's Island thoughts out of my head first. One, did you know I'm related to the guy who played Thurston Howell III? He's my great-grandma's first cousin. He kind of looked like my grandpa, even. Definitely a family resemblence---and since my son Heath kind of looks like my Grandpa's baby pictures, that means that Heath also looks like Thurston Howell III (and Heath TOTALLY makes this face when he's thinking about whether or not he should start to cry).
And two, if I was setting up my new society on a secluded island, you know what societal custom would be the first to be tossed out the window? Shaving legs. I really hate to shave my legs, but society says I have to, so I do. When I get stranded on a desert island, or start a commune (it's really only a matter of time before the latter), shaving legs will be verboten. Seriously, I really hate to shave my legs.
Okay, on to the real subject of this blog: coconuts.
I have been preaching about my new discovery to people in real life, so I'm going to do it here in virtual life too. Coconut oil is AMAZING!
I bought some coconut oil because it's supposed to help with eczema, and my son Heath has a horrible case of it. I got it to lather on him, and to feed him (it's supposed to work from the inside and outside)
But I started messing around with it myself and made some great discoveries (with help from google and the search phrase "benefits of coconut oil".
1. You will have the softest hair ever if you soak your hair in coconut oil. Well, first you will have the greasiest hair, but then it will be soft after that. I rub a little bit in my hands to soften it up, then run my fingers through my hair. It makes my hair really greasy, but I leave it in for a few hours (tied up in a bun if I'm out running around or working out---and it smells delicious) When I shampoo it out, my hair is like silk afterwards! Much better than any conditioner I've ever tried!
2. Best. moisturizer. ever. I am not really into moisturizers and cleansers and all that. I was my face and that's kind of it (besides makeup) I just don't like the smell and feel of the chemical moisturizers. But I've been putting rubbing coconut oil everywhere, and my skin is so soft! Face, body, everywhere. Also, because I've been eating the coconut oil, I think my skin is already soft from the inside. For a few days, I didn't rub any of the coconut oil directly into my skin, but I noticed that my skin was way softer than it's usual dried out state.
3. Candy bar on a spoon. I read that cocout oil is a good appetite suppresant and can help in weight loss. It's totally just a bunch of fat, but apparently it's a special kind of fat---it makes you feel full, like fat is supposed to, but it isn't as easily stored in the body as other fats. I've been eating a tablespoon of coconut oil before meals to fill me up. To make it really yummy, I've been eating it in a form I call "candy bar on a spoon". I take a tablespoon of coconut oil, and then put some pieces of dark chocolate (which is good for you too) and like 5 almonds (protein and more healthy fats) on the spoon too. It totally tastes like an almond joy candy bar, and completely fills me up. It kills my craving for sweets too. It's kind of crazy, but it works.
All of this advice pretty much goes out the window, if you hate coconut, like 90% of the population seems to.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Lola Espanola
Probably most of youse guys reading this got to it from my Facebook account, so you already know this big news:
We got a new kitty!
It was kind of a long, winding road.
We have one very sweet cat already, but I've been harassing my husband to let me get a dog for months. I love dogs and I always had one or two in my house at all times (and cats, and birds, and fish, and rodents---even a ground squirrel in a fishtank for a while).
So anyway, I was bugging Mario about getting a dog and it was going nowhere. I'm pretty sure he would have divorced me if I tried to bring one home. I was kind of giving up on the idea of a new pet when I read a blog post by Ann---fellow Deerie with Mario, fellow yogi with me, and fellow owner of our previous dog. http://annsrandomblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/sad-blog-sad-blog.html
So Ann had some cute kitties for adoption (has?) I started bugging Mario to let me get one. I could see that he was considering it, but needed a good deal before he would commit to saying yes (he's Sicilian. EVERYTHING's about making a deal you can't resist) I told him that if he said yes to a kitten, that I would quit bugging him about getting a dog for 5 years.
He thought about it and said "Ten years". I thought about it and renogiated with 7 years and he agreed.
So the deal is, I get a kitten if I don't bring up the D word for 7 years. And I won't (but as of 06/09/2016, all bets are off)
The only thing other stipulation was that he didn't want a longhaired cat. Ann's cute little babies were deemed too fluffy. They're so cute though, Ann! Another good point that Mario brought up was that if you get a pet from someone you know and something happens to that pet, it can be awkward. He is right. My aunt Mary adopted some baby birds from us when our birds had babies, and her cats ate them. She had to go to the pet store and try to track down identical looking birds so we didn't get all sad. It's better to do a closed adoption, we decided.
(And yes, the poodle situation...see? Awkward!)
So I started kitten hunting. The shelters were really frustrating. Most of them had no kittens out, but when I asked, they said they had lots of kittens in the back who were being held until they were old enough to be spayed/neutered. That's rotten! A kitten spends it's sweet baby kitten days in a cage, while potential catmoms walk away empty handed? That's not right. (I know I could have gone for an older cat, but I thought a kitten would adjust better to a houseful of loud, grabby kids better than an older cat. Plus, kittens are just so freaking sweet. Sue me.)
I also found a gorgous little kitten on petfinder, and e-mailed the "shelter" (I put shelter in quotes because I have a feeling it's really just a crazy cat lady with a bunch of kittens in her house). She made me fill out an adoption application, then told me they'd call back if the "adoption committee" approved my application. Who the hell makes up the adoption committee? Her other cats? Whatever! And guess what? I didn't even get approved! What? Like I said, I totally think that "shelter" is a lady who likes having kittens in her house and doesn't really want to give them away. Weirdo.
The other day, I found an ad http://qconlineauction.com/site/view_ad.php?v=330428
I went out to see the kittens, meaning to get a grey and white tuxedo cat to match the gray and white tuxedo cat we already have, but I fell in love with a little buff colored sweetheart.
So I took her home. I named her Lola. Lola is just an awesome name, anyway, but it was a good choice for her because we were a little unsure of the sex (Lola, by the Kinks, is my favorite song about transexuals)
The kids love her. Heath is slightly obsessed and carries her around everywhere. When he first saw her, he said "She has yellow hair like me!" So cute. Quinn has decided he is the potty trainer, and he takes her over to her little litter box about every 10 minutes. Dax likes her a lot too, but he's a little more respectful of her personal space.
Neko, our 1 1/2 year old cat, is adjusting well to his new feline roommate. Neko is generally the most laid back cat in the world. When we introduced him to Lola, that was the first time I ever heard him hiss or growl. The first night, he was pretty bitchy to her.
But he's warming up now. Lola is very interested in being friends with Neko (or adopting him as her surrogate mother, at least) but Neko is playing hard to get. He was sleeping on the couch next to me last night, and little Lola jumped up on him and went to sleep on his tail and legs. He looked at her, and muttered a low, grouchy growl, but he didn't move or try to intimidate her or anything so that's a good sign.
Oh, and she got a last name today. We went to Mario's grandparents house and told them about our cat, and Mario's grandma said we should call her "Lola Espanola". What a cute last name! So now we have a Lola Espanola, and a Neko Obama (we got him during the 2008 primaries and I named him that to taunt my Hillary supporting husband)
So our family is complete (for the next 7 years anyway).
We got a new kitty!
It was kind of a long, winding road.
We have one very sweet cat already, but I've been harassing my husband to let me get a dog for months. I love dogs and I always had one or two in my house at all times (and cats, and birds, and fish, and rodents---even a ground squirrel in a fishtank for a while).
So anyway, I was bugging Mario about getting a dog and it was going nowhere. I'm pretty sure he would have divorced me if I tried to bring one home. I was kind of giving up on the idea of a new pet when I read a blog post by Ann---fellow Deerie with Mario, fellow yogi with me, and fellow owner of our previous dog. http://annsrandomblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/sad-blog-sad-blog.html
So Ann had some cute kitties for adoption (has?) I started bugging Mario to let me get one. I could see that he was considering it, but needed a good deal before he would commit to saying yes (he's Sicilian. EVERYTHING's about making a deal you can't resist) I told him that if he said yes to a kitten, that I would quit bugging him about getting a dog for 5 years.
He thought about it and said "Ten years". I thought about it and renogiated with 7 years and he agreed.
So the deal is, I get a kitten if I don't bring up the D word for 7 years. And I won't (but as of 06/09/2016, all bets are off)
The only thing other stipulation was that he didn't want a longhaired cat. Ann's cute little babies were deemed too fluffy. They're so cute though, Ann! Another good point that Mario brought up was that if you get a pet from someone you know and something happens to that pet, it can be awkward. He is right. My aunt Mary adopted some baby birds from us when our birds had babies, and her cats ate them. She had to go to the pet store and try to track down identical looking birds so we didn't get all sad. It's better to do a closed adoption, we decided.
(And yes, the poodle situation...see? Awkward!)
So I started kitten hunting. The shelters were really frustrating. Most of them had no kittens out, but when I asked, they said they had lots of kittens in the back who were being held until they were old enough to be spayed/neutered. That's rotten! A kitten spends it's sweet baby kitten days in a cage, while potential catmoms walk away empty handed? That's not right. (I know I could have gone for an older cat, but I thought a kitten would adjust better to a houseful of loud, grabby kids better than an older cat. Plus, kittens are just so freaking sweet. Sue me.)
I also found a gorgous little kitten on petfinder, and e-mailed the "shelter" (I put shelter in quotes because I have a feeling it's really just a crazy cat lady with a bunch of kittens in her house). She made me fill out an adoption application, then told me they'd call back if the "adoption committee" approved my application. Who the hell makes up the adoption committee? Her other cats? Whatever! And guess what? I didn't even get approved! What? Like I said, I totally think that "shelter" is a lady who likes having kittens in her house and doesn't really want to give them away. Weirdo.
The other day, I found an ad http://qconlineauction.com/site/view_ad.php?v=330428
I went out to see the kittens, meaning to get a grey and white tuxedo cat to match the gray and white tuxedo cat we already have, but I fell in love with a little buff colored sweetheart.
So I took her home. I named her Lola. Lola is just an awesome name, anyway, but it was a good choice for her because we were a little unsure of the sex (Lola, by the Kinks, is my favorite song about transexuals)
The kids love her. Heath is slightly obsessed and carries her around everywhere. When he first saw her, he said "She has yellow hair like me!" So cute. Quinn has decided he is the potty trainer, and he takes her over to her little litter box about every 10 minutes. Dax likes her a lot too, but he's a little more respectful of her personal space.
Neko, our 1 1/2 year old cat, is adjusting well to his new feline roommate. Neko is generally the most laid back cat in the world. When we introduced him to Lola, that was the first time I ever heard him hiss or growl. The first night, he was pretty bitchy to her.
But he's warming up now. Lola is very interested in being friends with Neko (or adopting him as her surrogate mother, at least) but Neko is playing hard to get. He was sleeping on the couch next to me last night, and little Lola jumped up on him and went to sleep on his tail and legs. He looked at her, and muttered a low, grouchy growl, but he didn't move or try to intimidate her or anything so that's a good sign.
Oh, and she got a last name today. We went to Mario's grandparents house and told them about our cat, and Mario's grandma said we should call her "Lola Espanola". What a cute last name! So now we have a Lola Espanola, and a Neko Obama (we got him during the 2008 primaries and I named him that to taunt my Hillary supporting husband)
So our family is complete (for the next 7 years anyway).
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Yay for my farm (that I shared with 101 other people)
This will be a very housewifely blog. Feel free to tune out if you are not a merry homemaker like me.
A decade or so ago, my younger sister was irritated with me going on and on about some new exciting passion I discovered. I think I was harassing her in a manner such as "What is wrong with you? Why don't you want to try (whatever it was I was excited about). She said "Whenever you like something, you think everyone in the world needs to like it and if they don't, then they're stupid." A truer statement has never been made about me (and it's probably why I majored in marketing)
Anyway, the new thing I'm super excited about and I think everyone else should be equally excited about is my farm!
I have joined this CSA-deal. It stands for Community Shared Agriculture, or something like that. But basically what it is, is that you pay a fee to a farm in the beginning of the season, and in return, you get a share of the bounty. You're kind of like a shareholder in a corporation. In this case, I joined up with Country Corner, out of Alpha and once a week for 16 week, I will get a box full o' veggies and fruits. In the box will be whatever is in season and is growing at the time.
I'm excited about this for so many reasons. One, I love fresh fruit and vegetables. I adore the farmer's market but it's really hard to wrangle the kids there. There's way too many people and places for the kiddos to run off too or produce stands to knock over (also, a freakish amount of people bring their dogs---dogs who often seem way too jumpy to be in a big crowd of people. I'm not hating. I used to bring Zelda back in the day too) So with this farm deal, I get fresh foods all picked out and boxed up for my to pick up.
Which brings me to my second favorite part about this: it gives me an excuse for a day trip. While I could have chosen to pick up my loot in town, I chose the option of going out to the farm to pick it up. It's a nice little 20-minute drive out there, and once there, it's a lot of fun. There's a playground, and u-pick it berries, and a little grocery store with farm-fresh eggs and Amish cheeses. It's a neat little operation.
Thirdly, I like grab bags. When I was a kid, there was a store in Maquoketa that sold grab bags of stuff and that. was. awesome. You'd buy a little bag and have no idea what you'd find in it. I seem to remember toothbrushes. Anyway, when I picked up my box today, it was totally like a grab bag, pulling all sorts of vegetables out. Strawberries---Yum! Lettuce---good for the perpetual diet I'm always on. Potatoes---great for when I feel like going off my perpetual diet (I'm very Irish in my passion for a good spud) And then there were lots of things I didn't recognize.
Which brings me to my fourth reason why a CSA is awesome and why you should think it's awesome too or else I'll think you're stupid. Variety! I got out my list that came with my box to try to figure out what else I had in there. I had never in my life actually seen an onion before with the green parts still attached, but that was in there. Then there were lots of other root vegetables to figure out...turnips, radishes, beets. I seriously have never in my life held a beet in my hand, but now tahnks to the CSA, I have. So I like this variety in that being given a big box of food forces you to think about eating foods you wouldn't usually try. Seriously, in 30 years, I've never though to buy a beet in my life, but right this very second, I have a pot of borscht cooking on the stove. Also, a zucchini bread baking in the oven. New foods=experimentation=fun.
I feel very housewifely and organized now. I know what we're having for breakfast (zucchini bread). I know what I'm having for lunch (salad of turnip and beet greens for me, with a delicious hard boiled range free egg) and borscht for dinner, with some strawberry shortcake for desert.
And my fifth reason---I get to be a ghost.
One of the deals with this is that you get a reduced price if you agree to work on the farm. Apparently they want helpers for the fall festivals they hold out at the farm. One of the jobs is to be a spook in their haunted corn maze. I'm ALL ABOUT jumping out and scaring people in the middle of the night in the middle of the country in the middle of a cornfield. I'd totally do it for free, but it's nice to be paid in turnips too.
So, anyway...yay!
The CRAZIEST thing about this (or coincidentalist(?) thing, anyway) is that my friend Jenny is a co-owner in this thing. Completely independently of each other, we both decided to go in on the same farm. Either that, or she mentioned her involvement and I subconsciously heard it but consciously forgot it and I'm a big copycat. Totally an option. But anyway, great coincidence!
A decade or so ago, my younger sister was irritated with me going on and on about some new exciting passion I discovered. I think I was harassing her in a manner such as "What is wrong with you? Why don't you want to try (whatever it was I was excited about). She said "Whenever you like something, you think everyone in the world needs to like it and if they don't, then they're stupid." A truer statement has never been made about me (and it's probably why I majored in marketing)
Anyway, the new thing I'm super excited about and I think everyone else should be equally excited about is my farm!
I have joined this CSA-deal. It stands for Community Shared Agriculture, or something like that. But basically what it is, is that you pay a fee to a farm in the beginning of the season, and in return, you get a share of the bounty. You're kind of like a shareholder in a corporation. In this case, I joined up with Country Corner, out of Alpha and once a week for 16 week, I will get a box full o' veggies and fruits. In the box will be whatever is in season and is growing at the time.
I'm excited about this for so many reasons. One, I love fresh fruit and vegetables. I adore the farmer's market but it's really hard to wrangle the kids there. There's way too many people and places for the kiddos to run off too or produce stands to knock over (also, a freakish amount of people bring their dogs---dogs who often seem way too jumpy to be in a big crowd of people. I'm not hating. I used to bring Zelda back in the day too) So with this farm deal, I get fresh foods all picked out and boxed up for my to pick up.
Which brings me to my second favorite part about this: it gives me an excuse for a day trip. While I could have chosen to pick up my loot in town, I chose the option of going out to the farm to pick it up. It's a nice little 20-minute drive out there, and once there, it's a lot of fun. There's a playground, and u-pick it berries, and a little grocery store with farm-fresh eggs and Amish cheeses. It's a neat little operation.
Thirdly, I like grab bags. When I was a kid, there was a store in Maquoketa that sold grab bags of stuff and that. was. awesome. You'd buy a little bag and have no idea what you'd find in it. I seem to remember toothbrushes. Anyway, when I picked up my box today, it was totally like a grab bag, pulling all sorts of vegetables out. Strawberries---Yum! Lettuce---good for the perpetual diet I'm always on. Potatoes---great for when I feel like going off my perpetual diet (I'm very Irish in my passion for a good spud) And then there were lots of things I didn't recognize.
Which brings me to my fourth reason why a CSA is awesome and why you should think it's awesome too or else I'll think you're stupid. Variety! I got out my list that came with my box to try to figure out what else I had in there. I had never in my life actually seen an onion before with the green parts still attached, but that was in there. Then there were lots of other root vegetables to figure out...turnips, radishes, beets. I seriously have never in my life held a beet in my hand, but now tahnks to the CSA, I have. So I like this variety in that being given a big box of food forces you to think about eating foods you wouldn't usually try. Seriously, in 30 years, I've never though to buy a beet in my life, but right this very second, I have a pot of borscht cooking on the stove. Also, a zucchini bread baking in the oven. New foods=experimentation=fun.
I feel very housewifely and organized now. I know what we're having for breakfast (zucchini bread). I know what I'm having for lunch (salad of turnip and beet greens for me, with a delicious hard boiled range free egg) and borscht for dinner, with some strawberry shortcake for desert.
And my fifth reason---I get to be a ghost.
One of the deals with this is that you get a reduced price if you agree to work on the farm. Apparently they want helpers for the fall festivals they hold out at the farm. One of the jobs is to be a spook in their haunted corn maze. I'm ALL ABOUT jumping out and scaring people in the middle of the night in the middle of the country in the middle of a cornfield. I'd totally do it for free, but it's nice to be paid in turnips too.
So, anyway...yay!
The CRAZIEST thing about this (or coincidentalist(?) thing, anyway) is that my friend Jenny is a co-owner in this thing. Completely independently of each other, we both decided to go in on the same farm. Either that, or she mentioned her involvement and I subconsciously heard it but consciously forgot it and I'm a big copycat. Totally an option. But anyway, great coincidence!
Friday, June 5, 2009
Today I tried a little experiment. I let my kids go outside by themselves.
I have flirted with this idea before, but have been too chicken to really go for it. I'm not sure why. We have a well-secured, fenced in yard and it is pretty childproofed. I mean, there aren't any chainsaws sitting around or rusty nails sprinkled through the grass at least. When I take them outside, they entertain themselves pretty well with minimal instruction from me. I just never underestimate that if there is trouble to be found, they will find it.
And also, I have a very vivid imagination. I know for a fact that we have coyotes and badgers in our backyard, on the other side of the fence. I've seen them. Also snakes, and spiders the size of the palm of my hand. Rationally I know the chances of my children being attacked by wildlife is less than miniscule, but like I said, I have a wild imagination. While I'm pretty sure a dingo won't eat my baby, I don't know about the wolves that our neighbors reported seeing last year.
But I really had to clean the house and knew I could do it a whole lot quicker without three kids following behind me to mess it up again. I decided to let them out, and be free-range boys.
It was going perfectly for quite a while. I kept an eye out the window while I cleaned up, and had all the windows open so I could hear what they were up to. I got the dishes done, the bathroom scrubbed, a few loads of laundry washed, the floor mopped and the carpet vacuumed.
As I was finishing up, I heard a blood curdling scream coming from Quinn. I peeked out the window, but couldn't see him so I ran outside. He was screaming "AHHHHHHHH! Help me, Mommy! He's biting me! Mommy! Mommy! Help! He's biting me!"
The first thing I generally would thing when I hear "he's biting me" is that one of his brothers was gnawing on him. That's not uncommon. But Dax and Heath were up on the deck with me. I ran down the deck stairs, panicking that I was about to see a bloodied Quinn being carried away by a mountain lion or chupacabra or Bigfoot.
Quinn was screaming bloody murder when I got to him. Not the normal loud Quinn shrieking I'm used to, but a scream of pure panic (which of course caused pure panic in me)
"Mommy, help me! Please, help me!" he sobbed.
I asked "What's wrong", as I didn't see any carnivorous beasts in the immediate area.
He held out his hand. An ant was crawling around his thumb. Not a herd of fire ants. Not even a proper ant. It was one of those tiny, almost invisible ants.
And that's what all the screaming was about. I brushed the ant off and Quinn went romping off to his sandbox and I sat down on a lawn chair and finished my heart attack.
Seriously, they are all just trying to do me in. They will not be happy until I've had a complete nervous breakdown. With teeth being broken, and broken teeth being pulled out, and Benadryl overdoes and ant "attacks", I think I might have aged 9.75 years in the last three days.
I have flirted with this idea before, but have been too chicken to really go for it. I'm not sure why. We have a well-secured, fenced in yard and it is pretty childproofed. I mean, there aren't any chainsaws sitting around or rusty nails sprinkled through the grass at least. When I take them outside, they entertain themselves pretty well with minimal instruction from me. I just never underestimate that if there is trouble to be found, they will find it.
And also, I have a very vivid imagination. I know for a fact that we have coyotes and badgers in our backyard, on the other side of the fence. I've seen them. Also snakes, and spiders the size of the palm of my hand. Rationally I know the chances of my children being attacked by wildlife is less than miniscule, but like I said, I have a wild imagination. While I'm pretty sure a dingo won't eat my baby, I don't know about the wolves that our neighbors reported seeing last year.
But I really had to clean the house and knew I could do it a whole lot quicker without three kids following behind me to mess it up again. I decided to let them out, and be free-range boys.
It was going perfectly for quite a while. I kept an eye out the window while I cleaned up, and had all the windows open so I could hear what they were up to. I got the dishes done, the bathroom scrubbed, a few loads of laundry washed, the floor mopped and the carpet vacuumed.
As I was finishing up, I heard a blood curdling scream coming from Quinn. I peeked out the window, but couldn't see him so I ran outside. He was screaming "AHHHHHHHH! Help me, Mommy! He's biting me! Mommy! Mommy! Help! He's biting me!"
The first thing I generally would thing when I hear "he's biting me" is that one of his brothers was gnawing on him. That's not uncommon. But Dax and Heath were up on the deck with me. I ran down the deck stairs, panicking that I was about to see a bloodied Quinn being carried away by a mountain lion or chupacabra or Bigfoot.
Quinn was screaming bloody murder when I got to him. Not the normal loud Quinn shrieking I'm used to, but a scream of pure panic (which of course caused pure panic in me)
"Mommy, help me! Please, help me!" he sobbed.
I asked "What's wrong", as I didn't see any carnivorous beasts in the immediate area.
He held out his hand. An ant was crawling around his thumb. Not a herd of fire ants. Not even a proper ant. It was one of those tiny, almost invisible ants.
And that's what all the screaming was about. I brushed the ant off and Quinn went romping off to his sandbox and I sat down on a lawn chair and finished my heart attack.
Seriously, they are all just trying to do me in. They will not be happy until I've had a complete nervous breakdown. With teeth being broken, and broken teeth being pulled out, and Benadryl overdoes and ant "attacks", I think I might have aged 9.75 years in the last three days.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Gank
So the other day, I wrote a blog about Heath falling in the store. He broke one of his teeth, but I decided it didn't look bad enough to go through the hassle of dealing with a dentist.
Yesterday, another hunk of the tooth came out, leaving a very jagged, raggedy edge and a general really disgusting look.
So I had a dentist appointment scheduled for myself today anyway, so I called them and asked if they could take a look at Heath's teeth while I was in. I took Dax and Quinn over to my aunt Mary's house to terrorize her for a while, and off to the dentist we went.
They said he had an exposed nerve in the broken tooth. Ouch! Heath had not complained about it at all, and slept fine last night. He must have a super high tolerance for pain.
(Although he did get in the medicine yesterday, and possibly overdose on Benadryl. Well, I mean he may or may not have tried to overdose--poison control said the dose wasn't enough to do any damage, but still, I kind of think now that his tooth was hurting, he didn't want to say anything and decided to medicate himself)
Anyway, my dentist referred him to a kid dentist (a dentist for kids, I mean, not Doogie Howser, DDS) and the kid dentist recommended yanking the broken tooth out. And that's exactly what he did. I can't think that dentistry has really changed all that much since Little House on the Prairie days, because pretty much the dentist had me hold him down, got out the pliers, and ganked the thing out.
Heath was a trooper. He's always eager to please and wouldn't want to do anything as rude as throw a fit. He was very much a little gentleman about the whole procedure.
So the tooth fairy is coming tonight for Heath's front tooth, about 4 years ahead of schedule. He's got a cute little gap-toothed smile now, and will have for quite a while!
One of the only good things is that when the kids are running, and I think they ought not to be, I can warn them "Do you want to fall down and knock your teeth out?" I think that's a good threat to have in the arsenal of mothering threats.
Yesterday, another hunk of the tooth came out, leaving a very jagged, raggedy edge and a general really disgusting look.
So I had a dentist appointment scheduled for myself today anyway, so I called them and asked if they could take a look at Heath's teeth while I was in. I took Dax and Quinn over to my aunt Mary's house to terrorize her for a while, and off to the dentist we went.
They said he had an exposed nerve in the broken tooth. Ouch! Heath had not complained about it at all, and slept fine last night. He must have a super high tolerance for pain.
(Although he did get in the medicine yesterday, and possibly overdose on Benadryl. Well, I mean he may or may not have tried to overdose--poison control said the dose wasn't enough to do any damage, but still, I kind of think now that his tooth was hurting, he didn't want to say anything and decided to medicate himself)
Anyway, my dentist referred him to a kid dentist (a dentist for kids, I mean, not Doogie Howser, DDS) and the kid dentist recommended yanking the broken tooth out. And that's exactly what he did. I can't think that dentistry has really changed all that much since Little House on the Prairie days, because pretty much the dentist had me hold him down, got out the pliers, and ganked the thing out.
Heath was a trooper. He's always eager to please and wouldn't want to do anything as rude as throw a fit. He was very much a little gentleman about the whole procedure.
So the tooth fairy is coming tonight for Heath's front tooth, about 4 years ahead of schedule. He's got a cute little gap-toothed smile now, and will have for quite a while!
One of the only good things is that when the kids are running, and I think they ought not to be, I can warn them "Do you want to fall down and knock your teeth out?" I think that's a good threat to have in the arsenal of mothering threats.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
A compliment, wrapped in an insult, nestled in a big pile of creepiness.
I will start this story as I start many "I was in Goodwill..."
(I love me some Goodwill)
Anyway, I was in Goodwill the other day. I found a few neat things---a giant, realistic-looking plush cobra, some toy eggs, a talking giraffe...you know, the necessities.
Anyway, I had to pay for our loot with my debit card. At Goodwill, they always require a photo ID when you pay with a debit or credit card. Because if I'm stealing a credit card, the first thing I would do is TOTALLY go to Goodwill and buy a toy snake, toy eggs, and a talking giraffe.
The guy at the register gave me a very nice compliment, which was wrapped in an insult, which was nestled in a big pile of creepiness.
"That's not you!" he said as he looked skeptically at my driver's license. The photo on my driver's license was taken right before I got pregnant with the twins, which would put my weight at about 210-ish (I'm not sure, since I wasn't weighing myself often in those days, which is why I weighed 210-ish, probably!) 210-ish is approximately 60 lbs more than I way these days.
A similar thing happened when I was in the airport at customs on my way back from France to the US last year. My passport picture is outdated, and the customs guy asked a lot of questions about it. I kind of hoped he'd refuse to let me return to the US, at least for a week or two while the issue was sorted out. I could have used another week or two in France. But he eventually let me through, unfortunately, potentially forged passport and all.
Anyway, back to Goodwill. I told him "No, it's me. I just lost a lot of weight".
He smiled and complimented me nicely "Wow, you really did a great job! You look great!"
Isn't that sweet?
Then he continued "Wow, you were really fat before."
Agh! First off, I was not "really fat". I was wearing about a size 14 or 16, which is the size of the average American woman. Overweight, yes. But Richard Simmons-housecall big, no.
Then to make it even better, he called over to his fellow Goodwill employee.
"Hey, you've got to look at this! Look at how good this girl looks!" (His friend looks at me and nods appreciately---and by appreciatively, I mean creepily)
He continued "But look how bad she looked before!"
His pal looked at the driver's license and heartily agreed that I was disgusting (he did not use that word). He assured me that I looked really good now. "No," he added "When I say you look good, I really mean you look good."
Insert creepy smile and awkward silence.
If this wasn't bad enough, as the cashier handed me my license with my humpback of Notre Dame likeness on it, the guy behind me in line strained to look at it over my shoulder. So I reluctantly showed it to him, and he nodded in agreement.
So yeah, like I said, a compliment + an insult + creepiness = a whole lot of awkwardness.
While I'm somewhat glad to be the hot babe of the Goodwill set, I don't need their judgment on my former appearance, you know? Not everyone is a meth addict, Goodwill guys.
To their credit, it is a REALLY bad driver's license photo. I would scan it if my scanner was working. I remember that the day I had it taken, it was a very humid day and my hair was sweaty so I pulled it back in a barrette. During the picture, I'm half laughing/half angry because Dax was trying to knock over some equipment. Also, for some reason, I'm the color of a lemon. The tint was off. So yeah, totally bad picture.
But still, the moral of the story is this: if someone loses weight, or cuts their hair, or gets a nosejob or WHATEVER they do to improve their appearance, tell them "Hey, you look great!" Do not add to the end of the sentence "...now. You looked like a real troll before".
(I love me some Goodwill)
Anyway, I was in Goodwill the other day. I found a few neat things---a giant, realistic-looking plush cobra, some toy eggs, a talking giraffe...you know, the necessities.
Anyway, I had to pay for our loot with my debit card. At Goodwill, they always require a photo ID when you pay with a debit or credit card. Because if I'm stealing a credit card, the first thing I would do is TOTALLY go to Goodwill and buy a toy snake, toy eggs, and a talking giraffe.
The guy at the register gave me a very nice compliment, which was wrapped in an insult, which was nestled in a big pile of creepiness.
"That's not you!" he said as he looked skeptically at my driver's license. The photo on my driver's license was taken right before I got pregnant with the twins, which would put my weight at about 210-ish (I'm not sure, since I wasn't weighing myself often in those days, which is why I weighed 210-ish, probably!) 210-ish is approximately 60 lbs more than I way these days.
A similar thing happened when I was in the airport at customs on my way back from France to the US last year. My passport picture is outdated, and the customs guy asked a lot of questions about it. I kind of hoped he'd refuse to let me return to the US, at least for a week or two while the issue was sorted out. I could have used another week or two in France. But he eventually let me through, unfortunately, potentially forged passport and all.
Anyway, back to Goodwill. I told him "No, it's me. I just lost a lot of weight".
He smiled and complimented me nicely "Wow, you really did a great job! You look great!"
Isn't that sweet?
Then he continued "Wow, you were really fat before."
Agh! First off, I was not "really fat". I was wearing about a size 14 or 16, which is the size of the average American woman. Overweight, yes. But Richard Simmons-housecall big, no.
Then to make it even better, he called over to his fellow Goodwill employee.
"Hey, you've got to look at this! Look at how good this girl looks!" (His friend looks at me and nods appreciately---and by appreciatively, I mean creepily)
He continued "But look how bad she looked before!"
His pal looked at the driver's license and heartily agreed that I was disgusting (he did not use that word). He assured me that I looked really good now. "No," he added "When I say you look good, I really mean you look good."
Insert creepy smile and awkward silence.
If this wasn't bad enough, as the cashier handed me my license with my humpback of Notre Dame likeness on it, the guy behind me in line strained to look at it over my shoulder. So I reluctantly showed it to him, and he nodded in agreement.
So yeah, like I said, a compliment + an insult + creepiness = a whole lot of awkwardness.
While I'm somewhat glad to be the hot babe of the Goodwill set, I don't need their judgment on my former appearance, you know? Not everyone is a meth addict, Goodwill guys.
To their credit, it is a REALLY bad driver's license photo. I would scan it if my scanner was working. I remember that the day I had it taken, it was a very humid day and my hair was sweaty so I pulled it back in a barrette. During the picture, I'm half laughing/half angry because Dax was trying to knock over some equipment. Also, for some reason, I'm the color of a lemon. The tint was off. So yeah, totally bad picture.
But still, the moral of the story is this: if someone loses weight, or cuts their hair, or gets a nosejob or WHATEVER they do to improve their appearance, tell them "Hey, you look great!" Do not add to the end of the sentence "...now. You looked like a real troll before".
I propose a "Don't judge the moms day"
I'm pretty sure that there is no other life vocation that is as open to public criticism as motherhood is.
Even the president---sure lots of people like to say he's (meaning whoever happens to be the president) making a ton of mistakes, but it's always from an arm's distance. Like "Well, he sucks, but I don't really know what it's like because I'm not the president and never will be)
But motherhood is another story. Everyone on earth has been a mother, has been married to a mother, might be a mother someday, has a sister who is a mother, or had a mother who was a mother. And therefore, people feel that they have the right to criticize another mother.
In public, it's impossible. If you don't discipline your kids, and let them run wild, then people get mad and think you're a lazy parent. If you do give them a talking to (or Irish-temper inspired bitching out, in my case. If you haven't experienced the Irish temper bitching out, it's pretty much the same as a normal bitching out, except at rapid speed and with many a Lord's name taken in vain) then people want to call child services on you. There's no winning.
A few weeks ago, I was taking the kids to the grocery store. I was walking through a busy parking lot with three kids, and I only had two hands (unfortunately) Dax was walking a little bit ahead and started to run just as a car was turning around the corner. So I dropped a little one's hand and grabbed for the closest part of Dax I could grab, which happened to be his shirt. While I was yanking on the back of his shirt collar to stop him from running into certain death, I was also yelling "Don't run! You have to walk!" (See previous blog entry for more on this particular subject).
As I was doing this, a woman was walking in the other direction and muttered to herself as she passed "Poor kid." I say that she muttered to herself, but she really muttered loudly enough so she could be sure that I could here and be lectured with her mommy criticism. Very passive aggressive.
So I turned around and bitched her out (again, Irish-temper style). I shouted to her "I know, I'm a horrible mother because I don't want my kid to get ran over. If you have something to say to me, say it to my face!" She didn't acknowledge me and kept walking.
Anyway, annoying.
So, in a related story, a few days later my husband and I took the kids out to dinner. Not to a fancy place---we know better. People get very persnickety about being seated next to us in restaurants. It's like they're just waiting for my kids to act up so they can be all offended. Anyway, this was a very family oriented restuarant and the kids were behaving well, maybe laughing too loudly or talking about poop too much for my liking. Anyway, I was telling Mario about my story about the passive aggressive criticizer.
"Seriously", I said, getting more and more animated and maybe a little louder "If you want to criticize my parenting, do it to my face! Don't try to talk behind my back!"
And, story finished, we returned to eating our dinners. A couple of minutes later, I happened to overhear someone at the table behind us.
DisclaimerL I had not been paying any attention to anything this table of 40-something women behind me had been saying. Until now.)
I heard a hushed whisper as one of the frumpalicious's said to another "Shh, I think she's still listening to us."
So what I think happened here is that they had been criticizing my parenting, overheard me say "If you want to criticize my parenting, do it to my face! Don't talk behind my back!" and assumed I had been eavesdropping on them, heard them criticizing and was bitching them out.
Whatever. Maybe I'm just paranoid (but I don't think so. Mario agreed that that table gave us a death stare as we left the restaurant.)
It's enough to drive you insane. Everyone has an opinion on your parenting. Yes, I will grab my kid by the collar if he's about to be roadkill. Yes, I will allow my kids to laugh and talk in a restaurant (at a decent level) Please, nominate me for worst mother in the world!
Even the president---sure lots of people like to say he's (meaning whoever happens to be the president) making a ton of mistakes, but it's always from an arm's distance. Like "Well, he sucks, but I don't really know what it's like because I'm not the president and never will be)
But motherhood is another story. Everyone on earth has been a mother, has been married to a mother, might be a mother someday, has a sister who is a mother, or had a mother who was a mother. And therefore, people feel that they have the right to criticize another mother.
In public, it's impossible. If you don't discipline your kids, and let them run wild, then people get mad and think you're a lazy parent. If you do give them a talking to (or Irish-temper inspired bitching out, in my case. If you haven't experienced the Irish temper bitching out, it's pretty much the same as a normal bitching out, except at rapid speed and with many a Lord's name taken in vain) then people want to call child services on you. There's no winning.
A few weeks ago, I was taking the kids to the grocery store. I was walking through a busy parking lot with three kids, and I only had two hands (unfortunately) Dax was walking a little bit ahead and started to run just as a car was turning around the corner. So I dropped a little one's hand and grabbed for the closest part of Dax I could grab, which happened to be his shirt. While I was yanking on the back of his shirt collar to stop him from running into certain death, I was also yelling "Don't run! You have to walk!" (See previous blog entry for more on this particular subject).
As I was doing this, a woman was walking in the other direction and muttered to herself as she passed "Poor kid." I say that she muttered to herself, but she really muttered loudly enough so she could be sure that I could here and be lectured with her mommy criticism. Very passive aggressive.
So I turned around and bitched her out (again, Irish-temper style). I shouted to her "I know, I'm a horrible mother because I don't want my kid to get ran over. If you have something to say to me, say it to my face!" She didn't acknowledge me and kept walking.
Anyway, annoying.
So, in a related story, a few days later my husband and I took the kids out to dinner. Not to a fancy place---we know better. People get very persnickety about being seated next to us in restaurants. It's like they're just waiting for my kids to act up so they can be all offended. Anyway, this was a very family oriented restuarant and the kids were behaving well, maybe laughing too loudly or talking about poop too much for my liking. Anyway, I was telling Mario about my story about the passive aggressive criticizer.
"Seriously", I said, getting more and more animated and maybe a little louder "If you want to criticize my parenting, do it to my face! Don't try to talk behind my back!"
And, story finished, we returned to eating our dinners. A couple of minutes later, I happened to overhear someone at the table behind us.
DisclaimerL I had not been paying any attention to anything this table of 40-something women behind me had been saying. Until now.)
I heard a hushed whisper as one of the frumpalicious's said to another "Shh, I think she's still listening to us."
So what I think happened here is that they had been criticizing my parenting, overheard me say "If you want to criticize my parenting, do it to my face! Don't talk behind my back!" and assumed I had been eavesdropping on them, heard them criticizing and was bitching them out.
Whatever. Maybe I'm just paranoid (but I don't think so. Mario agreed that that table gave us a death stare as we left the restaurant.)
It's enough to drive you insane. Everyone has an opinion on your parenting. Yes, I will grab my kid by the collar if he's about to be roadkill. Yes, I will allow my kids to laugh and talk in a restaurant (at a decent level) Please, nominate me for worst mother in the world!
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be pirates.
So remember when you were a kid, and you decided you were really excited about going somewhere, and you were so excited about going there that walking was way too slow and you decided to run? And then your mom start yelling at you "Stop running! Walk!"
Guess what? She had a freaking good reason for bitching you out. When your mom tells you to "Walk!", just do it. No questions asked, just do it. If you don't, you may end up looking like a pirate.
When Dax was a year and a half, he was running in the library and I was chasing him, yelling the above-mentioned type of warning, and he ran smack into a magazine rack. That little incident provided us with the first of several emergency room trips, and provided Dax with 6 stitches, and a distinguished scar above his eyebrow.
When it first happened, and his tiny little baby face was bleeding and bleeding with a open gaping wound staring at me, I remember feeling very guilty that his appearance would be changed forever because I was a bad mother who let her child run wild in public. I've always thought that the scar kind of gives him a little bit of an interesting, rugged look, like a pirate. When he gets older, and someone asks about his scar, he can claim he was in a knifefight in the south Pacific, or scraped himself while saving a baby grizzly bear trapped on a cliff (yes, I enjoyed Grizzly Adams, thanks for asking) Pretty much any story will be more glamorous than the story "I ran into a magazine rack".
A boy can pull off a pirate look, I think.
Today, I have added another pirate to my gang. Heath was running in the store. He ran and ran and tripped over a raised piece of floor and fell SMACK! on his face. Of course, because I'm a kind of irritable mother I started hollering at him "And that's why you listen when I tell you to stop running!"
Then I heard a weird crunching sound as he opened his mouth. He totally busted one of his front teeth. I'm not usually squeamish, but the combination of the crunching, and the blood, and the fat lip and the jagged broken tooth almost did me in. So gross. But I pulled it together and actually stopped lecturing him and consoled him.
And even better than maternal consolation, I immediately bought him some popsicles. Sometimes TV watching comes in handy. Last night I watched "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" and one of the eight was running and fell on her face and bit through her lip. Jon took her to the doctor and the doctor prescribed popsicles. So I took this knowledge and bought popsicles.
In the car, Heath was pretty sad but was trying to hold it in (he's very stoic) I was going between lecturing him about running, and telling him he'd feel better, poor baby. He was very, very quiet and I asked him if he was okay. He responded "I broke all my teeth out." I assured him he had lots of beautiful teeth still and he cheered up.
I went to my mom's to get her advice, but she was at work. So I used her phone to call our doctor to see what he thought about the tooth issue (It was only a baby tooth, but still...Painkillers? Pulling? I don't know) He said to call a dentist. But instead I called my aunt Monica. She is not a dentist, but she had five kids and I thought maybe one of her kids had a tooth knocked out at some point (odds are good, with five kids)
One of her five did get his tooth knocked out. But it was a permanent tooth, so kind of different. But Monica's expert advice was that she didn't think that Heath needed to see a dentist because it would just be a big hassle. That's exactly the type of advice I like to hear. I agree. (Thanks Monica.) Also, Monica told Heath that Chris had a broken tooth and that made him feel better.
We headed home (after a frozen smoothie in the drivethru) At home, Heath was checking out his tooth in the mirror. I told him I liked his tooth, and that he kind of looked like he had a pirate tooth.
He replied "Arrrgh!"
(He totally did. He cracks me up)
And that's that. Another child with a pirate-esque kind of look going on. Or, another physical reminder of my negligence/their inability to listen to me.
On an unrelated note, today also happens to be the first day Heath and Quinn are sleeping in their "big-boy" racecar beds. (Yes, they are three years old. Yes, I have had them in cribs all this time.) I was pretty freaked out that I'd be chasing them in and out of their bedrooms all night with their newfound, uncaged freedom. But they actually stayed in their rooms. And it was so cute when I went in to peek at them---they're both snuggled up sleeping in the same little bed. Wombmates, and roommates. So freaking cute!
Guess what? She had a freaking good reason for bitching you out. When your mom tells you to "Walk!", just do it. No questions asked, just do it. If you don't, you may end up looking like a pirate.
When Dax was a year and a half, he was running in the library and I was chasing him, yelling the above-mentioned type of warning, and he ran smack into a magazine rack. That little incident provided us with the first of several emergency room trips, and provided Dax with 6 stitches, and a distinguished scar above his eyebrow.
When it first happened, and his tiny little baby face was bleeding and bleeding with a open gaping wound staring at me, I remember feeling very guilty that his appearance would be changed forever because I was a bad mother who let her child run wild in public. I've always thought that the scar kind of gives him a little bit of an interesting, rugged look, like a pirate. When he gets older, and someone asks about his scar, he can claim he was in a knifefight in the south Pacific, or scraped himself while saving a baby grizzly bear trapped on a cliff (yes, I enjoyed Grizzly Adams, thanks for asking) Pretty much any story will be more glamorous than the story "I ran into a magazine rack".
A boy can pull off a pirate look, I think.
Today, I have added another pirate to my gang. Heath was running in the store. He ran and ran and tripped over a raised piece of floor and fell SMACK! on his face. Of course, because I'm a kind of irritable mother I started hollering at him "And that's why you listen when I tell you to stop running!"
Then I heard a weird crunching sound as he opened his mouth. He totally busted one of his front teeth. I'm not usually squeamish, but the combination of the crunching, and the blood, and the fat lip and the jagged broken tooth almost did me in. So gross. But I pulled it together and actually stopped lecturing him and consoled him.
And even better than maternal consolation, I immediately bought him some popsicles. Sometimes TV watching comes in handy. Last night I watched "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" and one of the eight was running and fell on her face and bit through her lip. Jon took her to the doctor and the doctor prescribed popsicles. So I took this knowledge and bought popsicles.
In the car, Heath was pretty sad but was trying to hold it in (he's very stoic) I was going between lecturing him about running, and telling him he'd feel better, poor baby. He was very, very quiet and I asked him if he was okay. He responded "I broke all my teeth out." I assured him he had lots of beautiful teeth still and he cheered up.
I went to my mom's to get her advice, but she was at work. So I used her phone to call our doctor to see what he thought about the tooth issue (It was only a baby tooth, but still...Painkillers? Pulling? I don't know) He said to call a dentist. But instead I called my aunt Monica. She is not a dentist, but she had five kids and I thought maybe one of her kids had a tooth knocked out at some point (odds are good, with five kids)
One of her five did get his tooth knocked out. But it was a permanent tooth, so kind of different. But Monica's expert advice was that she didn't think that Heath needed to see a dentist because it would just be a big hassle. That's exactly the type of advice I like to hear. I agree. (Thanks Monica.) Also, Monica told Heath that Chris had a broken tooth and that made him feel better.
We headed home (after a frozen smoothie in the drivethru) At home, Heath was checking out his tooth in the mirror. I told him I liked his tooth, and that he kind of looked like he had a pirate tooth.
He replied "Arrrgh!"
(He totally did. He cracks me up)
And that's that. Another child with a pirate-esque kind of look going on. Or, another physical reminder of my negligence/their inability to listen to me.
On an unrelated note, today also happens to be the first day Heath and Quinn are sleeping in their "big-boy" racecar beds. (Yes, they are three years old. Yes, I have had them in cribs all this time.) I was pretty freaked out that I'd be chasing them in and out of their bedrooms all night with their newfound, uncaged freedom. But they actually stayed in their rooms. And it was so cute when I went in to peek at them---they're both snuggled up sleeping in the same little bed. Wombmates, and roommates. So freaking cute!
(This is where I planned to put a cute picture of two little sleeping drivers crammed into one little racecar, while the other racecar bed is across the room, looking very neglected, but I can't figure out how to post pictures here. So just imagine it. It's really cute.)
Wait, never mind that last part. I figured it out.
Cute, eh?
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