The Good, Bad, and the Fat

Sheesh. This week has been crazy bad. I could barely sum up the energy to shower this week, much less type out a few feeble lines for the blog.

The Good:
I ran. Twice. Cause I rule like that.
I cut carbs like a ninja spinning knives.

The Bad:
I'm still a whiny b-hole
I got the flu on Friday and I've been eating cookies, soup, & grilled cheese sandwiches*
I haven't exercised since Wednesday. Unless you count climbing the stairs and whining about it as exercise.


The Fat:

I lost 2 pounds.
Boo-ya

* Turns out that when you've got a raging fever, nauseous belly, and aching body the meat & cheese diet loses a lot of its appeal. Who knew?
** Blogger is being terrible and formatting this post like it's been smoking crack all day. I got tired of being all Intervention on it and gave up. Sorry peeps.

Life As "And"

I have a lot of Mommy Friends these days.  Mommy friends are great. But we're all pretty different.

I have Mommy Friends who stay at home.
Mommy Friends who work part-time.
Mommy Friends who work full-time.
And Mommy Friends who define themselves as Mommies.

Y'all know I work full time plus.

So you probably know that I am not the latter.

You don't know that sometimes I feel bad about it.

One of my biggest fears about becoming a mother was losing my sense of Self. Some might think this is selfish. Maybe it is. I'd seen friends change their email addresses to reflect their new role - "blankity'smom" became their new identifier.  They were happy that way. I was happy for them.  And I knew I didn't want that.

I live my life as an "And."

I'm Finn's mom
And
I'm Cassidy's mom
And
I'm Brendan's wife
And
I'm a Career Woman
And
I'm a daughter, sister, friend
And
(I'm a really crappy housekeeper- Shhhhh)

I envy the simplicity of my Mommy Friends who live without all these "Ands." Those who wave their mom flag so proudly, they don't seem to need anything else. I don't presume to think their lives are easy.  But I imagine they are simpler.

It's not easy to balance so many roles, so many endless to-do lists. Most of the time I do lots of things poorly. Most of the time things don't get accomplished.

When I'm playing with the babies, when their huge personalities knock me over, I know that they're not an extension of Me. And I'm not an extension of Them. Loving them makes me a better person. I'm honored to be their Mom. But it doesn't define me.

But on weeks like this one- weeks where I have multiple deadlines hanging over my head, where almost every hour is booked, when moments taken to relax or go for a walk are dampened by what I "should" be doing instead, then living life as an "And" makes it hard to find balance.  But I know I chose this life because it defines me.

Being an "And" is what works for me. Because, at the end of the day, I can look in the mirror and recognize myself. Even if it means the dishes didn't get done.

Sweet Cassidy

 

She's cute even when she's pissed off and making crazy faces

Giddyup Highhorse! Your Genitalia PSA

I have a mighty high horse.  And I'm going to PSA the crap out of this sucker.

There's a good chance I'm going to offend your sensibilities and make you mad.  Because I'm going to talk about dirty, dirty things.

Dirty things that lurk in your pants.

Be careful! If you call them by name, they'll crawl out of their hiding spots and start having promiscuous sex, humiliate you by flaunting their dirtiness on MTV, or swallowing your head whole.  Best to follow the Harry Potter Voldemort school of thought and come up with substitutions.

Worm, Cookie, Ya Ya, Unit, Shamma Lamma Ding Dong, Blabbity Blabbity Choo Choo

Because those words don't make you look like an idiot, right?

Head. Meet Hand.

I'm teaching my kids words. Not of the four-letter variety (although some would disagree).

Vagina
Penis
Breasts
Bottom

Still there? Did your head explode from the profanity I'm spewing on the interwebs?

Allow me to explain why I get all soapboxy about this (Warning: Dark & Serious Topic Ahead). I have a certain line of work where I run into the aftermath of sex-ed gone astray. And I've seen the fall out of not knowing the right lingo. Here's a breakdown of the consequences:

1. By teaching pet names, you are conveying that those body parts are taboo. They're dirty, shameful, and talking about them embarrasses people. Vagina might as well be a Bad Word.

2. One of the biggest advantages a sex offender has is secrecy and shame.  If children see you go all green in the face whenever a penis is mentioned, they know it's best not to talk about it.  And you just unwittingly scored some points for the Dark Side.  Because if something happened, your children are more likely to keep it secret.

3. If, God forbid, something happened. You want your children to be able to articulate what took place. "Cookie," "Snowball," and "Dragon" make investigator's jobs harder, and defense attorney's jobs easier. It's a sad truth.

4. If you don't teach your kids the proper terms, their friends will. It's a good idea to control the flow of information in this area, yes? And while you might want to wait until they are attending sex-ed classes, there are scary bastards out there who aren't waiting until your kid has had a power point presentation on the reproductive system.

To clarify, I'm not saying you have to teach your toddlers about intercourse & masturbation. I'm suggesting you keep the information age-appropriate, be honest, try to control the Green Faced Monster if they have questions, teach the proper terms.  And most of all- teach them about Secret Touching.

Oh, and read this book. Because it says it all way better than I ever could.

And allow me to say, I hope that nobody who reads this ever has to deal with a situation involving abuse.  I think private parts are the Most Special of Parts and should be saved for a Very Special Person.  We teach children about the dangers of fire, swimming pools, and crossing the street.  Shouldn't we arm them against Sex Abuse?

Whew, Being Serious is so not fun.

Shhh...The Babies are Sleeping

There are few things I love more than snooping on the babies while they sleep.

 

Valentines are for Suckers & Lovers

I used to hate Valentines Day.

The VD before Brendan & I met, I threw an Anti-Valentines Party- complete with a cake decorated with a crossed out heart.

The night Brendan & I met, I went on a diatribe about how Valentine's Day is for suckers. How it renders romantic gestures meaningless because they've been rendered commercialized & obligatory.

Now, 6 years after that Anti-Valentine's celebration, I fully embrace this cheesy holiday. I don't need cards, flowers, or chocolates. But I embrace any opportunity to tell Brendan how much he means to me.  Of course, we're so busy that there isn't the luxury of a full-blown celebration. So our night will be marked with a quiet evening together. That's all we need.

Because, damn if I don't love this man.

It doesn't hurt that he's devilishly handsome and fixes things

Cheater, Cheater, Cookie Eater

Alright Interwebs, put on your clerical collars because it's confession time.

Bless me Interwebs, for I ate a cookie.  A big cookie.  With chocolate chips.

My week got off to a rocky start on the low carby bacon train to Skinnytown. At first I had no idea what I was doing. I just thought I needed to eat a lot of meat & cheese & vegetables and I would be good. Turns out there are a lot of hidden carbs out there. They were lurking in my milk, peas, and creamer- just waiting to jump out & say "I spit on your weightloss!"

And then I started to figure things out. I started drinking more water and I was all Expert About All Things Carby. I was like Tom Hanks in Saving Private Ryan.  Only Ryan is my thunder thigh and the Nazis are carbohydrates ready to be thwarted by my bravery. I expertly scraped innards out of a sandwich, nobly set the bread to the side, and ate my lunch meat & lettuce off my plate while others watched in awe.  I could see it in their eyes-

"How does she have so much discipline?"
"Why can't I be like here when I grow up?"
"WTF is she doing?"

And then IT happened on Friday.  The cookies I walked by & snubbed so many times.  They began to speak to me on about my fourth pass.  They were all "Hello Sailor."  And I was all, "You have Herpes, ew."  And then somebody started to talk about how good they were.

And instead of grabbing one and eating it in a dark room with the shades drawn like a respectable person, I ate it. In the open. In front of others. I think this is where Tom Hanks dies in the movie. And where Ryan gets killed by the Nazis.  And then all the Nazis have a big party Jersey Shore-style, complete with fist-pumping.  (I haven't seen this movie in a long time but this sounds about right to me).

 What happened after the cookie?

PHASE 1: Sugar High. And the head of our office threatened to send me for drug testing because I was talking really fast, being nonsensical, and laughing maniacally (True Story)

PHASE 2: Stomach begins to rebel. And just like on D-Day, the allies all began to fight back with light sabers & stab the Nazis in their eye balls with the Ark of the Covenant.

PHASE 3: Bad Things. In the privacy of my home. I can't talk about it...


But I triumphed in the end. Oh yeah, I lost a pound this week. Take that Cookie! You can't take me down! I stab you in the eye with my light saber ala Tom Hanks!

My husband reads my blog....sometimes

This evening Brendan got onto my blog.

B: "You know you spelled class wrong?!"
Me: "Yep. It's with a K. Cause I keep it Klassy."
B: "Oh."

Sometimes I get the feeling he is a tolerant kind of person.

Mother Nature Wants Me to be Fat, So I'm Eating Bacon

I'm staging a bacon protest.

My running program never got off the ground.  Like, it got about as far as a flying penguin.

I'm still going to run/walk/crawl/projectile vomit my way through a 5K in May. At least that's the plan.  If Mother Nature would cooperate.  My schedule & motivation leave just enough time for me to strap on some sneakers and take a quick tour of my neighborhood during lunch.  So, the neighborhood sidewalk is my gym.  In the last 2 weeks, Nature has taken a crap on my gym.

Injuries Happen Here

Truth is, I could join a gym to gain access to a treadmill but I won't go.  I just know it.  Even the thought of joining a gym makes me get all anti-authority & rebellious inside.  So it's kind of important that the sidewalks or roads be runner-friendly. 

And I've continued to spin my wheels in the diet & scale department. This last week I tracked every bite, ate fruit, drank water, and generally slaved away. SLAVED. I lost almost half a pound.  Almost. And I'm still not where I was 3 weeks ago.

Then I went to dinner with some co-workers and saw The Incredibly Shrinking Woman (ie- my low carby co-worker).  She's a fraction of her former size every time I see her.

If you ever wanted to know what makes up a Perfect Bacony Storm, Here it is:

1.  Mother Nature Conspiring Against Your Weightloss
2.  Gym Resistance

3.  Complete Frustration With the "Healthy Approach"
4.  Observing Others Have Bacon Success
5.  Mmmmm.... Bacon....

So there you have it.  I'm jumping on the low carb bus for now. I need a jump start and I'm tired of spinning my wheels.  I plan to eventually jump back to WW and "lifestyle eating."  Until then, I'll be riding this bacony highway to freedom!  And praying for a frost...

Photo Klass

If you have eyeballs that function, you'll notice I take pretty mediocre pictures with an above-average camera. So, I've been taking a class in the hopes that I will gain some mad skillz.

My homework this week was to walk around the house and take pictures of "elements of design."  This, as it turns out, is a pretty broad topic.  FYI- If you have the chance to do this. DO IT. It's super fun and you'll see things in a whole new way.

I'm sharing with you my least bad pictures. (These are all SOOC (Straight out Of Camera) so they look pretty bland.  I'm itching to edit them with my new photoshop.  ITCHING!)

 

Besties

Cassidy loves our dog, Noah.

The jury's out on whether her love is reciprocated.

That poor dog deserves a medal.

ps- The hype on Goldens is no hype. They may be special snowflakes but damn if they're not good with the kiddies.

Heeeere's Johnny!

Just sayin