Wow. I knew it had been a long time since I'd blogged, but I didn't realize it had been 8 months!! In those 8 months there were a lot of moments where I thought, "I need to blog about this." But, alas, I never did.
I will do some back-tracking to fill in a few gaps (even though anyone reading this is 99.99% likely to be my facebook friend and you already know my life b/c I have an addiction...but that's for a different blog) and then move right along to sync back up with this thing called life.
I am going to make a goal to blog at least once a week when I get caught up. Will someone hold me accountable? Probably not. I mean, who really cares about my ramblings aside from me? Hopefully my desire to document my life in an arena that tolerates long-windedness will be enough motivation to bring this blog back to life. The number of posts I have made has dropped about 50% every year since 2009. Yikes! Last year I blogged a mere 3 times. And if you know my last year, you know life was Cuh-Ray-Zee! Plenty to blog about! Although I guess that can explain the lack of posts. That and the fact that decreased blogging began with the appearance of kid #2 and only got worse when #3 arrived. So there are reasons why I haven't blogged. But I've had plenty of time to enjoy TV series by binge-watching, so there's really no good excuse. Less TV, more blogging. Or, if we're honest, more blogging while watching TV.
Ciao for now!
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Back to the pool
I was a competitive swimmer for 12 years of my life. I started at age 6 and swam through high school. I peaked my freshman year of high school. After that I only swam during high school season instead of with age-group all year.
In college I did some lap swimming and competed in a few intramural one-day/year meets.
Post-college I spent a very short time with a YMCA membership that also allowed me to lap swim.
The local age-group team started a "Masters" program several years ago. I tried it out a few times, but it was basically a time for adults to lap swim. The coach didn't have workouts...he seemed more of a lifeguard on deck. So I didn't go more than maybe 2 times.
The past couple of years I have wanted to join the Masters team again, knowing that there was an active coach on the scene (I was still on the emailing list and stalking the group silently from my couch). However, with graduate school and Jeremy working at Domino's, it was not at all feasible for me to find time to commit. And, let's face it, with a monthly fee, I better be committing!
I'm finished with grad school and Jeremy just quit Domino's. The excuses are no more.
I got in touch with the coach and now here I am sitting on the couch after my first practice in over 13 years!
Here are a few things worth noting:
1) It was apparent before I finished my first 200 that I have lost all muscle in my arms. By the end of practice, my arms weren't just tired, my triceps were sore. Don't expect me to move my arms much the next few days.
2) It was also apparent in that first 200 that my suit is not made for lap swimming. I had to find one quickly and didn't fit into the ones at the local sports store (horrible), so it's a Kohls suit. Not really what I was looking for, but it will do. It just doesn't fit snugly across the top, so there's considerable drag. However, I'm not going to look for a more suitable one just yet as I hope to have an excuse to buy a new suit sooner rather than later. :-)
3) I was in the slow lane...the fastest person in the slow lane, but the slow lane nonetheless. The jets in this lane suck! Or blow, rather. Seriously. They're horrible. I do not recall ever swimming in a pool with such awful jets. I plan to remedy this situation in the next couple of weeks. Of course with 19 and 20 year-olds in the pool, I will not be finding myself in the fast lane. Those days are past me. I'll be happy with the middle :-)
4) Practice was an hour and I got in 2100. The top lanes did 2500. I also plan to remedy this in a couple of weeks.
5) The coach told me about 40 minutes in that he usually has new people "just swim" and not really listen to him. I told him that I need a coach and will do whatever he says...and need him to tell me what to do...but that if I need a break I will just take one :-)
6) I did everything I was told to do. The 1200 warm-up (200 swim-100 kick-200 swim-100 pull x 2) was the most difficult. After that, I got into a groove. And...my 4x100s descending were actually descending! 5 seconds off each one! Woohoo! This was the last set of practice and my last 100 was 1:40. I'm okay with that. I'm documenting it here so I can see how I've improved by the end of the summer.
7) I know running is free, but there is no way I will ever get this kind of workout for free. So I do believe I will continue to pay a monthly fee to swim with a coach. Plus, swimming is far superior. No pounding of the joints. Working your entire body. Sweat isn't noticed. It's a win-win-win.
I have a feeling, if I stick with this and practice 3x a week that I will finally reach that elusive 20lb weight-loss mark. I got to 19lbs during the Biggest Loser competition at work and couldn't get to 20. I have gained a few pounds back, so it will take me a couple of weeks. I've got a goal to lose another 13 pounds before our Florida vacation at the end of July.
I'm also planning on signing up and training for my first triathlon! Which does mean I still have to run every now and then. I also need to start biking. I have never biked for anything other than leisurely rides. This will be interesting.
Here's to my summer of fit!
In college I did some lap swimming and competed in a few intramural one-day/year meets.
Post-college I spent a very short time with a YMCA membership that also allowed me to lap swim.
The local age-group team started a "Masters" program several years ago. I tried it out a few times, but it was basically a time for adults to lap swim. The coach didn't have workouts...he seemed more of a lifeguard on deck. So I didn't go more than maybe 2 times.
The past couple of years I have wanted to join the Masters team again, knowing that there was an active coach on the scene (I was still on the emailing list and stalking the group silently from my couch). However, with graduate school and Jeremy working at Domino's, it was not at all feasible for me to find time to commit. And, let's face it, with a monthly fee, I better be committing!
I'm finished with grad school and Jeremy just quit Domino's. The excuses are no more.
I got in touch with the coach and now here I am sitting on the couch after my first practice in over 13 years!
Here are a few things worth noting:
1) It was apparent before I finished my first 200 that I have lost all muscle in my arms. By the end of practice, my arms weren't just tired, my triceps were sore. Don't expect me to move my arms much the next few days.
2) It was also apparent in that first 200 that my suit is not made for lap swimming. I had to find one quickly and didn't fit into the ones at the local sports store (horrible), so it's a Kohls suit. Not really what I was looking for, but it will do. It just doesn't fit snugly across the top, so there's considerable drag. However, I'm not going to look for a more suitable one just yet as I hope to have an excuse to buy a new suit sooner rather than later. :-)
3) I was in the slow lane...the fastest person in the slow lane, but the slow lane nonetheless. The jets in this lane suck! Or blow, rather. Seriously. They're horrible. I do not recall ever swimming in a pool with such awful jets. I plan to remedy this situation in the next couple of weeks. Of course with 19 and 20 year-olds in the pool, I will not be finding myself in the fast lane. Those days are past me. I'll be happy with the middle :-)
4) Practice was an hour and I got in 2100. The top lanes did 2500. I also plan to remedy this in a couple of weeks.
5) The coach told me about 40 minutes in that he usually has new people "just swim" and not really listen to him. I told him that I need a coach and will do whatever he says...and need him to tell me what to do...but that if I need a break I will just take one :-)
6) I did everything I was told to do. The 1200 warm-up (200 swim-100 kick-200 swim-100 pull x 2) was the most difficult. After that, I got into a groove. And...my 4x100s descending were actually descending! 5 seconds off each one! Woohoo! This was the last set of practice and my last 100 was 1:40. I'm okay with that. I'm documenting it here so I can see how I've improved by the end of the summer.
7) I know running is free, but there is no way I will ever get this kind of workout for free. So I do believe I will continue to pay a monthly fee to swim with a coach. Plus, swimming is far superior. No pounding of the joints. Working your entire body. Sweat isn't noticed. It's a win-win-win.
I have a feeling, if I stick with this and practice 3x a week that I will finally reach that elusive 20lb weight-loss mark. I got to 19lbs during the Biggest Loser competition at work and couldn't get to 20. I have gained a few pounds back, so it will take me a couple of weeks. I've got a goal to lose another 13 pounds before our Florida vacation at the end of July.
I'm also planning on signing up and training for my first triathlon! Which does mean I still have to run every now and then. I also need to start biking. I have never biked for anything other than leisurely rides. This will be interesting.
Here's to my summer of fit!
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Ice Cream, Discipline, Conversations & Personalities
Barrett had his 3rd speech therapy session tonight and in an attempt to successfully keep the girls in their room after being not-so-successful last week, I bribed them with ice cream. Yes. A bribe. I'm not above it.
Set up with Jeremy's new Kindle Fire (yep, just days after this article went Facebook crazy), I knew Layla wouldn't be a problem. It was Piper I was worried about.
Sure enough, she came wandering out about 30 minutes into the 1-hour session.
Long story short, she was back and forth a few times and by the end of the session, the situation had escalated, her patience and willingness to listen had deescalated, and she was showing off her newly-perfected, oft-used sassy/grumpy/ugly "no!" mixed in with, "I want ice cream" and other various promises of what she would do in order to get said ice cream. I'm pretty sure there was even a swat to my arm involved.
All happening right in front of the therapist.
Awesome.
I hate those situations. You know...where you really want to strongly discipline your child but don't want to do it in front of someone else...but don't want them to think you're letting your child rule the roost...but can't just walk away and leave because of the situation. Ugh. I know I shouldn't mind. Especially being in my own home. But I do.
So out the therapist went and off to discipline Piper I went.
There were tears. A fit was thrown. Time-out was given to calm down. And, of course, a reiteration of the statement that she would not be getting ice cream...which undoubtedly led to more tears and hysteria.
While reminding her of this, I knew in the back of my head that I really, truly did not want to go along with it. It was just another battle I did not want to have to deal with tonight. Couldn't I just come up with some task for her to do around the house to earn back her ice cream? Isn't that teaching her something? Do I really have to follow through with negative consequences if I can find a way out of it?
But I am the one who put myself in the situation when I gave the bribe (darn you people who say not to bribe!), so I couldn't back down or give in.
In an effort to avoid WWIII when Layla received her ice cream, I had a conversation with Piper (after she had calmed down).
Side bar: Conversations happen a lot in our house. We try to explain situations before they happen so they have an idea of what to expect. We converse about the dentist, doctor appointments, expected behavior in Wal-Mart, expected behavior for leaving the museum (before we get to the museum, mind you), etc., etc. These conversations have typically served us very well in the past. For example, Layla had to have her blood drawn when she was 2.5 and we told her it would feel like someone was pinching her and that it would probably hurt...but only for a little bit. She asked questions; we answered. We repeated the process a few times; she listened. It came time for the blood draw and she was AMAZING!! She just sat and watched the entire process beginning to end. I'm not going to say it's entirely because of our conversation beforehand, but I am pretty darn positive that she would have flipped out had that nurse whipped out that needle and she didn't know it was coming!
However, when you're trying to converse about a sibling getting ice cream that another is not...yeah, that's an entirely different ball game.
I had Piper explain to me her bad choices. I had her repeat to me our ice cream deal. I asked her if she would get ice cream.
All correct, calm responses so far.
I asked her if Layla would get ice cream. I asked her why. I asked her if she understood that she would not be getting ice cream and Layla would be eating some right next to her.
We repeated this scenario with variations in explanations/questioning at least 2 times.
She seemed "okay" as she solemnly nodded with her puppy-dog eyes and slightly turned-down mouth.
This was going easier than expected. I was a little scared.
Why, you ask? Because if the situation had been reversed and I had been talking to Layla all hell would have been breaking loose in my very own living room!
You think I'm kidding.
I'm not.
The girl once ruined her entire dinner because she was told to share one slice of her mandarin orange with her brother and she instead rashly decided that angrily squeezing the entire thing over her meal would be a better idea.
Still fearing what was to come, I seriously thought about not even going out to get some. Layla was still engrossed in whatever she was watching on the Kindle and seemed to have forgotten about the deal.
But I had to. Otherwise I would have still been giving in to the situation. Piper wouldn't have learned that her bad choices can have negative consequences.
So off we went.
"Crinner" (in-car dinner) happened first. Instead of going straight to an ice cream place, I aimlessly drove around allowing myself more time to decide whether or not I wanted to go through with this. Did I really feel like putting up with this huge battle so late at night?? Wouldn't it be so much easier to just go home?? Layla still seemed to have no memory of our ice cream deal as she wasn't bringing it up. It would be super easy to just walk into the house and put them to bed.
But I went for it.
Layla was told she would get ice cream and Piper was reminded she wouldn't.
Our conversation began again. My attempt to prevent an epic meltdown was in full-swing.
Still so far so good. (Although I'm walking on eggshells.)
As we waited in the drive-thru line, I tried to drive home this point to dear Layla by calling out Piper's "big girl" behavior to the situation. She wasn't throwing a huge fit that she wasn't going to get ice cream. My hope was that Layla would remember this for a time when the situation is reversed. I'm pretty sure my words were falling on deaf ears. Or, perhaps, falling on the ears of a child who is simply different from her sister.
We finally pull up to the window to get the ice cream and...much to my surprise and complete satisfaction...Layla was given her ice cream and Piper only longingly stared at her eating it.
Okay, she may have asked her for a bite, but that was a good, quick lesson in not asking for things we don't deserve.
But seriously! I was braced for a showdown and all I got was peace. Woohoo!
I am still in shock at how maturely she handled the situation. Truly. She showed such dignity and respect in her choice not to react negatively.
My sweet Piper surprises me quite often with her little showings of personality that are so opposite of Layla's. Leading a life where she seems to always want to do what her big sister does, these little glimpses into her own uniqueness are such blessings to me.
And I'm blessed to see them more and more often as she gets older.
She really is her own person, and has been from the beginning, but it's such a neat thing to see that two people created from the same parents can be so starkly different.
Her maturity in this situation also served to remind me that perhaps I'm not royally screwing up this whole thing known as parenthood. It was refreshing.
I'm definitely not saying I'm getting it "right" (as her older sister frequently makes apparent).
Actually, what I am saying is that I don't really think you can "screw it up" if you're putting forth effort, thought, and love. You simply do the best you can and the best you know how in the situations that are presented to you each moment. Your kids bring their own unique personalities into situations and whether or not you do everything in that moment "right" or everything in that moment "wrong", you can have entirely different outcomes for each child. Depending on the child, the situation, and a million other variables, you may walk away proud, discouraged, or somewhere in between.
It's parenthood.
There are highs and lows. Sometimes multiple times a day.
Tonight I walked away proud. Proud that my not-quite-3.5 year old could so maturely face the consequences of her choices while simultaneously watching her older sister reap the benefits of hers.
**Oh, and Barrett peed on the potty for the first time tonight!!! This might be reason enough to blog twice in one month :-)**
****In case it comes across to readers as though Layla is just a little hellion on wheels, I want to point out that I could post a hundred blogs about the amazing things she does (like choosing a toy for her 10-month-old-sister after getting her blood drawn instead of picking one for herself). However, this particular blog is simply about personality traits when it comes to reacting to things one does not get based on poor behavior. In that arena, Piper wins hands down.****
Set up with Jeremy's new Kindle Fire (yep, just days after this article went Facebook crazy), I knew Layla wouldn't be a problem. It was Piper I was worried about.
Sure enough, she came wandering out about 30 minutes into the 1-hour session.
Long story short, she was back and forth a few times and by the end of the session, the situation had escalated, her patience and willingness to listen had deescalated, and she was showing off her newly-perfected, oft-used sassy/grumpy/ugly "no!" mixed in with, "I want ice cream" and other various promises of what she would do in order to get said ice cream. I'm pretty sure there was even a swat to my arm involved.
All happening right in front of the therapist.
Awesome.
I hate those situations. You know...where you really want to strongly discipline your child but don't want to do it in front of someone else...but don't want them to think you're letting your child rule the roost...but can't just walk away and leave because of the situation. Ugh. I know I shouldn't mind. Especially being in my own home. But I do.
So out the therapist went and off to discipline Piper I went.
There were tears. A fit was thrown. Time-out was given to calm down. And, of course, a reiteration of the statement that she would not be getting ice cream...which undoubtedly led to more tears and hysteria.
While reminding her of this, I knew in the back of my head that I really, truly did not want to go along with it. It was just another battle I did not want to have to deal with tonight. Couldn't I just come up with some task for her to do around the house to earn back her ice cream? Isn't that teaching her something? Do I really have to follow through with negative consequences if I can find a way out of it?
But I am the one who put myself in the situation when I gave the bribe (darn you people who say not to bribe!), so I couldn't back down or give in.
In an effort to avoid WWIII when Layla received her ice cream, I had a conversation with Piper (after she had calmed down).
Side bar: Conversations happen a lot in our house. We try to explain situations before they happen so they have an idea of what to expect. We converse about the dentist, doctor appointments, expected behavior in Wal-Mart, expected behavior for leaving the museum (before we get to the museum, mind you), etc., etc. These conversations have typically served us very well in the past. For example, Layla had to have her blood drawn when she was 2.5 and we told her it would feel like someone was pinching her and that it would probably hurt...but only for a little bit. She asked questions; we answered. We repeated the process a few times; she listened. It came time for the blood draw and she was AMAZING!! She just sat and watched the entire process beginning to end. I'm not going to say it's entirely because of our conversation beforehand, but I am pretty darn positive that she would have flipped out had that nurse whipped out that needle and she didn't know it was coming!
(Waiting for her blood draw at 2.5)
However, when you're trying to converse about a sibling getting ice cream that another is not...yeah, that's an entirely different ball game.
I had Piper explain to me her bad choices. I had her repeat to me our ice cream deal. I asked her if she would get ice cream.
All correct, calm responses so far.
I asked her if Layla would get ice cream. I asked her why. I asked her if she understood that she would not be getting ice cream and Layla would be eating some right next to her.
We repeated this scenario with variations in explanations/questioning at least 2 times.
She seemed "okay" as she solemnly nodded with her puppy-dog eyes and slightly turned-down mouth.
This was going easier than expected. I was a little scared.
Why, you ask? Because if the situation had been reversed and I had been talking to Layla all hell would have been breaking loose in my very own living room!
You think I'm kidding.
I'm not.
The girl once ruined her entire dinner because she was told to share one slice of her mandarin orange with her brother and she instead rashly decided that angrily squeezing the entire thing over her meal would be a better idea.
Still fearing what was to come, I seriously thought about not even going out to get some. Layla was still engrossed in whatever she was watching on the Kindle and seemed to have forgotten about the deal.
But I had to. Otherwise I would have still been giving in to the situation. Piper wouldn't have learned that her bad choices can have negative consequences.
So off we went.
"Crinner" (in-car dinner) happened first. Instead of going straight to an ice cream place, I aimlessly drove around allowing myself more time to decide whether or not I wanted to go through with this. Did I really feel like putting up with this huge battle so late at night?? Wouldn't it be so much easier to just go home?? Layla still seemed to have no memory of our ice cream deal as she wasn't bringing it up. It would be super easy to just walk into the house and put them to bed.
But I went for it.
Layla was told she would get ice cream and Piper was reminded she wouldn't.
Our conversation began again. My attempt to prevent an epic meltdown was in full-swing.
Still so far so good. (Although I'm walking on eggshells.)
As we waited in the drive-thru line, I tried to drive home this point to dear Layla by calling out Piper's "big girl" behavior to the situation. She wasn't throwing a huge fit that she wasn't going to get ice cream. My hope was that Layla would remember this for a time when the situation is reversed. I'm pretty sure my words were falling on deaf ears. Or, perhaps, falling on the ears of a child who is simply different from her sister.
We finally pull up to the window to get the ice cream and...much to my surprise and complete satisfaction...Layla was given her ice cream and Piper only longingly stared at her eating it.
Okay, she may have asked her for a bite, but that was a good, quick lesson in not asking for things we don't deserve.
But seriously! I was braced for a showdown and all I got was peace. Woohoo!
I am still in shock at how maturely she handled the situation. Truly. She showed such dignity and respect in her choice not to react negatively.
My sweet Piper surprises me quite often with her little showings of personality that are so opposite of Layla's. Leading a life where she seems to always want to do what her big sister does, these little glimpses into her own uniqueness are such blessings to me.
And I'm blessed to see them more and more often as she gets older.
She really is her own person, and has been from the beginning, but it's such a neat thing to see that two people created from the same parents can be so starkly different.
Her maturity in this situation also served to remind me that perhaps I'm not royally screwing up this whole thing known as parenthood. It was refreshing.
I'm definitely not saying I'm getting it "right" (as her older sister frequently makes apparent).
Actually, what I am saying is that I don't really think you can "screw it up" if you're putting forth effort, thought, and love. You simply do the best you can and the best you know how in the situations that are presented to you each moment. Your kids bring their own unique personalities into situations and whether or not you do everything in that moment "right" or everything in that moment "wrong", you can have entirely different outcomes for each child. Depending on the child, the situation, and a million other variables, you may walk away proud, discouraged, or somewhere in between.
It's parenthood.
There are highs and lows. Sometimes multiple times a day.
Tonight I walked away proud. Proud that my not-quite-3.5 year old could so maturely face the consequences of her choices while simultaneously watching her older sister reap the benefits of hers.
**Oh, and Barrett peed on the potty for the first time tonight!!! This might be reason enough to blog twice in one month :-)**
****In case it comes across to readers as though Layla is just a little hellion on wheels, I want to point out that I could post a hundred blogs about the amazing things she does (like choosing a toy for her 10-month-old-sister after getting her blood drawn instead of picking one for herself). However, this particular blog is simply about personality traits when it comes to reacting to things one does not get based on poor behavior. In that arena, Piper wins hands down.****
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Goals
I'm finally feeling motivated enough to truly do something about the pounds that have crept their way into my life. A "biggest loser" competition at work is helping a lot! I've participated in these a few times before, but, for some reason, never really felt the inner motivation I've got going for me now.
Instead of looking at the mountain in front of me - a 60-70lb weight loss - I've decided to break it into goals. Milestones. All in chunks of 10.
1) 10lbs of graduate school.
*So maybe these aren't neatly lumped together like the ones I'll list below, but I've got to chalk the 10lbs up to something and the countless hours I spent on my rump writing papers, reading, studying, taking tests while simultaneously drinking a venti iced chai (with 3 extra pumps) from Starbucks is a pretty good reason.
2) 10lbs of Barrett.
3) 10lbs of Piper.
4) 10lbs of Layla.
*Yep, it's true. I kept a hold of 10lbs per pregnancy. I'd like to look at it as me being sentimental. Keeping a legacy of each of these phenomenal miracles. But...it's really just laziness. Truly. I actually told myself after having Layla "Eh, I'll just wait until we have our second to worry about the weight." OOPS!!
5) 10lbs of marriage.
6) 10lbs of college
7) 10lbs of "freshman 15"
*I guess technically you could say I gained 20lbs in college. Breaking it up freshman year and the other 3 years just sounds better to the ear, though.
So there you have it. My 70lbs. Pretty sad. It's actually kind of gross to even say (er, type) out loud.
I would love to be back to my senior-year-of-high-school weight. However, I will be completely satisfied if I just get back to my after-freshman-year-of-college weight.
5 pounds a month would get me there. TOTALLY doable!! I just don't know if I can remain committed for that long. Ugh. I really hope so. But that is why I've made these little milestones for my journey. 10lbs doesn't seem as daunting as 60-70. I can do 10lbs.
And...
Good news! I've already got my grad. school 10 done and over with! Gone with the wind!...or sweat and sweets. (I sabotaged my efforts this weekend, so a pound or two may have found itself back in my life, but I'm still saying I met my milestone.)
So here's to ridding myself of 10lbs of Barrett. Motivation along the way would be greatly appreciated. For 10lbs or all 60lbs, your encouragement throughout this journey will be a wonderful tune to my [red] ears and bring a smile to my [sweaty] face.
Instead of looking at the mountain in front of me - a 60-70lb weight loss - I've decided to break it into goals. Milestones. All in chunks of 10.
1) 10lbs of graduate school.
*So maybe these aren't neatly lumped together like the ones I'll list below, but I've got to chalk the 10lbs up to something and the countless hours I spent on my rump writing papers, reading, studying, taking tests while simultaneously drinking a venti iced chai (with 3 extra pumps) from Starbucks is a pretty good reason.
2) 10lbs of Barrett.
3) 10lbs of Piper.
4) 10lbs of Layla.
*Yep, it's true. I kept a hold of 10lbs per pregnancy. I'd like to look at it as me being sentimental. Keeping a legacy of each of these phenomenal miracles. But...it's really just laziness. Truly. I actually told myself after having Layla "Eh, I'll just wait until we have our second to worry about the weight." OOPS!!
5) 10lbs of marriage.
6) 10lbs of college
7) 10lbs of "freshman 15"
*I guess technically you could say I gained 20lbs in college. Breaking it up freshman year and the other 3 years just sounds better to the ear, though.
So there you have it. My 70lbs. Pretty sad. It's actually kind of gross to even say (er, type) out loud.
I would love to be back to my senior-year-of-high-school weight. However, I will be completely satisfied if I just get back to my after-freshman-year-of-college weight.
5 pounds a month would get me there. TOTALLY doable!! I just don't know if I can remain committed for that long. Ugh. I really hope so. But that is why I've made these little milestones for my journey. 10lbs doesn't seem as daunting as 60-70. I can do 10lbs.
And...
Good news! I've already got my grad. school 10 done and over with! Gone with the wind!...or sweat and sweets. (I sabotaged my efforts this weekend, so a pound or two may have found itself back in my life, but I'm still saying I met my milestone.)
So here's to ridding myself of 10lbs of Barrett. Motivation along the way would be greatly appreciated. For 10lbs or all 60lbs, your encouragement throughout this journey will be a wonderful tune to my [red] ears and bring a smile to my [sweaty] face.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Uninvited Guest
Over the past couple of hours, I have heard a rustling. Sitting in the living room, it sounded as though it was coming from the kitchen. My heart sank at the first realization that the sound was inconsistent - that it was not just the wild wind we have tonight rustling a plastic bag in the kitchen. No, this was a sound I had heard before. The all-to-familiar sound of a mouse sneaking around in our kitchen! Ugh. I really thought we had ended that battle. I won't even begin to tell you the battles we have fought with those pesky creatures, but the addition of a new back door and a LOT of insta-foam around the house over the past year has seemed to put our battles at end. We had finally won the war!
And then this.
The sound.
I woke Jeremy up (he had fallen asleep on the couch) and told him to listen. Of course it ceased.
A bit later I heard it again.
Again, I told Jeremy to listen. It was quite loud...as loud as a pesky varmint can be. Yet Jeremy heard nothing. I couldn't believe it. I was reminded of the Flinstones episode where Wilma is kept awake due to a drip from a leaky faucet yet Fred hears nothing and continues sleeping peacefully. (I know it exists...but both Google and YouTube searches yielded nothing.)
Finally Jeremy heard it!
But it wasn't coming from the kitchen. It was coming from the hallway.
There was a large tote and a small cardboard box in the hall. We thought perhaps there was a mouse stuck inside trying to get out.
First up was the small box. We placed it inside a trashbag (in case the thing jumped out, of course) and, supplied with tongs and nervous, jumpy hands, we opened the box and began pulling out the contents.
Nothing.
The large tote was next. Now, this had unused Christmas decorations and empty boxes in it and had been closed since putting up the decorations, so there was no logical reason as to why/how a mouse wold have gotten in. But, over the years, we have learned that "logic" and "mouse" are two words that never seem to go together.
We began pulling out the contents.
Nothing.
We concluded that the sucker must be in the air duct and is trying to climb/jump/slide its way out.
Jeremy went to bed and I sat back down on the couch.
There it was again.
I texted Jeremy (because that is what we do while both in the same house) to ask if he heard it in the bedroom. Nope.
I sat and listened. This noise just sounded much bigger than a mouse. And so I texted Jeremy my thoughts. He replied with a simple "hmmm". AKA - I'm trying to sleep, stop worrying about it.
My mind started wandering and it eventually led me to a little mouse finally defeating its Everest and escaping from its dismal abyss...and into the main part of the house! So, naturally, I go in search of an empty tote to place over the vent where it appears to be struggling and a heavy object to place on top of that. I'm taking no chances here!
As I place the tote over the vent, I hear it again! Only it's not coming from below the floor. It's above my head! Or in the walls! Eek! I can't tell, but it's definitely loud and definitely bigger than a mouse!
Of course I go wake up Jeremy and make him stand and listen.
Yep, he agrees.
We come to a theory that the crazy winds have forced open the attic window (this has happened a few times in the past) and something found its way into the warmth (this has never happened in the past). Well...it's not at all warm up there. But it is out of the fierce wind.
We hit the ceiling and hear claws/toenails/who knows scraping across the metal grates of what used to be, I assume, a working attic fan.
A raccoon? A cat? A squirrel?
Jeremy grabs a flashlight, puts on a sweatshirt and shoes, and heads up.
I envision the scene in Elf where Buddy goes in for a hug with a raccoon. Later I learn that Jeremy was picturing National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Either way, both of us are a bit freaked out about whatwe he will see when opening the attic access.
He gets up there no problem. I hit the metal grates. Scampering ensues. Jeremy sees nothing.
But the attic window is in fact open. After trying to pile a few random objects from the attic in front of it, it is decided...which, as many times as he's had to go up in the past to close it, I'm not sure why we haven't decided this before...we decide to nail it shut.
One final attempt to see the "thing" by throwing a scrap piece of PVC into the darkness of the other half of the attic proved futile. Landing in a sea of insulation without a hint of sound and the black, black emptiness surrounding it gave the sensation that the pipe was still flying or had vanished entirely. I'm sure the "thing" heard nothing. In fact, I know it didn't. Because it did not stir. Or, rather, it did not run across the metal grate of the old attic fan. I guess it could have scampered through the insulation and been just as silent as the PVC pipe. However, I'd rather not think of something sneaking around up there unnoticed while my head is popped up into the attic and Jeremy is a free target.
So we both came down the ladder. Perhaps tomorrow, when the sun is out and the attic is lit, another go will be made at figuring out what has taken up residence in our attic.
Until then, I will try not to stress about it making a home in whatever comfortable tote it can find and ruining the objects within. I will try not to think about the size of the animal...and the size of the stench that will follow once it dies. I will try not think about our little unwanted guest.
**Side note - I'm pretty sure the tense of my verbs has not been consistent when telling this story. However, seeing as it's nearly 1:00am, I am not about to go back and review my work. You'll just have to deal.
And then this.
The sound.
I woke Jeremy up (he had fallen asleep on the couch) and told him to listen. Of course it ceased.
A bit later I heard it again.
Again, I told Jeremy to listen. It was quite loud...as loud as a pesky varmint can be. Yet Jeremy heard nothing. I couldn't believe it. I was reminded of the Flinstones episode where Wilma is kept awake due to a drip from a leaky faucet yet Fred hears nothing and continues sleeping peacefully. (I know it exists...but both Google and YouTube searches yielded nothing.)
Finally Jeremy heard it!
But it wasn't coming from the kitchen. It was coming from the hallway.
There was a large tote and a small cardboard box in the hall. We thought perhaps there was a mouse stuck inside trying to get out.
First up was the small box. We placed it inside a trashbag (in case the thing jumped out, of course) and, supplied with tongs and nervous, jumpy hands, we opened the box and began pulling out the contents.
Nothing.
The large tote was next. Now, this had unused Christmas decorations and empty boxes in it and had been closed since putting up the decorations, so there was no logical reason as to why/how a mouse wold have gotten in. But, over the years, we have learned that "logic" and "mouse" are two words that never seem to go together.
We began pulling out the contents.
Nothing.
We concluded that the sucker must be in the air duct and is trying to climb/jump/slide its way out.
Jeremy went to bed and I sat back down on the couch.
There it was again.
I texted Jeremy (because that is what we do while both in the same house) to ask if he heard it in the bedroom. Nope.
I sat and listened. This noise just sounded much bigger than a mouse. And so I texted Jeremy my thoughts. He replied with a simple "hmmm". AKA - I'm trying to sleep, stop worrying about it.
My mind started wandering and it eventually led me to a little mouse finally defeating its Everest and escaping from its dismal abyss...and into the main part of the house! So, naturally, I go in search of an empty tote to place over the vent where it appears to be struggling and a heavy object to place on top of that. I'm taking no chances here!
As I place the tote over the vent, I hear it again! Only it's not coming from below the floor. It's above my head! Or in the walls! Eek! I can't tell, but it's definitely loud and definitely bigger than a mouse!
Of course I go wake up Jeremy and make him stand and listen.
Yep, he agrees.
We come to a theory that the crazy winds have forced open the attic window (this has happened a few times in the past) and something found its way into the warmth (this has never happened in the past). Well...it's not at all warm up there. But it is out of the fierce wind.
We hit the ceiling and hear claws/toenails/who knows scraping across the metal grates of what used to be, I assume, a working attic fan.
A raccoon? A cat? A squirrel?
Jeremy grabs a flashlight, puts on a sweatshirt and shoes, and heads up.
I envision the scene in Elf where Buddy goes in for a hug with a raccoon. Later I learn that Jeremy was picturing National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Either way, both of us are a bit freaked out about what
He gets up there no problem. I hit the metal grates. Scampering ensues. Jeremy sees nothing.
But the attic window is in fact open. After trying to pile a few random objects from the attic in front of it, it is decided...which, as many times as he's had to go up in the past to close it, I'm not sure why we haven't decided this before...we decide to nail it shut.
One final attempt to see the "thing" by throwing a scrap piece of PVC into the darkness of the other half of the attic proved futile. Landing in a sea of insulation without a hint of sound and the black, black emptiness surrounding it gave the sensation that the pipe was still flying or had vanished entirely. I'm sure the "thing" heard nothing. In fact, I know it didn't. Because it did not stir. Or, rather, it did not run across the metal grate of the old attic fan. I guess it could have scampered through the insulation and been just as silent as the PVC pipe. However, I'd rather not think of something sneaking around up there unnoticed while my head is popped up into the attic and Jeremy is a free target.
So we both came down the ladder. Perhaps tomorrow, when the sun is out and the attic is lit, another go will be made at figuring out what has taken up residence in our attic.
Until then, I will try not to stress about it making a home in whatever comfortable tote it can find and ruining the objects within. I will try not to think about the size of the animal...and the size of the stench that will follow once it dies. I will try not think about our little unwanted guest.
**Side note - I'm pretty sure the tense of my verbs has not been consistent when telling this story. However, seeing as it's nearly 1:00am, I am not about to go back and review my work. You'll just have to deal.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Elf on the Shelf
We have an Elf on the Shelf; his name is Fizzle. Last year was our first year for the little guy to come visit (thanks to my wonderful Texas family).
He moves around the houseevery night most nights. Thankfully the girls don't fuss about those times when he fails to change locations. And most mornings he does find himself in a new position it's because of mine and my husband's swift moves. You see, he often "magically" moves somewhere in between the first girl waking up (usually Piper) and actually coming-to enough to think about the little guy. Typically, one of us realizes too late that he is in the same spot leading us to team up with a quick distract-and-avoid maneuver with the girl(s) while the other frantically tries to find a new spot, one also out of reach of small hands, in our small house. Those places are quickly becoming scarce.
They do get a kick out of seeing where he is each morning. Even Barrett occasionally throws up a finger and points at the sight. It's fun.
However, our elf does not get into mischief. It's seems to be the big thing right now. Well, the big thing outside of simply having an elf. Pinterest is flooded with ideas. Facebook posts are abundant. If I wasn't careful, thoughts/feelings of being inadequate in the crafty-creative-mom category would start creeping in and taking over.
I mean, come on! What fun things to do with your elf! I've seen pictures of so many cute ideas! And I *know* my kids would absolutely have a blast with such impish behavior.
But...isn't the purpose of the elf to help instill good behavior in your kids? Isn't the whole reason he's in a new spot each morning is because he flew away to report to Santa in the north pole about the behaviors seen each day?
So doesn't it seem a little contradictory to have an elf, whose job is to watch for naughty/nice behavior, continuously perform naughty acts?? "Hey, kids, you be good or I'll report you to Santa...but I can do whatever I want and you can laugh about it and have a good time."
Hmmmm. I don't know. It just doesn't seem right to me.
I'm not knocking those who do have an elf who makes naughty choices each night. Maybe if I had time and energy, I'd do something fun with it, too. Maybe.
But I kind of think I'd still have some issues with the contradiction in it all.
Of course I am playing in to the whole "Santa is real" mindset simply by having an elf, so perhaps I'm already contradicting myself.
*Cue the you're-getting-too-deep-for-this-late-at-night alert*
Goodnight all! I've got an elf to move before he finds himself in the same spottwo three days in a row.
And, please, keep posting pictures of your elf's mischievous deeds because I really do find myself impressed with all the creativity you put into it.
He moves around the house
They do get a kick out of seeing where he is each morning. Even Barrett occasionally throws up a finger and points at the sight. It's fun.
However, our elf does not get into mischief. It's seems to be the big thing right now. Well, the big thing outside of simply having an elf. Pinterest is flooded with ideas. Facebook posts are abundant. If I wasn't careful, thoughts/feelings of being inadequate in the crafty-creative-mom category would start creeping in and taking over.
I mean, come on! What fun things to do with your elf! I've seen pictures of so many cute ideas! And I *know* my kids would absolutely have a blast with such impish behavior.
But...isn't the purpose of the elf to help instill good behavior in your kids? Isn't the whole reason he's in a new spot each morning is because he flew away to report to Santa in the north pole about the behaviors seen each day?
So doesn't it seem a little contradictory to have an elf, whose job is to watch for naughty/nice behavior, continuously perform naughty acts?? "Hey, kids, you be good or I'll report you to Santa...but I can do whatever I want and you can laugh about it and have a good time."
Hmmmm. I don't know. It just doesn't seem right to me.
I'm not knocking those who do have an elf who makes naughty choices each night. Maybe if I had time and energy, I'd do something fun with it, too. Maybe.
But I kind of think I'd still have some issues with the contradiction in it all.
Of course I am playing in to the whole "Santa is real" mindset simply by having an elf, so perhaps I'm already contradicting myself.
*Cue the you're-getting-too-deep-for-this-late-at-night alert*
Goodnight all! I've got an elf to move before he finds himself in the same spot
And, please, keep posting pictures of your elf's mischievous deeds because I really do find myself impressed with all the creativity you put into it.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Counting My Blessings
Today was a good day. Therapeutic and lots to be thankful for.
On a different topic, below is a brief conversation I had with my 4.5 year-old yesterday.
L: Mom! P hit me with the card twenty of times.
Me: She hit you plenty of times, huh.
L: No. TWENTY. Twenty of times.
Me: Oh.
L: 60 miles. That's how long she hit me.
The day before that, my darling middle child, while attempting to take off her hoodie, cried out, "Help! I can't find my way out!"
And not to leave out the youngest of the brood, B's "communication" with us seems to have suddenly improved. Still not many words (at all), but we are communicating more clearly. This gives me hope that a talker is about to burst free.
As for me, I'm leaving laundry on the floor, dishes in the sink, the Christmas tree on its side, and am off to meet the Sandman.
On a different topic, below is a brief conversation I had with my 4.5 year-old yesterday.
L: Mom! P hit me with the card twenty of times.
Me: She hit you plenty of times, huh.
L: No. TWENTY. Twenty of times.
Me: Oh.
L: 60 miles. That's how long she hit me.
The day before that, my darling middle child, while attempting to take off her hoodie, cried out, "Help! I can't find my way out!"
And not to leave out the youngest of the brood, B's "communication" with us seems to have suddenly improved. Still not many words (at all), but we are communicating more clearly. This gives me hope that a talker is about to burst free.
As for me, I'm leaving laundry on the floor, dishes in the sink, the Christmas tree on its side, and am off to meet the Sandman.
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