Monday, November 29, 2010

Back to the Routine!

After a week of being a SAHM, I am thrilled to be back at work.  It was great spending time with my littles -- most of the time.  But honestly, we are all pretty sick of each other right  now. 

This morning I eagerly put on my makeup, picked an outfit and got ready for work!  yeay! 

Today was also the first Back-to-School morning in a week.   

Number 1 Son couldn't find his long pants. He had no idea where they would be. "Son. You figured out there was NO SANTA when you were 3. You can't figure out where your goddam pants are????  Did you even LOOK in the drawer?  I didn't think so."

Number 2 Son decides to dance in his underwear all over the house. before, during and after breakfast. I have to tell him over and over and over and OVER to get his clothes on. Then he cried because I yelled.

Number 3 Son acts like he's 6 months old & wants to be carried everywhere. Won't eat his breakfast because he's cold. After he's dressed won't eat it because he's laughing at Number 2  in his underwear.

Husband is yelling at everyone to hurry up.  Yelling at Number 1 Son to get his jacket.  Yelling at Number 2 to put his shoes on.  Yelling at Number 3 for spilling his yogurt.  Did it ever occur to Husband to give 1 the jacket, put shoes on 2 or put 3's yogurt in a bowl for them?  No.  Because they are old enough to do it themselves.

I agree.  They are old enough.  But if you want it done with a minimum of shouting and/or tears. . .. it's best to help them out a little.  And you yelling?  That's not helping.

Now I know why Mother drank.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Cold Mornings and Charlie Brown

I planned to write about how I had to pull myself out of bed this morning to go to Vic's Momentum class.  I was going to whine about how hard it was.  I was going to bitch about how I had to leave my warm bed, where my almost-3-year-old was snuggled against me. 

I put the kids in front of the TV so I could write.  Charlie Brown is on.  I love Charlie Brown.   My favorite is Charlie Brown Thanksgiving where snoopy makes the toast and then accidentally toasts his ear.  My second favorite is on It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown and Snoopy pretends to be a WWI ace shot down behind enemy lines in France.  I love that. 

My all time favorite, however, is on  Charlie Brown Christmas when all the kids sing Hark the Herald Angels Sing around Charlie Brown's tree.  Admit it.  You just hummed a little to yourself didn't you?

I have been listening to the show the kids are watching so I can come in on my favorite parts.  They aren't watching a real Charlie Brown.  They are watching Snoopy Come Home. 

Snoopy Come Home sucks.

Anyway.  It was cold this morning.  I'm gonna go rescue my kids from that crappy show.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Tighty Whiteys and Why I Enjoy Being a Girl

Sometimes I get a little behind on chores.

Like laundry.

As long as I have reasonably clean uniforms for the kids, socks & unders for the hubs and a clean sports bra for me, I'm usually good.

Never occurred to me that I would run out of panties. 

Wait -- I want all the boys to stop reading right now.  The Bitchy Waiter is funny today.  Go read him. 

Yes, you too Ed.  GO!


I have 10000 pairs of underwear.  Some are fun & lacy.  Some are thongs.  Some coordinate with a specific bra.  Most are comfy cotton briefs. 

Last night after my shower, I opened the panty drawer and. . . . . .chirp chirp chirp.

Nothing.  Not a thing. Not a thong.  No boyshorts, hipsters, g-strings or briefs. 

In normal circumstances, I would go without.  But it's fright week.  I need unders. 

I had NOTHING.  Just a giant pile of dirty laundry.  I would never wear dirty underwear.  Ok, I would.  I totally would.  But the laundry was especially dirty with wet towels and everything.  So I couldn't even find any not-too-dirty ones.

I had to borrow from Greg.  And Greg has 2 choices:  tighty whiteys or chonies.  Chonies weren't gonna do it for me because they wouldn't hold my . .. um . . products in place.  I figured if Kate Moss could wear T.W.s, I could too.  Because Kate & I are soooooo similar.

I knew boys were different from girls.  I had no idea HOW different. 

They have the whole keyhole thing goin' on.  Because they are too lazy to pull their pants down when they pee.  Know what else?  The leg holes on T.W.s are tight.  I mean -- no elastic.  WTF?  How can they wear these?  And there is about 8 inches of fabric between the legholes.  Their legs are NOT that far apart.  I know they need extra fabric to cover their extra parts, but I had NO IDEA that there was so much fabric down there.  Finally, the waistband?  Definately not designed for girls.  Well, maybe for Kate Moss.  But for girls with hips?  Nope.

So today, I am catching up on my laundry. 

Cotton briefs first. 


Sunday, November 21, 2010

Thankful for Thy Bounty and the Invention of Cool Whip

At the grocery store today there were thousands of people shopping for their holiday repast.

Why don't they just buy it when they are shopping for their regular groceries like I am?   Why does shopping for turkey require 75% more people?  Admittedly, I was with my 9 year old, but I am usually there with all 3 kiddos, so technically, I had 66% fewer people with me.  I have been at rock concerts with less people than were at the store today. 

It was the Monkees Reunion Tour, but still.   

I made my usual route through the HEB (in South Texas, you can go to any grocery store you want, as long as it's HEB).  I started in paper goods, went through dairy, meat, then circle back for cleaning goods, personal products, pet food, frozen, canned goods, cereal, specialty items, bakery then fresh produce. 

I filled my cart with the usual, plus stuff for Thursday.  A box of stuffing, a huge frozen solid turkey, a can of cranberry sauce, a can of pumpkin, a can of biscuits, and a tub of cool whip.  A big tub of cool whip. 

In the produce section, I found sweet potatoes, haricot verts (or, as I like to call them: green beans), lettuce, tomato, a star fruit, lemons and oranges.  My son wanted the star fruit.  What the hell, it's only once a year.  I'll pay $3 for a pretty fruit that no one is really going to eat. 

My oldest and I discussed Thanksgiving.  We discussed the brutal winter the pilgrims experienced.  The disease, the squalor.  We discussed the trials that led to the pilgrims going to the New World.  The prejudice and the political oppression.  My 9 year old is really, really smart.  He is more than up for a discussion on the Geopolitics of 1659 and the repercussions for modern western civilization. 

It occurred to me that the pilgrims wouldn't recognize anything that we were buying in their honor.  Most of it was canned or boxed or shrink wrapped.  Most of it has added salt or sugar or colors.  Even the vegetables were prettier and more processed than the stuff they ate.   I mean, seriously -- canned cranberry sauce? 

When I was about 12, I got in big trouble because I mashed the cranberry sauce in the bowl so it would look more "natural".  My dad said I "ruined" it and had to run to the 7-11 to get another can because in those days grocery stores were not open on Thanksgiving.  I think he paid like $3.25 for that can of cranberry sauce.

I have a vegetarian friend who buys organic and wouldn't eat anything that I bought.  She is very true to the idea of clean food, as close as possible to its natural state.  She bemoans the state of food in this country.  I am very thankful for this friend.  I am also thankful that I am not eating Thanksgiving with her.  (Just kidding M!  You can come to our house if you want!  Bring your own dinner, 'kay?)

I am also very thankful that the bounty we receive is nothing like the Pilgrims.  I don't have to kill anything.  I don't have to clean much.  I just open the can, and yum. 

I just hope the Cool Whip lasts until Thanksgiving. 

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Maintain-No Gain

There is a new challenge put forth by my awesome employer:

The Holiday Challenge:  Maintain-No Gain.

They say that the average American will gain 8-10 lbs during the holiday season.

Of course I am always above average.

For those of us participating, we weigh in on Friday, then we weigh in AGAIN on January 13.  If we maintain our weight within 2lbs, we get a t-shirt.

I guess if we lose 5 lbs, no t-shirt.  Oh well.

I wonder if I can weigh in naked.  Hmmmm. . . .

Monday, November 15, 2010

Personal Best part II

There is a reason why I rarely post on weekends.

It's because of my miracle baby.

He really is a miracle. The doctor told me that I was too old and too fat to have any more kids.  He didn't say it just like that, but that's what he meant.

When we found out about baby #ooops, my husband said "get a new OB".  I did, and I love her.

She didn't say I was too old and too fat, she said that my age carried certain risks.  And she tested me for everything.

At 13 weeks, I thought I lost him.

He's my third kid.  I've been through this before.  I won't tell you exactly what my symptoms were because they are very personal.  And also really, really gory.  But I was certain that my oooops was gone.

Of course, I had an ultrasound to make sure.

And he was ALIVE!  And he was perfect!  And he stayed perfect! 

And now he's a very normal, healthy almost 3 years old.

And he is the reason I can't get ANYTHING done on the weekends.

He wants to sit on my lap whether I am watching TV, reading, on the computer or in the john.  That's right.  He wants to sit on my lap when anyone else would have to hold their breath just to walk into the room.  Sometimes -- not often -- Greg will let me lock the bedroom door.  Then I get to go potty and read.  Pure luxury. 

Anyway, before Mr. Miracle kept leaning on the keyboard, I was TRYING to tell you about my 5K.

I jogged the whole way (except for about 100 yards when I had something in my shoe).  Three laps.    Three. 

It took a loooooooooooong time. 

As I was starting lap #3, Victor told me that the 5K was actually a 5+K.  A 5K is 3.1 miles.  Apparently 3 laps around our campus is 4.2 miles.  Wow.

My personal best was really a personal best!

And of course, at the finish line, people were cheering me on.  I think they may have been thinking "For God's sake when is she going to get here?  We can't sit here all day."  If they were thinking that, they didn't let on.  They were super awesome. 

The best part was that Gabe won!  (remember him? the meanest ever?) He won the whole thing!  He ran 4.2 miles in like 20 minutes.  I can't even drive that fast.  He rocks.

After the race, I came home to my family.  I sat on the couch.  I tried to get up. I screamed in pain.

Apparently, running 4.2 miles makes you really really sore.

And it chafes a little. 

So I spent the rest of the weekend holding my miracle baby.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Personal Best

I ran my (technically) 4th 5K yesterday. 

I actually jogged it.

I jogged the WHOLE way.  (except for 100 yards when I had to shake something out of my shoe).

I ran with my friend Kathy, the one who has been training with the Couch to 5K program.  I started jogging, she started walking, within 5 minutes she was faaaarr ahead of me.  See you in about an hour, friend!

Actually, I have lots to tell you, but right now the almost 3 year old and the 5 year old are hanging off on me like Spanish moss. 

So I have to tell you later. 


Thursday, November 11, 2010

No Mail Today

We don't get mail today.

Because it's Veteran's Day.

GOOD!  We don't need mail.  We need to gather our children, get on our knees and thank God for our military and military families.

We need to explain to our children what this country means to us.  We need to set an example of how to be a good American.

Here are some things you can do today to be a good American:

1. Pledge your allegiance.  Seriously. 

2. Pick up a piece of garbage somewhere.  I know you don't have to.  I know you didn't put it there.  Pick it up anyway.  Want to be totally crazy set an example for the whole community?  Next time you are at a stoplight, put your car in park, get out of the car & take a piece of trash off the road.  Be safe -- don't go into traffic or anything.  But show others how to care for our country.

3. Be respectful and kind to people from other countries.  Especially immigrants.  We have a great nation, and great nations honor their neighbors.

4. Thank those who serve.  In the military, our firefighters, our police, our teachers, our sanitation workers, our service workers -- even in retail.  If you see someone serving others, thank them.

5. Say a prayer of Thanksgiving.

Thank YOU.  Thank you for reading me, for being supportive of me, for correcting me when I need it (and even when I don't). 

God Bless America!

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

If I Can Do It, You Can Too and Other Big Lies. . .

I admit my magazine rack is filled with heartwarming, inspiring stories of formerly fat people who "got their life back" after dropping a lot of weight. 

I don't know why I read them.       

OK, yes I do.

Why do they always say the same thing?  I got my life back, I was disgusting, If I can do it, anyone can.  Blah blah blah blah blah. 

For one thing, if you didn't have a life when you were fat, that is your fault.  Not the fat's.  I have a life already. Losing weight does not magically qualify me for some extra experience that was heretofore unavailable to me.  Except maybe being able to see my toes when I look down.  And honestly?  That would just piss me off more because if I can see my toes that means I'm too skinny and I'm flat-chested. 

It totally rankles me when someone says they were "disgusting" when they were fat.  You were?  Were you like a pedophile or something?  Because that is disgusting.  Fat is not disgusting. 

And the shout out they give to all us other fatties:  If I can do it, SO CAN YOU.  Shaddap already. 

I feel a little conflicted now I am the workout queen.  I am losing weight.  I am gaining muscle.  (Can I tell  you how incredibly hot I looked in my LBD on Saturday night?  I don't mean to be conceited.  But I looked awesome and I wasn't even wearing Spanx.)  I must remember: it's not about how I look.  It's about my fitness.  But I looked great. 

Does this qualify me to tell all my size 18+ pals "If I can do it, so can you?"


The truth is, there are very specific circumstances that are enabling me to do this.

1. I began as part of a challenge for work.  IT WAS MY JOB to do this.  Well, not really.  It's not like I would have gotten fired or anything.  However, I did feel that the College's commitment to the program should be taken seriously.  I am the face of the College.  I take it seriously.

2. The first 3 months were FREE.  Who doesn't love free?  It was actually better than free.  It was like someone handed me $2,000.00 only I don't have to pay taxes on it. 

3. My kids are all big enough that it's OK for me to be a couple of hours late two nights a week.  One of my girlfriends was telling me how frustrated she is that she can't exercise more.  She has a one year old.  When I had a one year old, I sure couldn't work out.  At all.  He won't be one forever.  When he's ready, you can think about getting ready.

4. My husband has been willing (and able) to pick up the kids on workout days.  He gets them dinner, gets them bathed and in jammies.  This is huge.  Without this, forget it. 

5. The studio is right near my office.  This convenience is critical.  I guarantee if Vic ever decides to move, he better consult with me.  Because if he moves too far away, I'm done. 

6. We have enough left in the budget to pay for it.  Believe me -- no budget, no Vic.  It's that simple.  I know that there are those who say that you don't have to pay to work out.  You can do it on your own.

You might be able to, but I can't. 

I don't bake my own bread.  I don't sew my own clothes.  I don't even mow my own yard.  So I am not going to feel bad that I don't manage my own workouts. 

Even if I did do it on my own, know what my workout would be?  A few laps around the park.  That's fine if there are no other options, but Vic challenges me.  He has dome more with my fitness in four months than I was able to do on my own in a year. 

So, to all my friends out there who think "Jeeze -- if a big girl like Mary can do it, I should too". . . .

If you can, do.  If you can't -- don't pay attention to those stupid magazines.

I only read them for the recipes anyway. 

Sunday, November 7, 2010

What the hell time is it anyway?

Fall Back used to be one of my favorite times of year.

An extra hour of sleep!  Yeay!

And then I had children.

Last night Greg and I were invited to an engagement party.  We got all dolled up, left the kids with a sitter and spent the evening with some awesome people laughing so hard my abs hurt.  (That part is Victor's fault.  I can't even frigging LAUGH without it hurting.)

On the way home, we thought that maybe. .. since it's Daylight Savings Time. . . maybe we can um, you know, because we get the extra hour of sleep in the morning.  Surely the sitter would have been able to get the kids down before we got home.

We can't even get the kids down.  Why did I expect a 15 year old to be able to?

As soon as we walked in, the two littles shrieked "MAMA!" as if I had been gone three days instead of four hours.  (I know, I know . . .I'll miss it someday.)  I took the sitter home, with a meaningful look to my husband that clearly said "If these children are asleep when I return, you will be rewarded."

They weren't.  He wasn't.

So. . .the kids weren't asleep.  I figured it wasn't a big deal, as we still have that extra hour in the morning.

We forgot to tell the kids about the extra hour.

Because they were awake at what used to be 7am, but is now 6 am.  Right?  Or did it used to be 5am but is now 6 am?.  Whatever it was yesterday, TODAY it is freaking 6 am in the morning and this is NOT A SCHOOL DAY.

SO, my long awaited extra hour of sleep was punctuated by 15 minute intervals of taking the almost 3 year old to the potty, getting the 5 year old some cheerios, and telling the 9 year old that I have no idea where the green sharpie is. 

I was the one who kept getting up.  They never want cheerios from Greg.  He got his extra hour. 

And that's all he gets.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

The Meanest Thing EVER!

I have been trying not to whine about my workouts too much, because A: every time I whine, Victor makes them harder; 2: people are sick of hearing it; C: my arms are starting to look like Michelle Obama's.  (When she wears a pink down parka.  But we're getting there.)

I haven't whined.  Much.

I've blogged about Halloween.  Voting.  Maxipads. 

I only called Vic a basterd that one time

But today?  I am going to whine like a rusty goddam hinge.

Forgive the typos because I can barely lift my arms to the keyboard.

Do you know what Victor Bin Laden had me do yesterday?

Actually, Gabe made me do it.  I am working out with Gabe.  I don't talk about Gabe too much.  He's just kinda quiet.  He's a pretty nice guy.  He's encouraging.  I like him.

At first, I was bummed that I don't have Ricky as my trainer, because everyone knows that I pink-puffy-heart-with-sprinkles-and-glitter Ricky.  I really do.  I think the world of him.   If I was 20 years younger. . . .

Maybe that's exactly why I don't have Ricky as my trainer. 

Also, Ricky trains my friend Mary, and for some reason, they always put us at opposite ends of the studio. 

Geez -- what is this?  Third grade?  We don't talk that much.

Anyway, Vic has me working with Gabe.  Steady, calm, reliable Gabe.  Sweet, kind Gabe.  Focused and intense Gabe. 

Horrible mean sadistic Gabe.

I've blogged about the pit.  The frickin' stairway to hell that we have to climb up and down over and over and over again.  I have learned to live with the pit.   (And after Vic reads this, I know I will spend much more time there.).  The pit is HARD!  I have been working out since July and it's still really really hard.


It was tortuous.

Gabe handed me 2 -- yes TWO -- 15 lb weights and made me walk up & down the pit 15 times.  Let's do the math, shall we?  15 x 2 = 30.  THIRTY POUNDS I carried up the stairs.  Not once.  Not twice.  FIFTEEN TIMES. I could have carried my 2 year old up and down those stairs.  He would have wiggled more, but at least I would have gotten a sticky kiss out of it.

I'm not stupid.  I know Vic is the evil creative genius behind it.  He thought it up.  But did Gabe protest?  Did Gabe say "Vic, I think that making a nice lady like Mary carry 30 pounds of dumbbells up and down the stairs is sorta sadistic.  Why don't we do push ups instead?"

No.  He didn't.


See you Tomorrow at 3, Gabe.   

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Halloween Aftermath. . . .

I make it a point to always buy Halloween candy that I don't particularly care for so that I won't eat it all by October 27th and then have to buy another bag on the 28th.  And on the 29th.  And the 30th. 

This year, it was Smartees.  I like Smartees.  But after one pack of Smartees, I've had enough.  For the year.  Really looking forward to next year so I can have another pack of Smartees. That's what you call that little cellophane sleeve with the twisted ends, right?  A Pack?  Anyway -- one is enough.

I must say that I was a little disappointed in my neighborhood. 

Everyone bought Reeses.  And Snickers.  And Milkyways.  And Tootsie Rolls.  And M&Ms.

Come ON people -- you can eat those any time

I want DOTS.  And Peanut Butter Taffy.  And Candy Corn.  And those jawbreaker balls.  And the really sour Jolly Rancher sticks.  (Or the really hot cinnamon ones!).  And that gross caramel with the white chalky centers.  I want HALLOWEEN candy.  

Thankfully, my friend Kathy (the one who left me in her gritty dust on Saturday) takes her kids tricker-treating for about 6 hours.  They get TONS of candy.  And they don't like most of it.  So she brings it to work. 

In the meantime, all we got left at my house is Smartees. 

Thank God for Kathy.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Just When I think I'm a Badass. . . .

For about four months I have been coming to work every week regaling my colleagues about my hard workouts and how much Vic made me do this week.

I was starting to feel pretty proud of myself.

Which I shouldn't do. 

Inspired by my tales of glory, my friend Kathy decided to start preparing for a 5 K.  She has been doing the Couch to 5K plan.  Good for you! I said patronizingly as I whined about my own - really really hard - workout.

Saturday, Kathy & I participated in the American Heart Association Heart Walk.

It was PACKED! 

And Vic was there!  And Ricky!  And Gabe!  I was so excited.  I showed off my beautiful boys to my friend Kathy.  She rolled her eyes at me.  What else could she do?

The walk started.  SLOWLY.

The problem was, there were a lot of people there.  Like, a million.  And we were all trying to go around the "track" which wasn't a track at all, but the perimeter of Whataburger Field.  (Which is a gorgeous facility!  Come to Corpus Christi & Check it out -- it's awesome!).

So it was sort of a heart stroll.

Which is fine.  Many of the walkers were heart patients -- the whole point is activity, not speed.

But Kathy and I were there for a workout.

And the stroll wasn't working us.

So, as I happily chatted about Vic & Ricky & Gabe and how much they love me, Kathy started to walk fast.  Then she started to run.  Then she started to run fast.

I sort of kept up with her the first mile.

By the second mile,  she was no where to be found. 

And, believe it or not, I still wasn't getting much of a workout.

The event had Workout Stations where you could participate in other fitness activity.  Like Zumba!  And Step Classes!  And Vic had a station!   Yeay!  I can work out with Vic! And Ricky! And Gabe!

He did. 

And then I took a step class.

I got my workout.

A really really owie workout.

I shoulda stayed with Kathy.