Military Dad (MD), recently published a post about something called Laundry Gnomes and I felt the need to share a conversation we had this evening.
First let me begin by explaining Laundry Gnomes, for those who aren't aware of them, or haven't read Military Dad's blog.
Laundry Gnomes are..........................................me (or, in your house, whoever does the last third of the laundry). Confused? So was I.
MD and I are very good about working together on chores around the house. It's much easier to see the things that need to get done and do them, rather then spend days fighting about it and hurting each other's feelings. We went through that phase too, we didn't start out perfect.
The one thing that we both hate and will usually set aside until forgotten: putting away the clothes. We don't mind washing/drying the clothes. We don't even mind folding them, then organizing them into neat little piles for us, Little Dude and Princess. Then we separate the little piles and tell the kids to go put away their clothes. Princess normally puts hers away the day laundry is done. Little Dude still needs a little help, but he gets his clothes in the general area of his closet.
Our pile is where it gets awful. The process of putting them away into drawers or hanging the clothes on hangers is debilitating to us. In the past, we would get our clean clothes out of the laundry basket to wear, because they'd been in there for a few days. Then it got worse! We would actually have to empty out the laundry basket in order to bring up the new clean clothes.
At this point, I usually sigh loudly and in his general direction, then put them away. Sometimes I would have to put them away while he was at work. He would come home to an empty laundry basket and joke about how the Laundry Gnomes struck again and put away all of our clothes. I would growl and he would chuckle.
The Laundry Gnomes went on strike in the new house, not for any specific reason, they just quit working. Personally, I think our closet is the cause. It's just one of those closets that screams: "I like being messy!"
Finally, moving on to the conversation:
Earlier today:
Me: Hey, can you speak to the Laundry Gnomes and ask them to bring the laundry basket upstairs?
MD: Uh, sure I can always ask.
Later tonight:
I'm walking up the stairs, noticing he is playing PS3. At this moment, I know that the laundry basket is in the deep innermost recesses of his mind, soon to be, or already forgotten.
Me: I spoke with the Laundry Gnomes earlier and they would like it if you would bring the laundry basket upstairs for them.
MD: You spoke to them? I'm sure you don't even know their names!
Me: Yes, I do. Tutti and Frutti (maybe I was craving pancakes, I'm not sure where it came from)
MD: That's insulting! They aren't sprites!
Me: I'll be sure to tell them that you think their names are sprite-like. Tutti is his real name, however the other gnome changed his to Frutti recently. He seems to be going through a sexual identity crisis right now and decided his name should rhyme Tutti's. Tutti isn't very comfortable with this, though.
MD: blank stare....
MD: Wow, well they need to carry the basket up the stairs either way.
Me: Give them a break! They are only gnomes, they're little and we don't want them to get hurt!
Well, MD is still playing PS3 and I'm writing a post. Hopefully the basket makes it up the stairs, the Laundry Gnomes have an important meeting with the Hanger Fairy Union tomorrow, in order to figure out why our hangers keep mysteriously disappearing.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Identity Crisis
Up until Sunday, I was (to my knowledge) never referred to as a sweetheart. I have been known to be sweet on rare occasions. My husband does call me sweetheart, but it is similar to "yes, dear" that it's not really an endearment, more of a statement.
I'm not really the sort of person who goes out of their way to be nice or pleasant really. I'm just me. A lot of people find me a bit abrasive and challenging. As I have said before, I'm not a people person, but I can fake it really well. My husband will be the first to tell you that I am very opinionated and seem to delude myself into believing that my opinions are indeed facts. I argue a lot, because I don't like being wrong. Even on the rare occasion when it seems that I am actually wrong, I will argue about it until the other person just gets tired or frustrated and gives up. I know that I wasn't correct, but I won the argument. It truly takes special or maybe "special" people to be my friends...I have a few.
So what did I do to receive this honorable(?) title of sweetheart? I really don't know, but it must have been good!
The story begins: a fellow father blogger (MadDadz) and his daughter came down to San Diego to watch a Padres game and my husband (Military Dad) and Princess decided to go with them.
This is probably the point at which I should mention, we've never met these people before. My husband and MadDadz' only form of communication was trading random emails or insults about each others blogs. I am a regular reader of MadDadz blog, so he sucked me into his world too. MadDadz almost seemed like someone I would love to meet, if I weren't completely antisocial.
My husband being the social-everyone-likes-me kind of guy, casually invited him to have a beer if he ever ventured down to San Diego. Fast forward a few months and MadDadz announces he is taking his kids to every baseball stadium in the Western area, guess what? Yep, San Diego is on his agenda.
How bad can he be? He's taking his kids to see a few baseball games. According to one of his blogs, his son wasn't real excited about the prospect and told him in so many words, "No!" His daughter wanted to experience it though, now the beer offer from my husband is a real thing.
Obviously with his daughter coming, a beer wasn't such a good idea, so they both agree Military Dad and Princess should join them at the game. So maybe they can just meet at the game and meet in a public place, right? Nope, my husband says, "Come on over and we'll fix you lunch before the game!" Ah jeez!
Did I mention that MadDadz is from Beverly Hills and he's a lawyer? No, I left that out? Oops. Anyway, now being the person I am, I grit my teeth, clean the house like a madwoman and figure out what we should feed these well-to-do people. My husband helps me decide that his meals (comfort food) are too heavy, because they have been on the road and eating unhealthy food. Ugh! I decide vegetarian lasagna shouldn't be too bad to make. Then I remembered he was bringing his daughter and to be honest, I wasn't sure my own children would eat the lasagna. (Insert maniacal screaming with random bits of laughter)
Contrary to my overactive imagination of being hacked up into pieces and never heard from again, they were great people to meet. What can I say, I'm really surprised I don't have ulcers.
What I realized, despite his blog, he's a lot like Military Dad, in that he is very easy to like. His daughter was absolutely wonderful. She entertained my kids and put up with their weirdness with a genuine smile on her face. She also made my husband laugh for hours with descriptions of her story characters. She even drew us pictures of most of them, I believe. There is only one character she drew that really creeps me out, one of these days the banshee character will stop haunting my dreams.
During this whole encounter, of which I had about an hour's worth of involvement, I became a sweetheart. I am having to reassess my whole outlook. What if I can actually be a sweetheart and break through my sullen exterior? It's something to think about.
But for now, my husband isn't feeling well because he ate too much for lunch, so I'm going to make him go pick up Chipotle for dinner. What can I say, I'm such a sweetheart!
I'm not really the sort of person who goes out of their way to be nice or pleasant really. I'm just me. A lot of people find me a bit abrasive and challenging. As I have said before, I'm not a people person, but I can fake it really well. My husband will be the first to tell you that I am very opinionated and seem to delude myself into believing that my opinions are indeed facts. I argue a lot, because I don't like being wrong. Even on the rare occasion when it seems that I am actually wrong, I will argue about it until the other person just gets tired or frustrated and gives up. I know that I wasn't correct, but I won the argument. It truly takes special or maybe "special" people to be my friends...I have a few.
So what did I do to receive this honorable(?) title of sweetheart? I really don't know, but it must have been good!
The story begins: a fellow father blogger (MadDadz) and his daughter came down to San Diego to watch a Padres game and my husband (Military Dad) and Princess decided to go with them.
This is probably the point at which I should mention, we've never met these people before. My husband and MadDadz' only form of communication was trading random emails or insults about each others blogs. I am a regular reader of MadDadz blog, so he sucked me into his world too. MadDadz almost seemed like someone I would love to meet, if I weren't completely antisocial.
My husband being the social-everyone-likes-me kind of guy, casually invited him to have a beer if he ever ventured down to San Diego. Fast forward a few months and MadDadz announces he is taking his kids to every baseball stadium in the Western area, guess what? Yep, San Diego is on his agenda.
How bad can he be? He's taking his kids to see a few baseball games. According to one of his blogs, his son wasn't real excited about the prospect and told him in so many words, "No!" His daughter wanted to experience it though, now the beer offer from my husband is a real thing.
Obviously with his daughter coming, a beer wasn't such a good idea, so they both agree Military Dad and Princess should join them at the game. So maybe they can just meet at the game and meet in a public place, right? Nope, my husband says, "Come on over and we'll fix you lunch before the game!" Ah jeez!
Did I mention that MadDadz is from Beverly Hills and he's a lawyer? No, I left that out? Oops. Anyway, now being the person I am, I grit my teeth, clean the house like a madwoman and figure out what we should feed these well-to-do people. My husband helps me decide that his meals (comfort food) are too heavy, because they have been on the road and eating unhealthy food. Ugh! I decide vegetarian lasagna shouldn't be too bad to make. Then I remembered he was bringing his daughter and to be honest, I wasn't sure my own children would eat the lasagna. (Insert maniacal screaming with random bits of laughter)
Contrary to my overactive imagination of being hacked up into pieces and never heard from again, they were great people to meet. What can I say, I'm really surprised I don't have ulcers.
What I realized, despite his blog, he's a lot like Military Dad, in that he is very easy to like. His daughter was absolutely wonderful. She entertained my kids and put up with their weirdness with a genuine smile on her face. She also made my husband laugh for hours with descriptions of her story characters. She even drew us pictures of most of them, I believe. There is only one character she drew that really creeps me out, one of these days the banshee character will stop haunting my dreams.
During this whole encounter, of which I had about an hour's worth of involvement, I became a sweetheart. I am having to reassess my whole outlook. What if I can actually be a sweetheart and break through my sullen exterior? It's something to think about.
But for now, my husband isn't feeling well because he ate too much for lunch, so I'm going to make him go pick up Chipotle for dinner. What can I say, I'm such a sweetheart!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Today I turn thirty-FORE!
If you are familiar with golf, then you understand the pun. If you don't understand: after you put a wicked hit on the ball and it decides to sail towards unsuspecting people, to warn them you yell out, "FORE!"
My husband took me to an narrow par 3 golf course to celebrate my birthday. He also wanted to get me back in the swing of things. (I could go all day with puns, but I'll try to stop.) I haven't golfed in a little over two years and we decided to skip practice on the driving range, so it was a little stressful for me.
For some reason I have a pretty good knack at driving the crap out of the ball. For a girl, I hit pretty darn far. I am not a putter, I just cannot get a handle on soft swings. In my limited experience on golf courses, I usually have to whack the heck out of the ball to get it remotely close to the putting area. Keeping this in mind, we step up to the first hole and my husband tells me to use a 7 iron, I said, "Say what?!"
He started blathering about yardage and it only being par 3; I phased him out because I'm not great with my irons. I love my woods, so I glanced at them longingly and grab my 7. I am strictly a whack it, then attempt at putting the ball into the hole in less than 10 strokes. Yes, I said 10. For today's game I limited myself to 3 tries...nope, still didn't make it.
I walk up, drop my nice bright pink ball down (it's honestly because I can't see the white balls and my husband stole all my fluorescent orange balls). I get ready to swing, take my mandatory deep breathe and whack it. Thankfully there was this 30 foot high net that prevented my horrible shank from sailing into a car window on the busy street next to us.
Well that sucked! I won't even include my putting attempts in this post, because honestly, it's just plain embarrassing. So onto hole 2.
Hubby takes out his 5 wood and walks toward the tee. I got so excited about being able to use my wood, this day was turning around! I pick my 3 wood, give it a quick kiss and skip towards the tee. This is 1 of 2 holes on the entire course that are par 4. Yay! I get a chance to whack the ball, I'm so happy.
Hubby takes his shot and it sails beautifully straight toward that checkered flag, yards down the green. I step up, pink ball in hand, and line up to take my shot. I whacked it...right towards the people putting on hole 1.
I yell, "FORE!" for the first time in my life. Then in slow motion, I see a man and a woman falling to the ground to avoid my badly aimed ball. The woman is screaming and crying as it nearly took off her head, I am horrified.
According to my husband it missed the couple by about 30 feet, and in reality, they only just looked over at me as the ball went flying past them, but I was still horrified. I actually cried, I was so embarrassed.
We move onto hole 3, I have snot running down my face and no tissues to clean up the mess. My husband is horrified because I'm so upset about it, "Honey, I do it all the time, calm down!"
Holes 3 through 8, I manage to find my swing and do rather well. Putting....I just give up on at this point, I'm so bad. Oh! On hole 8, I almost hit some ducks...pretty much right after saying to my husband, "if I hit a damn duck, I quit!" Fortunately, my shank saved their lives. Why on earth would you live on or near a golf course?
On hole 9, we are waiting for the group ahead of us to finish putting, so I am pretending to eye up my shot. I hear this "CRACK" and a ball manages to drop behind me about 9 feet. Um...where did that come from? As it turns out the dude I almost shot the ball at near the 2nd hole is trying to make it even, karma, who knew?!
We watch as the couple behind us takes about 4 shots to get near the green for their hole. I'm pretty sure you get one try, but hey, they have the range to knock out a few of my teeth, so I'm not going to argue.
FINALLY, the people ahead of us move along and I line up my shot. It was downhill and curved to the right, so even with my shanking ability, I relaxed a little. Bad idea. I managed to get enough distance and curve on the stupid thing to send it sailing right towards....you guessed it, the couple behind us. Well crap, now I'm one up on the karmic screw you meter. The hubby lines up his shot, it looked and sounded great until it suddenly curved towards the right. Evidently he decided that his karmic scale needed adjusting too.
Shoulders slumped, we get into our golf cart and drive towards the balls. We exchange a laugh and some pleasantries with the couple as we pass on the path. Upon finding our balls, we discover my ball landed about 3 feet from the lady taking her shot, and hubby's ball tried to take out their golf cart. By this point I am pretty rattled at my near misses with killing people and ducks.
Next couple of holes have houses directly on the course...on the right hand side. I told hubby that I wasn't going to be responsible for breaking some person's window, karma was not on my side today. For the next couple of holes, I pretended to be his chauffeur, until I convinced him that I was starving and would live no longer.
So golfing is not really my thing, when accuracy is required in order to not kill people or destroy property. I'll stick to golfing on military bases, nothing but open space there!
To make up for my near involuntary manslaughter charges, hubby took me and the family out to dinner and most importantly...wine tasting at San Pasqual Winery! I am a firm believer in drowning my embarrassment in a glass of wine or three. Important note here: I HATE being sang to in restaurants, absolutely loathe it.
As I tried to enjoy my salted caramel chocolate cake with a glass of port, hubby gets Little Dude and Princess to sing "Happy Birthday" to me. It was sweet...until the other 20-30 people joined in that were also wine tasting.
The laughable part came when the others didn't know who they were wishing Happy Birthday to, so there was a pause. The kiddos sang, "to Mommy!" then the 20-30 other people joined in, "to Mommy!" and continued on. My face turned beet red and I actually enjoyed myself!
All-in-all, it was a pretty good 34th birthday! Thank you to my immediate family and to the "kids" I now have at the San Pasqual Winery.
My husband took me to an narrow par 3 golf course to celebrate my birthday. He also wanted to get me back in the swing of things. (I could go all day with puns, but I'll try to stop.) I haven't golfed in a little over two years and we decided to skip practice on the driving range, so it was a little stressful for me.
For some reason I have a pretty good knack at driving the crap out of the ball. For a girl, I hit pretty darn far. I am not a putter, I just cannot get a handle on soft swings. In my limited experience on golf courses, I usually have to whack the heck out of the ball to get it remotely close to the putting area. Keeping this in mind, we step up to the first hole and my husband tells me to use a 7 iron, I said, "Say what?!"
He started blathering about yardage and it only being par 3; I phased him out because I'm not great with my irons. I love my woods, so I glanced at them longingly and grab my 7. I am strictly a whack it, then attempt at putting the ball into the hole in less than 10 strokes. Yes, I said 10. For today's game I limited myself to 3 tries...nope, still didn't make it.
I walk up, drop my nice bright pink ball down (it's honestly because I can't see the white balls and my husband stole all my fluorescent orange balls). I get ready to swing, take my mandatory deep breathe and whack it. Thankfully there was this 30 foot high net that prevented my horrible shank from sailing into a car window on the busy street next to us.
Well that sucked! I won't even include my putting attempts in this post, because honestly, it's just plain embarrassing. So onto hole 2.
Hubby takes out his 5 wood and walks toward the tee. I got so excited about being able to use my wood, this day was turning around! I pick my 3 wood, give it a quick kiss and skip towards the tee. This is 1 of 2 holes on the entire course that are par 4. Yay! I get a chance to whack the ball, I'm so happy.
Hubby takes his shot and it sails beautifully straight toward that checkered flag, yards down the green. I step up, pink ball in hand, and line up to take my shot. I whacked it...right towards the people putting on hole 1.
I yell, "FORE!" for the first time in my life. Then in slow motion, I see a man and a woman falling to the ground to avoid my badly aimed ball. The woman is screaming and crying as it nearly took off her head, I am horrified.
According to my husband it missed the couple by about 30 feet, and in reality, they only just looked over at me as the ball went flying past them, but I was still horrified. I actually cried, I was so embarrassed.
We move onto hole 3, I have snot running down my face and no tissues to clean up the mess. My husband is horrified because I'm so upset about it, "Honey, I do it all the time, calm down!"
Holes 3 through 8, I manage to find my swing and do rather well. Putting....I just give up on at this point, I'm so bad. Oh! On hole 8, I almost hit some ducks...pretty much right after saying to my husband, "if I hit a damn duck, I quit!" Fortunately, my shank saved their lives. Why on earth would you live on or near a golf course?
On hole 9, we are waiting for the group ahead of us to finish putting, so I am pretending to eye up my shot. I hear this "CRACK" and a ball manages to drop behind me about 9 feet. Um...where did that come from? As it turns out the dude I almost shot the ball at near the 2nd hole is trying to make it even, karma, who knew?!
We watch as the couple behind us takes about 4 shots to get near the green for their hole. I'm pretty sure you get one try, but hey, they have the range to knock out a few of my teeth, so I'm not going to argue.
FINALLY, the people ahead of us move along and I line up my shot. It was downhill and curved to the right, so even with my shanking ability, I relaxed a little. Bad idea. I managed to get enough distance and curve on the stupid thing to send it sailing right towards....you guessed it, the couple behind us. Well crap, now I'm one up on the karmic screw you meter. The hubby lines up his shot, it looked and sounded great until it suddenly curved towards the right. Evidently he decided that his karmic scale needed adjusting too.
Shoulders slumped, we get into our golf cart and drive towards the balls. We exchange a laugh and some pleasantries with the couple as we pass on the path. Upon finding our balls, we discover my ball landed about 3 feet from the lady taking her shot, and hubby's ball tried to take out their golf cart. By this point I am pretty rattled at my near misses with killing people and ducks.
Next couple of holes have houses directly on the course...on the right hand side. I told hubby that I wasn't going to be responsible for breaking some person's window, karma was not on my side today. For the next couple of holes, I pretended to be his chauffeur, until I convinced him that I was starving and would live no longer.
So golfing is not really my thing, when accuracy is required in order to not kill people or destroy property. I'll stick to golfing on military bases, nothing but open space there!
To make up for my near involuntary manslaughter charges, hubby took me and the family out to dinner and most importantly...wine tasting at San Pasqual Winery! I am a firm believer in drowning my embarrassment in a glass of wine or three. Important note here: I HATE being sang to in restaurants, absolutely loathe it.
As I tried to enjoy my salted caramel chocolate cake with a glass of port, hubby gets Little Dude and Princess to sing "Happy Birthday" to me. It was sweet...until the other 20-30 people joined in that were also wine tasting.
The laughable part came when the others didn't know who they were wishing Happy Birthday to, so there was a pause. The kiddos sang, "to Mommy!" then the 20-30 other people joined in, "to Mommy!" and continued on. My face turned beet red and I actually enjoyed myself!
All-in-all, it was a pretty good 34th birthday! Thank you to my immediate family and to the "kids" I now have at the San Pasqual Winery.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Story Time
My husband loves to tell stories to the kids, whether they are from books or his strange imagination. Either way, the kids are sitting around him with this amazing attention you don't see in an average 6 or 3 year-old.
If he reads from a book, the entertainment value is amazing! Imagine a guy from North Dakota reading about princesses or animals with a Southern gentleman drawl or some guy with a Bayou accent. (Imagine the firefly from "Princess and the Frog", reading a Dr. Suess book.) The kids don't realize the comedic value in this, they just sit in absolute awe as he becomes these characters.
Right now Military Dad is on the couch telling them this awful story about he beat up SpiderMan, yes, SpiderMan. The kids are sitting on the floor in front of the couch, staring at him while he spins this story (pun intended). During the narrative, they ask him questions. Normally he hates to be interrupted, but on this occasion he welcomes the questions in order to add to his creation. Some of the questions the kiddos ask, would trip up a normal person, but no, he just includes it in his story as though it always fit.
Tonight's story time began with a few Mo Willems books read in Military Dad's idea of a Southern accent. When the books were done, Little Dude asks Military Dad to tell him a story about SpiderMan. MD smiles and sits back down on the couch. Little Dude and Princess break into a fight over who gets the best seat in front of him on the carpet to hear the story. Once the blood is cleaned up, MD begins his story.
Long story short: MD was walking along the street when Spiderman asked him if he would like to take his place, as he was retiring from superhero work. Spiderman had him go through surgery to insert web throwers into his wrists. (Yes, he included valium and his recovery period in his tale.)
Spiderman wanted to make sure he was strong enough, so MD suggested an arm wrestling tournament. MD beat him and won a semi. (Huh where did that come from? Oh yeah, worst movie ever!)
Spiderman wanted to make sure he was fast enough so he wagered a contest: travel from San Diego to Kansas City, eat a burnt-end sandwich, then return to San Diego.
Princess: did you win Daddy?
MD: Yes, I won! I made it back in 27 seconds, Spiderman took 3 days!
Princess: Wow. (Notice the lack of exclamation point, she may be starting to recognize BS when she hears it, I'm so proud!)
MD: I know, right?!
Then MD, continues the story by berating Spiderman on how long it took him to make it back to San Diego. Then MD decides to be a bad guy and throw him off the top of a 12 story building.
Princess: What happened to Spiderman?
MD: Um, well since the surgery he couldn't throw webs anymore, so he fell 12 stories and was crushed like a real spider.
Princess: Oh. Can I tell my story now?
While Princess doesn't quite have the experience that MD has with BS, her creativity and imagination knows no bounds. In a few years, she may give him a run for his money.
I'm not sure I'm excited about this, though. My story-telling is non-existent in comparison and I can't read books with a Bayou accent.
Guess I'll just be the analytical parent who can put Legos and puzzles together, while the story-teller struggles with the simple instructions.
If he reads from a book, the entertainment value is amazing! Imagine a guy from North Dakota reading about princesses or animals with a Southern gentleman drawl or some guy with a Bayou accent. (Imagine the firefly from "Princess and the Frog", reading a Dr. Suess book.) The kids don't realize the comedic value in this, they just sit in absolute awe as he becomes these characters.
Right now Military Dad is on the couch telling them this awful story about he beat up SpiderMan, yes, SpiderMan. The kids are sitting on the floor in front of the couch, staring at him while he spins this story (pun intended). During the narrative, they ask him questions. Normally he hates to be interrupted, but on this occasion he welcomes the questions in order to add to his creation. Some of the questions the kiddos ask, would trip up a normal person, but no, he just includes it in his story as though it always fit.
Tonight's story time began with a few Mo Willems books read in Military Dad's idea of a Southern accent. When the books were done, Little Dude asks Military Dad to tell him a story about SpiderMan. MD smiles and sits back down on the couch. Little Dude and Princess break into a fight over who gets the best seat in front of him on the carpet to hear the story. Once the blood is cleaned up, MD begins his story.
Long story short: MD was walking along the street when Spiderman asked him if he would like to take his place, as he was retiring from superhero work. Spiderman had him go through surgery to insert web throwers into his wrists. (Yes, he included valium and his recovery period in his tale.)
Spiderman wanted to make sure he was strong enough, so MD suggested an arm wrestling tournament. MD beat him and won a semi. (Huh where did that come from? Oh yeah, worst movie ever!)
Spiderman wanted to make sure he was fast enough so he wagered a contest: travel from San Diego to Kansas City, eat a burnt-end sandwich, then return to San Diego.
Princess: did you win Daddy?
MD: Yes, I won! I made it back in 27 seconds, Spiderman took 3 days!
Princess: Wow. (Notice the lack of exclamation point, she may be starting to recognize BS when she hears it, I'm so proud!)
MD: I know, right?!
Then MD, continues the story by berating Spiderman on how long it took him to make it back to San Diego. Then MD decides to be a bad guy and throw him off the top of a 12 story building.
Princess: What happened to Spiderman?
MD: Um, well since the surgery he couldn't throw webs anymore, so he fell 12 stories and was crushed like a real spider.
Princess: Oh. Can I tell my story now?
While Princess doesn't quite have the experience that MD has with BS, her creativity and imagination knows no bounds. In a few years, she may give him a run for his money.
I'm not sure I'm excited about this, though. My story-telling is non-existent in comparison and I can't read books with a Bayou accent.
Guess I'll just be the analytical parent who can put Legos and puzzles together, while the story-teller struggles with the simple instructions.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Food - I love you, why don't you love me?
I have a love/hate relationship with food. I love it, but it hates me.
"Hi, my name is ME and I am a stress eater."
For some psycho-babble reason, it seems to make things feel better for that split second. I realize therapists all over the world are crying out, "Replace that feeling with something that actually makes you feel good. Activities that make you laugh, blah, blah."
I manage to think long and hard before I stress eat, so I'm making progress. I try my best to drink a large glass of water or leave the room completely; however, sometimes that spoonful of peanut butter mixed with another spoonful of dark chocolate chips just TASTES awesome!
Since I don't enjoy exercising (on purpose), I have to monitor what I eat closer than non-stress eaters do. Plus I have low blood sugar issues and my families genetics SUCK! Due to genetics I now have, and will continue to have, cholesterol problems. Yes, I do realize that a small amount (30 min everyday) of exercise would cure most of my problems, but it's the motivation I lack. Once I'm exercising, I'm fine, I even enjoy it!
Recently, I went full-on vegetarian (okay, so not full-on, I eat fish and dairy/eggs - so I'm a pesky ovolacto Unitarian or something) so that adds another hitch in my food monitoring. Also, since I don't eat meat I now have low iron levels to worry about. Not usually a problem, however being a woman, evidently you pretty much deplete your iron stores on a monthly basis, yay! But how much iron do I need? What if I eat too much iron? Ugh!
This is how I came to have an appointment with a dietician. Other than the fact that I've been monitoring the wrong things and my genetics suck, it was actually a great appointment. If your insurance will pay for it or you have a YMCA near you (ours has a dietician), I recommend consulting with some sort of nutrition specialist. (**For those of you with spelling OCDs: dietician and dietitian are the same thing, I looked it up because Google said I spelled it wrong.)
After browsing through the multitude of handouts, I am actually doing a decent job eating healthy (aside from the stress thing). Getting rid of meat in my diet is actually 1/3 of my battle with cholesterol; dairy and genetics are the other two-thirds. My real struggle comes from the fact that I evidently monitor and eat the wrong fats.
DISCLAIMER: I'm not and never will be a dietician so go see one for yourself, because you are not me and may have different diet and genetic suckage to deal with.
One of the many handouts explained the whole saturated/unsaturated fat business in a way I understand...it had pictures! Plus, I added the all-important arrows indicating what the different fats did to my cholesterol. My dietician helped explain the LDL and HDL thing.
HDL is good stuff, it helps gets rid of the LDL which is the nasty stuff that sticks in your arteries. I'm still lost on triglycerides, but that is because mine seem to be fine so we didn't touch on that.
Basically your natural oils (olive, peanut butter & nuts) help increase your HDL and decrease your LDL. Fried stuff, we all know is bad, but it's BECAUSE it lowers your HDL and raises your LDL. Ah HA! I'm not very good at, "Don't do that, it's bad for you!" I need explanations and reasons for things I should do.
Avoiding fats altogether is bad too (did not know this) because good fats are needed to raise your HDL. If you don't eat them, no matter how "healthy" your diet, genetics come in and have a SUCK parade all over your healthy food.
Now I get to do what I hate to do, count calories! Ugh! It's more the vitamin, fat and iron levels I am monitoring, but I still hate it. If anyone has any recommendations for free apps for an android phone, I'd love the help!
Also, if anyone has any recommendations for vegetarian, healthy snacks that I can use for my stress eating I would love the help! My go-to snack is peanut butter with dark chocolate chips added, horrible, I know...but oh SO GOOD! Working on my stress eating will be a whole different post, so let's not go there!
"Hi, my name is ME and I am a stress eater."
For some psycho-babble reason, it seems to make things feel better for that split second. I realize therapists all over the world are crying out, "Replace that feeling with something that actually makes you feel good. Activities that make you laugh, blah, blah."
I manage to think long and hard before I stress eat, so I'm making progress. I try my best to drink a large glass of water or leave the room completely; however, sometimes that spoonful of peanut butter mixed with another spoonful of dark chocolate chips just TASTES awesome!
Since I don't enjoy exercising (on purpose), I have to monitor what I eat closer than non-stress eaters do. Plus I have low blood sugar issues and my families genetics SUCK! Due to genetics I now have, and will continue to have, cholesterol problems. Yes, I do realize that a small amount (30 min everyday) of exercise would cure most of my problems, but it's the motivation I lack. Once I'm exercising, I'm fine, I even enjoy it!
Recently, I went full-on vegetarian (okay, so not full-on, I eat fish and dairy/eggs - so I'm a pesky ovolacto Unitarian or something) so that adds another hitch in my food monitoring. Also, since I don't eat meat I now have low iron levels to worry about. Not usually a problem, however being a woman, evidently you pretty much deplete your iron stores on a monthly basis, yay! But how much iron do I need? What if I eat too much iron? Ugh!
This is how I came to have an appointment with a dietician. Other than the fact that I've been monitoring the wrong things and my genetics suck, it was actually a great appointment. If your insurance will pay for it or you have a YMCA near you (ours has a dietician), I recommend consulting with some sort of nutrition specialist. (**For those of you with spelling OCDs: dietician and dietitian are the same thing, I looked it up because Google said I spelled it wrong.)
After browsing through the multitude of handouts, I am actually doing a decent job eating healthy (aside from the stress thing). Getting rid of meat in my diet is actually 1/3 of my battle with cholesterol; dairy and genetics are the other two-thirds. My real struggle comes from the fact that I evidently monitor and eat the wrong fats.
DISCLAIMER: I'm not and never will be a dietician so go see one for yourself, because you are not me and may have different diet and genetic suckage to deal with.
One of the many handouts explained the whole saturated/unsaturated fat business in a way I understand...it had pictures! Plus, I added the all-important arrows indicating what the different fats did to my cholesterol. My dietician helped explain the LDL and HDL thing.
HDL is good stuff, it helps gets rid of the LDL which is the nasty stuff that sticks in your arteries. I'm still lost on triglycerides, but that is because mine seem to be fine so we didn't touch on that.
Basically your natural oils (olive, peanut butter & nuts) help increase your HDL and decrease your LDL. Fried stuff, we all know is bad, but it's BECAUSE it lowers your HDL and raises your LDL. Ah HA! I'm not very good at, "Don't do that, it's bad for you!" I need explanations and reasons for things I should do.
Avoiding fats altogether is bad too (did not know this) because good fats are needed to raise your HDL. If you don't eat them, no matter how "healthy" your diet, genetics come in and have a SUCK parade all over your healthy food.
Now I get to do what I hate to do, count calories! Ugh! It's more the vitamin, fat and iron levels I am monitoring, but I still hate it. If anyone has any recommendations for free apps for an android phone, I'd love the help!
Also, if anyone has any recommendations for vegetarian, healthy snacks that I can use for my stress eating I would love the help! My go-to snack is peanut butter with dark chocolate chips added, horrible, I know...but oh SO GOOD! Working on my stress eating will be a whole different post, so let's not go there!
Saturday, June 23, 2012
I'm not perfect
Wow! That was kind of hard to say! I know I'm not perfect, but you all don't know that! My husband says I'm perfect all the time, but now that I think about it, he may be lying!
Seriously though, there are very few of us who are actually perfect in any way, that's what makes us special and unique. Some people can do things others of us can't.
For example, without being formally taught, I managed to teach myself how to sew on a machine, and I do it rather well. Can't sew a button on to save my life, but I can use a machine quite well. There are other things out there I seem to have this natural ability at doing, which make me seem like a super hero to some members of my family. Mailing is not one of these things.
Mailing anything, not just packages. This is one woman who truly appreciates and knows the value of online bill-pay! If it wasn't for online shopping, Iprobably wouldn't get any gifts to my friends and family either.
My husband says I have a process and if I were to send Christmas gifts in the summer months, they would get there on time. You ask, "seriously, it's June, what postal process takes 6 months to get to its destination?"
Mine!
Here is my normal timeline for mailing packages:
I buy the item and it sits on my table, or some random place, until the next step, which is wrapping the item. This first step can take weeks, months even, if I don't have the right wrapping paper! The poor item gets moved around, from place to place, until I manage to force myself to take the 2 minutes to wrap it.
Yay! Now it's wrapped, now I need to put it in a box. If I have the box, just lying around, then this process is quick and painless. If I don't have the box, add another couple of weeks.
You're thinking to yourself, "Now she only has to drive it to the post office and she's done!" Ha! I laugh out of sympathy for your thoughts. This is the step that can actually break me.
Now the package seems to disappear into this place of limbo, where it somehow manages to become "out of sight, out of mind." The package will sit somewhere in the house, waiting patiently to make it to the car for distribution. If the package was fluorescent, or any other color than white or brown, this process could be shortened dramatically. However, the postal service seems to enjoy white and brown packages, plus I'm too cheap and paranoid to buy the present looking packages. (The paranoia comes from my mother. I'll have to write a post about our family Christmas' another day!)
I actually had some books that I was mailing back to my mother and I managed to get everything done in a day, since it didn't require wrapping. I felt that the winds of change were upon me and I was going to get past this awful affliction. Nope.
I set it in the car so I could take it to the post office next time I was out and about. Due to some interesting driving we have in California, the box managed to fall off the seat and slip under the driver's seat. There the package sat for 2 months, until my mother-in-law accidentally found it then mailed it for me. Somewhere in my mind, I had already mailed my mother that package,so imagine my surprise!
Fortunately I have a supportive husband who realizes my weakness and tries his best to mail it for me, once I get it to the package stage. If it hadn't been for my mother-in-law, those books would still be underneath the seat!
Here is a big THANK YOU to my friends and family for putting up with my inability to mail things. Even the not-so-gentle reminders are helpful. To my newer friends, you better hope I can shop on-line for you, otherwise you better have some patience!
Seriously though, there are very few of us who are actually perfect in any way, that's what makes us special and unique. Some people can do things others of us can't.
For example, without being formally taught, I managed to teach myself how to sew on a machine, and I do it rather well. Can't sew a button on to save my life, but I can use a machine quite well. There are other things out there I seem to have this natural ability at doing, which make me seem like a super hero to some members of my family. Mailing is not one of these things.
Mailing anything, not just packages. This is one woman who truly appreciates and knows the value of online bill-pay! If it wasn't for online shopping, I
My husband says I have a process and if I were to send Christmas gifts in the summer months, they would get there on time. You ask, "seriously, it's June, what postal process takes 6 months to get to its destination?"
Mine!
Here is my normal timeline for mailing packages:
I buy the item and it sits on my table, or some random place, until the next step, which is wrapping the item. This first step can take weeks, months even, if I don't have the right wrapping paper! The poor item gets moved around, from place to place, until I manage to force myself to take the 2 minutes to wrap it.
Yay! Now it's wrapped, now I need to put it in a box. If I have the box, just lying around, then this process is quick and painless. If I don't have the box, add another couple of weeks.
You're thinking to yourself, "Now she only has to drive it to the post office and she's done!" Ha! I laugh out of sympathy for your thoughts. This is the step that can actually break me.
Now the package seems to disappear into this place of limbo, where it somehow manages to become "out of sight, out of mind." The package will sit somewhere in the house, waiting patiently to make it to the car for distribution. If the package was fluorescent, or any other color than white or brown, this process could be shortened dramatically. However, the postal service seems to enjoy white and brown packages, plus I'm too cheap and paranoid to buy the present looking packages. (The paranoia comes from my mother. I'll have to write a post about our family Christmas' another day!)
I actually had some books that I was mailing back to my mother and I managed to get everything done in a day, since it didn't require wrapping. I felt that the winds of change were upon me and I was going to get past this awful affliction. Nope.
I set it in the car so I could take it to the post office next time I was out and about. Due to some interesting driving we have in California, the box managed to fall off the seat and slip under the driver's seat. There the package sat for 2 months, until my mother-in-law accidentally found it then mailed it for me. Somewhere in my mind, I had already mailed my mother that package,so imagine my surprise!
Fortunately I have a supportive husband who realizes my weakness and tries his best to mail it for me, once I get it to the package stage. If it hadn't been for my mother-in-law, those books would still be underneath the seat!
Here is a big THANK YOU to my friends and family for putting up with my inability to mail things. Even the not-so-gentle reminders are helpful. To my newer friends, you better hope I can shop on-line for you, otherwise you better have some patience!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Optimism and how it doesn't always work
I try to consider myself an optimist, some of the time. For the most part, I am truly a pessimist. I have a hard time putting positive spins on difficult situations. Since I seem to get myself into difficult situations, pretty regularly, I tend to be a little negative.
The only time I can honestly be 100% positive about something, is when it involves me doing less work, or making my job easier. I believe in the "work smarter, not harder" philosophy or as I put it "the being more efficient with my laziness" idea.
My family and I are avid animal lovers. We have two dogs and a cat who are part of our family. I've already discussed the dogs being trained and what a disaster that is. Now we get to discuss the cat.
If any of you have cats, you realize straight away that cats are not really trainable. Cats are cats and they seem to be happy with it, therefore you should be too. They do their own thing, whether you like it or not. About all you can train them to do is come running when they hear a can opener a mile away or use the cat box.
We have had our cat, Chu, for almost 8 years. She is a wonderful cat, we even believe she has some sort of magical healing ability. However, her wake up calls for food at 5 AM would be more wonderful if they had a snooze button. She does not appreciate being pushed away in the morning when she is hungry. Alarm clocks don't complain, they just shut up. Chu gets upset and becomes obsessed with waking your dead butt up.
The one complaint we have is the same as any other cat owner: cleaning the litter pan. Seriously, it's just gross. Plus, she decides that right after I am done scooping her daily deposits, she HAS to use it immediately after. Plus you know that if you have a dog, they like to help out, which is beyond disgusting.
This is where my optimism hit hard. I saw an add somewhere showing a cat using the toilet to go to the bathroom. (The picture was absolutely awful, may have scarred me for life, however the idea was brilliant! I wouldn't mind flushing a few deposits every once in awhile. Heck, I already do it for my 3 year old son, why not add a cat?!
I do my normal Google research and find a few products that guarantee results and what not. After discussing this with my husband, I decide to buy the product anyway. (By the way, my husband was not as thrilled with this idea as I was).
The product comes in the mail and I'm excited! Yay, no more scooping cat poo! Then I open the package and read the instructions...4 weeks of preparation, then 8 weeks until possible results!!! Optimism fading...
Preparation involves moving the already established litter box into the bathroom, right next to the toilet. Then over the next few weeks you change the litter to a flushable variety. Moving the litter box into the bathroom, did slow down and eventually prevent the dogs from helping out, which if nothing else, was worth it. However, the cat litter that gets flung outside the box is now being stepped on at 3 AM in the morning. Not to mention the strange experience of being on the toilet while the cat comes in and poos beside you. I begin to think if this is really worth it?
Now that Chu is switched over to flushable litter and is comfortable using the litter box in our bathroom, we get to move on to the actual toilet training. Yay!
First step involves raising the litter box slowly to the level of the toilet, so they get used to going to the bathroom at that height. 3 weeks later, she is now going to the bathroom at the same height as the people in the house.
Second step is to install the fake toilet insert onto the toilet. This step involves putting a plastic toilet bowl shaped litter box onto the toilet. This pretty much stops you from using this particular toilet for a few weeks. As the cat gets used to using the littler box on top of the toilet, you cut out rings in the plastic insert. Eventually they don't miss the litter being there and go in the toilet.
We didn't get past the litter box height. Our cat is rather set in her litter box ways. She in a few ways told me that she was refusing to use the people toilet and wasn't even going to consider life without her box. My optimism is now back at my normal level of non-existence.
However, I saw another do-it-yourself video on YouTube where you make an automatic cat feeder. Yay!
The only time I can honestly be 100% positive about something, is when it involves me doing less work, or making my job easier. I believe in the "work smarter, not harder" philosophy or as I put it "the being more efficient with my laziness" idea.
My family and I are avid animal lovers. We have two dogs and a cat who are part of our family. I've already discussed the dogs being trained and what a disaster that is. Now we get to discuss the cat.
If any of you have cats, you realize straight away that cats are not really trainable. Cats are cats and they seem to be happy with it, therefore you should be too. They do their own thing, whether you like it or not. About all you can train them to do is come running when they hear a can opener a mile away or use the cat box.
We have had our cat, Chu, for almost 8 years. She is a wonderful cat, we even believe she has some sort of magical healing ability. However, her wake up calls for food at 5 AM would be more wonderful if they had a snooze button. She does not appreciate being pushed away in the morning when she is hungry. Alarm clocks don't complain, they just shut up. Chu gets upset and becomes obsessed with waking your dead butt up.
The one complaint we have is the same as any other cat owner: cleaning the litter pan. Seriously, it's just gross. Plus, she decides that right after I am done scooping her daily deposits, she HAS to use it immediately after. Plus you know that if you have a dog, they like to help out, which is beyond disgusting.
This is where my optimism hit hard. I saw an add somewhere showing a cat using the toilet to go to the bathroom. (The picture was absolutely awful, may have scarred me for life, however the idea was brilliant! I wouldn't mind flushing a few deposits every once in awhile. Heck, I already do it for my 3 year old son, why not add a cat?!
I do my normal Google research and find a few products that guarantee results and what not. After discussing this with my husband, I decide to buy the product anyway. (By the way, my husband was not as thrilled with this idea as I was).
The product comes in the mail and I'm excited! Yay, no more scooping cat poo! Then I open the package and read the instructions...4 weeks of preparation, then 8 weeks until possible results!!! Optimism fading...
Preparation involves moving the already established litter box into the bathroom, right next to the toilet. Then over the next few weeks you change the litter to a flushable variety. Moving the litter box into the bathroom, did slow down and eventually prevent the dogs from helping out, which if nothing else, was worth it. However, the cat litter that gets flung outside the box is now being stepped on at 3 AM in the morning. Not to mention the strange experience of being on the toilet while the cat comes in and poos beside you. I begin to think if this is really worth it?
Now that Chu is switched over to flushable litter and is comfortable using the litter box in our bathroom, we get to move on to the actual toilet training. Yay!
First step involves raising the litter box slowly to the level of the toilet, so they get used to going to the bathroom at that height. 3 weeks later, she is now going to the bathroom at the same height as the people in the house.
Second step is to install the fake toilet insert onto the toilet. This step involves putting a plastic toilet bowl shaped litter box onto the toilet. This pretty much stops you from using this particular toilet for a few weeks. As the cat gets used to using the littler box on top of the toilet, you cut out rings in the plastic insert. Eventually they don't miss the litter being there and go in the toilet.
We didn't get past the litter box height. Our cat is rather set in her litter box ways. She in a few ways told me that she was refusing to use the people toilet and wasn't even going to consider life without her box. My optimism is now back at my normal level of non-existence.
However, I saw another do-it-yourself video on YouTube where you make an automatic cat feeder. Yay!
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