It seems that a local, neighborhood magazine has an opening for a columnist. At the suggestion of a friend, I applied. I had to send in writing samples, which I chose from this Blog. I picked some paragraphs from various Blog entries that I thought were funny and relevant. Then I also included a piece I wrote for Southern Living but was too chicken to send in.
Right off the bat, I broke a job application rule: don't give them more than they ask for. The editor wanted 350 words, and I sent more than that. But it was necessary! How can you tell anything about anyone in 350 words? I really wanted him to get a feel for me and who I am. Sometimes I write things that are - I think -funny. Sometimes I write about sad things, or frustrating things, or ridiculous things. I mostly do it just for me. It's a way to vent, and I enjoy going back and reading about where I was "way back when".
This is riskier, though. For one of the first times, I sent my writing samples to someone I don't really know. It's terrifying. (and Therese's fault - it was her idea.) It's really hard to put yourself out there for a "stranger" to evaluate. Your personal thoughts and feelings up for review.
But what if it works? What if I get the chance to express myself on a larger scale? What if what I write resonates with someone else? Or a bunch of someone elses? It's these thoughts that got me to send the email.
I don't know anything about the position. I don't even know if it pays anything. But I applied anyway.
Because it's worth the risk of rejection to me - that opportunity. That opportunity to reach someone; to relate to someone.
Oh - and to be FABULOUSLY FAMOUS AND ENVIED BY ALL!!!
(oops - did I just say that? Got carried away for a minute. While I was picturing the scene in Lord of the Rings: Fellowship where Frodo offers Galadrial the one ring, and she turns all weird and says "Instead you would have a Queen! Beautiful and terrible as the sun....all will love me and despair...")
Monday, October 3, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The Edwards Family Goes To Washington
This past weekend, we were lucky to have the chance to take our kids to Washington DC for the very first time. We did a TON of stuff in just a few days: White House Tour; Captol Tour; Air & Space Museum; Natural History Museum; National Book Fair on The Mall; Several of the Monuments by moonlight; The National Archives. It was all pretty awesome.
There were a few moments that stood out for me, though.
When we were in the Museum of Natural History, we stopped in a Physical Anthropolgy exhibit. It had all sorts of skeletons on display, and featured a hands-on lab for the kids. Each station in the lab had a few skeletal items (mandibles, vertebrae, etc,) Then each one had a CSI-like tablet where there was a "mystery"...did this bone suffer trauma? What caused the strange growth? Was the injury pre or post mortem?
Karlin was happily and intensely working at a station, examining the parts and trying to solve the mystery. The Education staff member came over and welcomed her, and said "We encourage you to touch everything, but please be gentle, as these are real human bones." Karlin was still for a half-beat, then dropped those bones like they had been on fire. She was appalled that they were isung REAL HUMAN BONES. Only the promise of large amounts of hand sanitizer would convince her to re-engage.
We stopped at the relatively new WWII Memorial. If you haven't been, it's beautiful and moving and touching. There is a wall along the backside that has 1 gold star for every American killed in the war. In front of that wall, someone had left 2 perfect white roses. I found Karlin standing there, looking at the roses. She looked at me and said "Look - someone left these roses here." And I said "Yes - they probably left them for someone who died in the war." She looked back at the wall and said "But..that's so sad. All those people died and it's so sad. I just feel like I should leave something too, for all those people." She was actually teary-eyed, which got me crying too. I explained that yes - it WAS sad. And the point of the memorial was not only to honor and remember the people who fought and died, but also to serve as a reminder that the war had happened, and why. I was awed and moved by the fact that her 10 year old brain was so touched by that Monument.
On our last day, we were catching the Metro train for the final time. We had been using it for 3 days, and although it was the kid's first time on public transportation, they got the hang of it pretty quick. If you've never ridden it, you basically have to decide which color line you're on, and then you determine which direction based on where the final stop is. On that last day, we walked in and I said "we're on yellow again." Bart said "Which direction?" Chase, without missing a beat, slid his fare pass in, walked through the gate, and said "Yellow to Fort Tottum, Dad." After 3 days, the kid was a Metro Pro.
On our first day back, several of the neighborhood kids came over after school. I let them in the hallway, and they asked what we had seen. Before I could answer, Chase appeared at the top of the stairs and yelled "We saw the Declaration of Independance!" Well, we did - it was true. But it was NOT the first thing I thought the 7 year old would mention. I thought for sure he would bring up the 3-story rockets in the Space Museum, or the giant Mammoth in the Natural History Museum, or the giant Abe Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial. But no - he told them about the Declaration of Independance. We went through the Rotunda at the Archives, and saw the Constitution, and the Declaration of Independance, and the Bill of Rights. I KNOW Chase didn't fully grasp what we were looking at or why, but he was quiet and well behaved and respectful just the same. I tried to give him a quick-and-dirty rundown of what those papers meant, and of how old they were. It amazes me that he actually took something away from that experience.
Children are amazing creatures. It never ceases to amaze me the things they see, the way they respond to thing, and the things that stick with them.
And today - 3 days later - Karlin asked me what the difference is between the Republican Party and the Democratic Party. We may have to go back to Washington soon...
There were a few moments that stood out for me, though.
When we were in the Museum of Natural History, we stopped in a Physical Anthropolgy exhibit. It had all sorts of skeletons on display, and featured a hands-on lab for the kids. Each station in the lab had a few skeletal items (mandibles, vertebrae, etc,) Then each one had a CSI-like tablet where there was a "mystery"...did this bone suffer trauma? What caused the strange growth? Was the injury pre or post mortem?
Karlin was happily and intensely working at a station, examining the parts and trying to solve the mystery. The Education staff member came over and welcomed her, and said "We encourage you to touch everything, but please be gentle, as these are real human bones." Karlin was still for a half-beat, then dropped those bones like they had been on fire. She was appalled that they were isung REAL HUMAN BONES. Only the promise of large amounts of hand sanitizer would convince her to re-engage.
We stopped at the relatively new WWII Memorial. If you haven't been, it's beautiful and moving and touching. There is a wall along the backside that has 1 gold star for every American killed in the war. In front of that wall, someone had left 2 perfect white roses. I found Karlin standing there, looking at the roses. She looked at me and said "Look - someone left these roses here." And I said "Yes - they probably left them for someone who died in the war." She looked back at the wall and said "But..that's so sad. All those people died and it's so sad. I just feel like I should leave something too, for all those people." She was actually teary-eyed, which got me crying too. I explained that yes - it WAS sad. And the point of the memorial was not only to honor and remember the people who fought and died, but also to serve as a reminder that the war had happened, and why. I was awed and moved by the fact that her 10 year old brain was so touched by that Monument.
On our last day, we were catching the Metro train for the final time. We had been using it for 3 days, and although it was the kid's first time on public transportation, they got the hang of it pretty quick. If you've never ridden it, you basically have to decide which color line you're on, and then you determine which direction based on where the final stop is. On that last day, we walked in and I said "we're on yellow again." Bart said "Which direction?" Chase, without missing a beat, slid his fare pass in, walked through the gate, and said "Yellow to Fort Tottum, Dad." After 3 days, the kid was a Metro Pro.
On our first day back, several of the neighborhood kids came over after school. I let them in the hallway, and they asked what we had seen. Before I could answer, Chase appeared at the top of the stairs and yelled "We saw the Declaration of Independance!" Well, we did - it was true. But it was NOT the first thing I thought the 7 year old would mention. I thought for sure he would bring up the 3-story rockets in the Space Museum, or the giant Mammoth in the Natural History Museum, or the giant Abe Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial. But no - he told them about the Declaration of Independance. We went through the Rotunda at the Archives, and saw the Constitution, and the Declaration of Independance, and the Bill of Rights. I KNOW Chase didn't fully grasp what we were looking at or why, but he was quiet and well behaved and respectful just the same. I tried to give him a quick-and-dirty rundown of what those papers meant, and of how old they were. It amazes me that he actually took something away from that experience.
Children are amazing creatures. It never ceases to amaze me the things they see, the way they respond to thing, and the things that stick with them.
And today - 3 days later - Karlin asked me what the difference is between the Republican Party and the Democratic Party. We may have to go back to Washington soon...
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Communism and Castes
For some light dinner conversion last night, we had a discussion with our kids - primarily our 10 year old daughter - about Communism. Well...it didn't really start about Communism. It started out like this:
I had just finished a book called "Conquistadora" by Esmerelda Santiago. It is about a woman taking the lead in securing and running a sugar plantation in Puerto Rico in the 1840s. Anywho...I mentioned that Puerto Rico would be a great place to visit, since it's very historic and it's an American Territory. Then Bart and I were trying to figure out WHY it's an American Territory. It's most likely not economically profitable. What benefit do we get from it?
I think that we'd do a lot better if we ("we" meaning the United States) had Cuba instead. I pointed out all the tens of thousands of people in South Florida alone that would help out with THAT effort. When Bart pointed out "having Cuba" wouldn't be so easy, Karlin wanted to know why. Hence the discussion about Communism. Communism that led to us telling her that in China you are limited in the number of children you can have, and can be imprisoned for even carrying a picture of a specific religious leader in your wallet.
In all fairness to Communism, we did point out that lots of countries that are no longer Communist WISH they still were. Communism guaranteed them a job, food, electricity, etc. most of the time, where free enterprise doesn't.
Then we talked about some European countries that pay a super high tax rate, but have Socialized medicine and health care, education paid for through college, etc. We compared that to Communism, and then talked about the taxes we pay here in the States and what they provide for us. (We left out the scathing commentary of corrupt politicians and fat-cat government spending run amok.) We talked about our right to free speech, and our right to protest, and our right to "Arm Bears" (Bart's contribution, not mine. You see what I live with day in and day out...)
Then we told Karlin how very fortunate she was to be a female born in America. We told her about how - in many, many countries around the world - girls don't go to school. In some places, girls CAN'T go to school. In some places, girls are NOT ALLOWED to go to school.
We talked about how in some countries, arranged marriage is still in practice. (She was appalled about that one.) Then I brought up the Caste system, and how in some countries people are born at a particular level and they can never, ever change that.
We pointed out that America isn't perfect, but that it's a place where - if you work hard - you can get an education and the opportunity to change your lot in life.
I told both kids that I can say out loud that I don't like President Obama, and I don't think he's doing a good job, and that's NOT illegal. (In some countries you could be executed for that.) I told them that I can get a bunch of my friends together and stand on a street corner holding up signs that say we don't like President Obama and we don't think he's doing a good job, and that's OK too. We can write articles and blogs and make Facebook posts about our political/religious/social views, and that's OK. Our children - boys and girls - are guaranteed an opportunity to get an education, even if we have no money at all.
All of this was eye-opening to two little American kids who live a comfortable lifestyle.
It's good to go over this with them, though, especially since we have a trip to DC next month. You really tend to look at government differently when you read National Geographic articles about how children - particularly girls - are treated in many places around the world. It's good to remind ourselves too, especially in light of all the negativity of our Government lately, that we still have it pretty good here in the old US of A.
I had just finished a book called "Conquistadora" by Esmerelda Santiago. It is about a woman taking the lead in securing and running a sugar plantation in Puerto Rico in the 1840s. Anywho...I mentioned that Puerto Rico would be a great place to visit, since it's very historic and it's an American Territory. Then Bart and I were trying to figure out WHY it's an American Territory. It's most likely not economically profitable. What benefit do we get from it?
I think that we'd do a lot better if we ("we" meaning the United States) had Cuba instead. I pointed out all the tens of thousands of people in South Florida alone that would help out with THAT effort. When Bart pointed out "having Cuba" wouldn't be so easy, Karlin wanted to know why. Hence the discussion about Communism. Communism that led to us telling her that in China you are limited in the number of children you can have, and can be imprisoned for even carrying a picture of a specific religious leader in your wallet.
In all fairness to Communism, we did point out that lots of countries that are no longer Communist WISH they still were. Communism guaranteed them a job, food, electricity, etc. most of the time, where free enterprise doesn't.
Then we talked about some European countries that pay a super high tax rate, but have Socialized medicine and health care, education paid for through college, etc. We compared that to Communism, and then talked about the taxes we pay here in the States and what they provide for us. (We left out the scathing commentary of corrupt politicians and fat-cat government spending run amok.) We talked about our right to free speech, and our right to protest, and our right to "Arm Bears" (Bart's contribution, not mine. You see what I live with day in and day out...)
Then we told Karlin how very fortunate she was to be a female born in America. We told her about how - in many, many countries around the world - girls don't go to school. In some places, girls CAN'T go to school. In some places, girls are NOT ALLOWED to go to school.
We talked about how in some countries, arranged marriage is still in practice. (She was appalled about that one.) Then I brought up the Caste system, and how in some countries people are born at a particular level and they can never, ever change that.
We pointed out that America isn't perfect, but that it's a place where - if you work hard - you can get an education and the opportunity to change your lot in life.
I told both kids that I can say out loud that I don't like President Obama, and I don't think he's doing a good job, and that's NOT illegal. (In some countries you could be executed for that.) I told them that I can get a bunch of my friends together and stand on a street corner holding up signs that say we don't like President Obama and we don't think he's doing a good job, and that's OK too. We can write articles and blogs and make Facebook posts about our political/religious/social views, and that's OK. Our children - boys and girls - are guaranteed an opportunity to get an education, even if we have no money at all.
All of this was eye-opening to two little American kids who live a comfortable lifestyle.
It's good to go over this with them, though, especially since we have a trip to DC next month. You really tend to look at government differently when you read National Geographic articles about how children - particularly girls - are treated in many places around the world. It's good to remind ourselves too, especially in light of all the negativity of our Government lately, that we still have it pretty good here in the old US of A.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Back to the Future
I'm not even sure I should be considering a new blog, considering I haven't posted on this one for months. (some people make money off blogs, right?) But there it is.
To work or not to work - that is the question.
What motivates "stay at home moms" to go back to work? Is it the paycheck? Is it the boredom? Is it that we need ownership of something to ourselves (other than laundry)? Is it the need for feedback and/or social interaction? Is it because the perfect opportunity happens by at the right time?
I have none of the answers to this question.
On the one hand, I am getting increasingly frustrated at being the family "maid." My list of things to get done is huge, and never seems to get any shorter. Would getting a job outside the home really "fix" that, though? My list of things to get done will still be there (although I may be able to pay someone to do some of the housework.)
On the other hand, is it simply that I lack focus, discipline, and organization? Can I restructure things to make my life more efficient, more rewarding? I have 2 able-bodied children. Can't I have them increase their roles within the household?
Then there's the money aspect which, in my case, is a double-edged sword. Yes - I could use some spending money to take vacations and buy things with. But we don't really NEED money. Want? yes. Could use? Yes. Need? Not really. Taking a job, however, would most likely require a commute. In my 10 year old car. That has 145,000 miles on it. So the question that lurks out there is how long would my car last before it blew up? Right now, I don't go far (within a 4 square mile area, more or less.) So then the job necessitates a car payment. This is NOT a big deal if the job pays $50K a year. It is, however, a big deal if you are only making $13 an hour. My car has been paid off forever, and I live in fear of the car payment. And if I am working, will I have to hire a nanny or a sitter to watch my kids after school? To take them to their various practices/lessons/meetings? Because that just adds to the expense list and subtracts from the profit list.
Bart said this morning that he and I have different goals for our jobs. He wants to work to get the maximum return for the time spent. He says I want a job that's rewarding and interesting and fulfilling. It's a lot easier for him to say that, though, when he makes a good salary and works from home. My $13 an hour job probably wouldn't maximize much of anything.
Then there's another question: Do I really want to go back into fundraising, especially in this economy? When I left Zoo Atlanta, I said I was done with the "professional begging." I stumbled into the field to begin with, and although I was good at it, I never loved it. (At Zoo Atlanta, at least I could love the paychecks.) If I don't want to do fundraising, what DO I want to do?
I. DON'T. KNOW.
If I knew what I wanted to do, I could pursue a course of action in that direction. The bottom line is I have no idea what I want to do. I could just continue to Substitute Teach, which is close and convenient, but pays next to nothing and the work is inconsistent. Or do I let some organization suffer while I try to "find myself?" Is it really fair of me to take on a responsibility for an organization just to "try it out?"
I don't have the answers to any of these questions. What is my future in going back to work?
The Magic 8 Ball says "Reply hazy try again." No kidding.
To work or not to work - that is the question.
What motivates "stay at home moms" to go back to work? Is it the paycheck? Is it the boredom? Is it that we need ownership of something to ourselves (other than laundry)? Is it the need for feedback and/or social interaction? Is it because the perfect opportunity happens by at the right time?
I have none of the answers to this question.
On the one hand, I am getting increasingly frustrated at being the family "maid." My list of things to get done is huge, and never seems to get any shorter. Would getting a job outside the home really "fix" that, though? My list of things to get done will still be there (although I may be able to pay someone to do some of the housework.)
On the other hand, is it simply that I lack focus, discipline, and organization? Can I restructure things to make my life more efficient, more rewarding? I have 2 able-bodied children. Can't I have them increase their roles within the household?
Then there's the money aspect which, in my case, is a double-edged sword. Yes - I could use some spending money to take vacations and buy things with. But we don't really NEED money. Want? yes. Could use? Yes. Need? Not really. Taking a job, however, would most likely require a commute. In my 10 year old car. That has 145,000 miles on it. So the question that lurks out there is how long would my car last before it blew up? Right now, I don't go far (within a 4 square mile area, more or less.) So then the job necessitates a car payment. This is NOT a big deal if the job pays $50K a year. It is, however, a big deal if you are only making $13 an hour. My car has been paid off forever, and I live in fear of the car payment. And if I am working, will I have to hire a nanny or a sitter to watch my kids after school? To take them to their various practices/lessons/meetings? Because that just adds to the expense list and subtracts from the profit list.
Bart said this morning that he and I have different goals for our jobs. He wants to work to get the maximum return for the time spent. He says I want a job that's rewarding and interesting and fulfilling. It's a lot easier for him to say that, though, when he makes a good salary and works from home. My $13 an hour job probably wouldn't maximize much of anything.
Then there's another question: Do I really want to go back into fundraising, especially in this economy? When I left Zoo Atlanta, I said I was done with the "professional begging." I stumbled into the field to begin with, and although I was good at it, I never loved it. (At Zoo Atlanta, at least I could love the paychecks.) If I don't want to do fundraising, what DO I want to do?
I. DON'T. KNOW.
If I knew what I wanted to do, I could pursue a course of action in that direction. The bottom line is I have no idea what I want to do. I could just continue to Substitute Teach, which is close and convenient, but pays next to nothing and the work is inconsistent. Or do I let some organization suffer while I try to "find myself?" Is it really fair of me to take on a responsibility for an organization just to "try it out?"
I don't have the answers to any of these questions. What is my future in going back to work?
The Magic 8 Ball says "Reply hazy try again." No kidding.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Why The 80's Ruled the Music Scene
I am a self-professed child of the 80's. I was ages 10-20 in the 80's - I grew up there. I had the BIG HAIR and the Esprit retro tank dress and the studded triple belts (in white and black.) I had leg warmers and jelly bracelets and swatch watches (a minimum of 3 on each arm.) I slept out on a sidewalk to get tickets to see George Michael. I wore my Axel Rose Guns & Roses headband (late 80's), worshipped Bon Jovi, and never got to see U2. I fought for my right to party, knew all the words to Jodi Whatley, and still thought Milli Vanilli were great.
Two words: John Hughes. Two more: Pac man.
I could go on and on and on about how I honestly believe the 80's were the best time to grow up in. (and you know all you 80's kids agree too...)
However, on one front I think we are the indisputable champions, and that's on the Music front. I won't necessarily take up the argument that the 80's music was better (although it was); it was DIFFERENT.
If you pull up the Billboard Top 10 list for any random week in 1987, you'll most likely see something like this:
10.Beastie Boys (Rap)
9. George Michael (Pop)
8. Michael Jackson (Pop)
7. Motley Crue (Metal)
6. The Cure (Alternative)
5. Bon Jovi (Pop/Rock)
4. Bobby Brown (Pop/Dance)
3. New Order (Alternative)
2. Run DMC (Rap)
1. REM (Alternative)
That is a good 5-6 different genres of music. All on 1 Top 10 List. And at any given minute, you could have several of those in your tape collection. (Yes - I said tape.)
Try a random week in 1985. You'd see:
10. Michale Jackson (Pop)
9. The Go-Gos (Pop/Dance)
8. John Cougar Mellencamp (Pop-Country-ish)
7. Journey (Ballad Pop)
6. Simple Minds (Alternative-ish)
5. ZZ Top (Rock)
4. Van Halen (Rock)
3. Commodores (R&B)
2. Foreigner (Rock/Pop)
1. Madonna (Dance)
Granted, metal had just not peeked onto the scene yet, but still..that's 5-6 totally different types of music again.
Try 1989:
10. New Kids on the Block (Dance Pop)
9. Tone Loc (Dance/Rap)
8. Poison (Metal/Rock)
7. Paula Abdul (Dance/Pop)
6. Aerosmith (Rock)
5. Milli Vanilli (Pop)
4. REM (Alternative)
3. Young MC (Dance/Rap)
2. Warrant (Metal)
1. Fine Young Cannibals (Alternative Pop)
Again - you might have your Tone Loc CD (most of us had some CDs by this point) right next to your Guns & Roses CD. Or your Paula Abdul and your REM all together.
And we did. Even if you were a metal-lover, I guarantee you had some of that other stuff on you. Run DMC or REM or U2. Bobby Brown. Michael Jackson. Van Halen. The GoGos. The Bangles. It was messed up, I tell you.
But I really DID love my Funky Cold Medina (Tone Loc) AND my Quiet Riot. I Lived On A Prayer (Bon Jovi) and Walked Like an Egyptian (Bangles) at the same time. I had hair like Vince Neil and clothes like Whitney Houston. REALLY.
OK...so flash forward to this week - 3rd week in April 2011. Here's what's on the Top 10 this week:
10. Katy Perry (Dance/Pop)
9. Rhianna (Dance/Pop)
8. Britney Spears (Dance/Pop)
7. Ke$ha (Dance/Pop)
6. Black Eyed peas (Dance/Pop)
5. Celina Gomez (Pop)
4. Chris Brown (Dance/Pop)
3. Ce Lo (Pop)
2. Jennifer Lopez (Dance/Pop)
1. Lady GaGa (Dance/Pop)
See the difference? Now don't get me wrong - I LOVE most of those artists. (Not Chris Brown, cause he's a psychopath.) I will download the crap out of some Britney and GaGa and Ke$ha. My point is the lack of variety. Sure, every once in awhile you'll get a Lady Antebellum in there (which I would only loosely call "Country") or Taylor Swift (ditto to her stuff...) You might get something that swings a little closer to Rap than to Dance. But really - it's all the same shit. No variety at all.
And some of the stuff you can find that IS a little different? REMAKES OF OLD 80's SONGS! (Exhibit A: the Black Eyed peas re-making "Time of My Life" from Dirty Dancing.)
I have 2 kids, and I am trying to at least expose them to something different. Lord knows my 7 and 9 year old children cannot listen to Rhianna singing about how she smells sex in the air and whips and chains excite her. They do, however, love Jimmy Buffett and Bob Marley. Chase is particular likes the Charlie Daniels Band. They will both rock out to some old Van Halen. They know most of the words to "Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi. (OK - that's mostly because it's the theme song on "Deadliest catch", but they still like it.)
Even the kid's music teacher at school is making an effort. Granted, he was still in diapers in the 80's, but his concerts of late have had the kids singing songs from the movie "Footloose" and songs by the 80's band Styx.
I think that growing up in the 80's is why I have such diverse music on my ipod. I can listen to Aretha Franklin and Prodigy one right after the other and not give it a second thought. I can listen to Johnny Cash followed by Ke$ha. I have Limp Bizkit and Britney Spears back to back. And it's OK.
I feel sorry for the kids today, not because the music is bad. Only because the music is all the SAME.
The 80's ruled. Welcome to the Jungle, I'm Hungry Like The Wolf, and I Wanna Dance With Somebody, cause it's My Prerogative. After all, It's the End of the World as We Know It, and I feel fine....
Two words: John Hughes. Two more: Pac man.
I could go on and on and on about how I honestly believe the 80's were the best time to grow up in. (and you know all you 80's kids agree too...)
However, on one front I think we are the indisputable champions, and that's on the Music front. I won't necessarily take up the argument that the 80's music was better (although it was); it was DIFFERENT.
If you pull up the Billboard Top 10 list for any random week in 1987, you'll most likely see something like this:
10.Beastie Boys (Rap)
9. George Michael (Pop)
8. Michael Jackson (Pop)
7. Motley Crue (Metal)
6. The Cure (Alternative)
5. Bon Jovi (Pop/Rock)
4. Bobby Brown (Pop/Dance)
3. New Order (Alternative)
2. Run DMC (Rap)
1. REM (Alternative)
That is a good 5-6 different genres of music. All on 1 Top 10 List. And at any given minute, you could have several of those in your tape collection. (Yes - I said tape.)
Try a random week in 1985. You'd see:
10. Michale Jackson (Pop)
9. The Go-Gos (Pop/Dance)
8. John Cougar Mellencamp (Pop-Country-ish)
7. Journey (Ballad Pop)
6. Simple Minds (Alternative-ish)
5. ZZ Top (Rock)
4. Van Halen (Rock)
3. Commodores (R&B)
2. Foreigner (Rock/Pop)
1. Madonna (Dance)
Granted, metal had just not peeked onto the scene yet, but still..that's 5-6 totally different types of music again.
Try 1989:
10. New Kids on the Block (Dance Pop)
9. Tone Loc (Dance/Rap)
8. Poison (Metal/Rock)
7. Paula Abdul (Dance/Pop)
6. Aerosmith (Rock)
5. Milli Vanilli (Pop)
4. REM (Alternative)
3. Young MC (Dance/Rap)
2. Warrant (Metal)
1. Fine Young Cannibals (Alternative Pop)
Again - you might have your Tone Loc CD (most of us had some CDs by this point) right next to your Guns & Roses CD. Or your Paula Abdul and your REM all together.
And we did. Even if you were a metal-lover, I guarantee you had some of that other stuff on you. Run DMC or REM or U2. Bobby Brown. Michael Jackson. Van Halen. The GoGos. The Bangles. It was messed up, I tell you.
But I really DID love my Funky Cold Medina (Tone Loc) AND my Quiet Riot. I Lived On A Prayer (Bon Jovi) and Walked Like an Egyptian (Bangles) at the same time. I had hair like Vince Neil and clothes like Whitney Houston. REALLY.
OK...so flash forward to this week - 3rd week in April 2011. Here's what's on the Top 10 this week:
10. Katy Perry (Dance/Pop)
9. Rhianna (Dance/Pop)
8. Britney Spears (Dance/Pop)
7. Ke$ha (Dance/Pop)
6. Black Eyed peas (Dance/Pop)
5. Celina Gomez (Pop)
4. Chris Brown (Dance/Pop)
3. Ce Lo (Pop)
2. Jennifer Lopez (Dance/Pop)
1. Lady GaGa (Dance/Pop)
See the difference? Now don't get me wrong - I LOVE most of those artists. (Not Chris Brown, cause he's a psychopath.) I will download the crap out of some Britney and GaGa and Ke$ha. My point is the lack of variety. Sure, every once in awhile you'll get a Lady Antebellum in there (which I would only loosely call "Country") or Taylor Swift (ditto to her stuff...) You might get something that swings a little closer to Rap than to Dance. But really - it's all the same shit. No variety at all.
And some of the stuff you can find that IS a little different? REMAKES OF OLD 80's SONGS! (Exhibit A: the Black Eyed peas re-making "Time of My Life" from Dirty Dancing.)
I have 2 kids, and I am trying to at least expose them to something different. Lord knows my 7 and 9 year old children cannot listen to Rhianna singing about how she smells sex in the air and whips and chains excite her. They do, however, love Jimmy Buffett and Bob Marley. Chase is particular likes the Charlie Daniels Band. They will both rock out to some old Van Halen. They know most of the words to "Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi. (OK - that's mostly because it's the theme song on "Deadliest catch", but they still like it.)
Even the kid's music teacher at school is making an effort. Granted, he was still in diapers in the 80's, but his concerts of late have had the kids singing songs from the movie "Footloose" and songs by the 80's band Styx.
I think that growing up in the 80's is why I have such diverse music on my ipod. I can listen to Aretha Franklin and Prodigy one right after the other and not give it a second thought. I can listen to Johnny Cash followed by Ke$ha. I have Limp Bizkit and Britney Spears back to back. And it's OK.
I feel sorry for the kids today, not because the music is bad. Only because the music is all the SAME.
The 80's ruled. Welcome to the Jungle, I'm Hungry Like The Wolf, and I Wanna Dance With Somebody, cause it's My Prerogative. After all, It's the End of the World as We Know It, and I feel fine....
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Happy Camper
Last weekend, I forced my family (meaning my husband) to take our annual trek into the pseudo-wildnerness for a camping trip. He got out of it last year, becuase we did it on spring break, and he was working (The kids and I hit Anastasia State Park in St. Augustine and St. Joseph Peninsula State Park in Cape San Blas.) The year before last we did 1 night at Ft. Desoto Park in St. Petersburg.
This year's trek was to Tomoka State Park in Ormond Beach. Long story short, we had a great time. We went camping - in a tent - and had a mostly no electronics rule.
We didn't watch movies or check email or send text messages. There was no Facebook once we arrived. No PS3 or Angry Birds or any video games at all. My kids went almost 48 hours electronics free. What on earth did they do?
They rode bikes. They rode probably more than they have ever ridden before. On trails, off trails, along the water. They hiked and explored new paths through the woods. They found little hidden bodies of water that surrounded the campground. They read books. They danced. Chase helped cook dinner over a charcoal grill. Karlin recited the entire life history of Obi Wan Kenobi. They played in the surf and sand. They found a deceased periwinkle shell, named it Tommy, then buried it, and created an entire sand memorial for it. Oh - and they made up a whole back story for Tommy's short little life. They tried Lobster Rolls for the first time. They made smores.
It's so funny to me, becuase the first 12 hours or so is awful. "Can I play angry birds?" "Can we watch a movie?" Then they realize it's not going to happen, and the most amazing thing occurrs. THEY START TO FIND OTHER THINGS TO DO. They use their brains. They pretend. They explore. By Sunday morning they've all but forgotten the electronics, and they're bummed because we're going home.
It excited me to see them become old-fashioned kids again, even if it's just for a day and a half. It's good for them to go and get away from the junk. It's good for them to be free to use their eyes and ears and minds.
So, and Bart's not gonna be happy with this, but I'm thinking we need to go more often. Maybe two, three times a year. It's a huge pain in the butt to pack up all the crap and go, but I like who my kids are when we get them out there.
This year's trek was to Tomoka State Park in Ormond Beach. Long story short, we had a great time. We went camping - in a tent - and had a mostly no electronics rule.
We didn't watch movies or check email or send text messages. There was no Facebook once we arrived. No PS3 or Angry Birds or any video games at all. My kids went almost 48 hours electronics free. What on earth did they do?
They rode bikes. They rode probably more than they have ever ridden before. On trails, off trails, along the water. They hiked and explored new paths through the woods. They found little hidden bodies of water that surrounded the campground. They read books. They danced. Chase helped cook dinner over a charcoal grill. Karlin recited the entire life history of Obi Wan Kenobi. They played in the surf and sand. They found a deceased periwinkle shell, named it Tommy, then buried it, and created an entire sand memorial for it. Oh - and they made up a whole back story for Tommy's short little life. They tried Lobster Rolls for the first time. They made smores.
It's so funny to me, becuase the first 12 hours or so is awful. "Can I play angry birds?" "Can we watch a movie?" Then they realize it's not going to happen, and the most amazing thing occurrs. THEY START TO FIND OTHER THINGS TO DO. They use their brains. They pretend. They explore. By Sunday morning they've all but forgotten the electronics, and they're bummed because we're going home.
It excited me to see them become old-fashioned kids again, even if it's just for a day and a half. It's good for them to go and get away from the junk. It's good for them to be free to use their eyes and ears and minds.
So, and Bart's not gonna be happy with this, but I'm thinking we need to go more often. Maybe two, three times a year. It's a huge pain in the butt to pack up all the crap and go, but I like who my kids are when we get them out there.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
No Soliciting
So yesterday I went for a jog. While I was still in my neighborhood, I passed a kid putting pizza fliers on the doorknobs of each of the houses.
Our neighborhood is a deed-restricted, no soliciting neighborhood. Big signs at the front gate that say so. So my initial reaction was the desire to tell this kid that he can't do that here.
But then I looked at him. The kid was maybe 17. Fairly clean-cut. Wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt, carrying a backpack. I thought "Hey - the kid is just trying to earn some money." I mean, is it really the end of the world if I get a pizza coupon on my door? And this kid is working. He's not doing drugs or robbing gas stations. He's actually doing something productive. Most likely someone from the pizza place dropped him off and said "go flier this neighborhood", and he was just doing what he was told. Whatever the circumstances, at least he was doing something not involving criminal activity. So I smiled and said "good morning" and ran on by.
Then, about a half mile later, I thought..."Wait a minute. Shouldn't that kid be in SCHOOL right now?" Granted, I am in denial about my advancing years, and this makes me really bad at judging ages. But this kid looked young. I suppose there is a chance that he's a college student. If he had classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he would have had yesterday - Tuesday - off to work.
Which leads me to the people selling stuff at the entrances to grocery stores. I always buy from kids selling stuff at store entrances, and here's why. Once I was walking into a WalMart, and I saw a group of kids selling candy bars for their baseball team. If you haven't put kids in Sports programs lately, let me tell you - it's expensive. Especially if it's a regional or travelling team. Expensive. Anyway, while I was walking in (I was going to get some cash at check out and buy some candy on the way out...) the kids smiled and asked this old man if he would like to support their baseball team. The old man CHEWED THEM OUT. Yelled at them about bothering people and why don't they go work to earn that money. His rant went on for several minutes. The kids, who were maybe 9 or 10 years old, were stunned, as was the adult that was with them.
I was embarassed. I mean, here are some kids who are participating in sports. Sports and other activites are proven to help keep kids out of trouble and keep their grades up. After school and on Saturdays, they are on the ball field instead of loitering around causing trouble, or going brain-dead in front of video games. On this day, they were simply trying to sell some candy to offset some of the expenses of their team. Why is that so bad?
Bart is worse than I am. If you are a kid selling something, be it for school or scouts or your sports team, come to our house. Bart will buy anything from a kid. A few months back he bought a Dominos pizza discount card for $20, and we hate Dominos pizza. He will cause a 5 car pile-up to stop at a kid's lemonade stand.
The point here is these kids are doing something productive, so why not support them if you can? Or, at a minimum, be polite? Even if you don't want the $20 pizza card, you can always give the kids a $2 donation.
Which leads me to the car wash. Bart and I are also fans of fundraising car washes. Again, it is usually kids raising money for their sports teams, band, etc. They are outside with people in broad daylight (which can be rare for teenagers.) I hate washing my car, so why not let the kids do it? I can almost always scrounge up $5 - sometimes in change - for a donation for a car wash. My biggest complaint? The signs. Make BIG SIGNS that tell me which team or cause you are fundraising for. If I really need a car wash, I'll stop for pretty much anyone. However, sometimes I don't need one, but if it's a cause near and dear to my heart (God bless you, band geeks...) I will get one anyway. Or make a donation.
Maybe I should get a flier job. Outside, in the sun, don't have to talk to anyone, can wear my Ipod. Exercise too. Hmmmm....
Our neighborhood is a deed-restricted, no soliciting neighborhood. Big signs at the front gate that say so. So my initial reaction was the desire to tell this kid that he can't do that here.
But then I looked at him. The kid was maybe 17. Fairly clean-cut. Wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt, carrying a backpack. I thought "Hey - the kid is just trying to earn some money." I mean, is it really the end of the world if I get a pizza coupon on my door? And this kid is working. He's not doing drugs or robbing gas stations. He's actually doing something productive. Most likely someone from the pizza place dropped him off and said "go flier this neighborhood", and he was just doing what he was told. Whatever the circumstances, at least he was doing something not involving criminal activity. So I smiled and said "good morning" and ran on by.
Then, about a half mile later, I thought..."Wait a minute. Shouldn't that kid be in SCHOOL right now?" Granted, I am in denial about my advancing years, and this makes me really bad at judging ages. But this kid looked young. I suppose there is a chance that he's a college student. If he had classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he would have had yesterday - Tuesday - off to work.
Which leads me to the people selling stuff at the entrances to grocery stores. I always buy from kids selling stuff at store entrances, and here's why. Once I was walking into a WalMart, and I saw a group of kids selling candy bars for their baseball team. If you haven't put kids in Sports programs lately, let me tell you - it's expensive. Especially if it's a regional or travelling team. Expensive. Anyway, while I was walking in (I was going to get some cash at check out and buy some candy on the way out...) the kids smiled and asked this old man if he would like to support their baseball team. The old man CHEWED THEM OUT. Yelled at them about bothering people and why don't they go work to earn that money. His rant went on for several minutes. The kids, who were maybe 9 or 10 years old, were stunned, as was the adult that was with them.
I was embarassed. I mean, here are some kids who are participating in sports. Sports and other activites are proven to help keep kids out of trouble and keep their grades up. After school and on Saturdays, they are on the ball field instead of loitering around causing trouble, or going brain-dead in front of video games. On this day, they were simply trying to sell some candy to offset some of the expenses of their team. Why is that so bad?
Bart is worse than I am. If you are a kid selling something, be it for school or scouts or your sports team, come to our house. Bart will buy anything from a kid. A few months back he bought a Dominos pizza discount card for $20, and we hate Dominos pizza. He will cause a 5 car pile-up to stop at a kid's lemonade stand.
The point here is these kids are doing something productive, so why not support them if you can? Or, at a minimum, be polite? Even if you don't want the $20 pizza card, you can always give the kids a $2 donation.
Which leads me to the car wash. Bart and I are also fans of fundraising car washes. Again, it is usually kids raising money for their sports teams, band, etc. They are outside with people in broad daylight (which can be rare for teenagers.) I hate washing my car, so why not let the kids do it? I can almost always scrounge up $5 - sometimes in change - for a donation for a car wash. My biggest complaint? The signs. Make BIG SIGNS that tell me which team or cause you are fundraising for. If I really need a car wash, I'll stop for pretty much anyone. However, sometimes I don't need one, but if it's a cause near and dear to my heart (God bless you, band geeks...) I will get one anyway. Or make a donation.
Maybe I should get a flier job. Outside, in the sun, don't have to talk to anyone, can wear my Ipod. Exercise too. Hmmmm....
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I Am Tricky, Hear me Roar
My favorite holiday of the year is Halloween. I love the candy, the costumes, the pumpkins - all of it. It's the best.
My 2nd favorite holiday may be St. Patrick's Day. I'm not sure it used to be my 2nd favorite. I mean, it's great and all. I have Irish heritage. I've been to Ireland. I like green beer and Guiness and Irish Coffee. Goofy green clothes and sunglasses and beads. It's all good.
But then last year I became part of an alter-ego. I say "part" because I am not him alone.
Tricky is a leprechaun. A particularly troublesome one who likes to create havoc and mischief in Mrs. Harrison's Kindergarten Class. Last year I was recruited to help Tricky with his work. I arrived at the school at 6:00 am (Starbucks in hand for me, and the other half of Tricky, mrs. Harrison). Tricky then proceeded to do all kinds of damage. He turned the toilet water green. He turned the milk green. He left green little leprechaun footprints all over when he got into the finger paint. He left little pots of gold for each child. He vandalized the dry erase board with catchy little things like "Tricky Wuz Here". He turned all the chairs over and rearranged pretty much everything. I have never had so much fun in my life.
And then? I got to bring Chase back to school and see the kids responding to Tricky's havoc. Ab.So.Lute.Ly. Priceless.
Little did I know that Tricky had also been across the courtyard in Mrs. Kasper's first grade class. You see, Mrs. Kasper's daughter Olivia had been in mrs. harrison's class the year before Chase was. So the Tricky tradition continued and grew.
So this year I get to do double Tricky duty. Tricky already sent green pencils to the teachers that say "Tricky Wuz here!" Today, Tricky sent letters to both classes, daring them to catch him and hinting at the mass chaos he's going to bring on Thursday.
This year Tricky is replacing all of the color posters on the walls with green ones. He's replacing all of the desk name tags with ones that say "Tricky". he's even going to replace the American Flag with a St. Patrick's Day one (but just for the one day.) And his little paint footprints may extend outside this year, leading from one class to the other.
Being Tricky is one of those weird little experiences that you never dream you will have when you have kids. But to anyone out there who isn't Tricky: be your own Leprechaun. Finf some kids somewhere and make their day.
Lord knows only too soon we grow up and have to deal with Taxes and Tsunamis and Nuclear Meltdowns. Right down the road is safe sex and drugs and alcohol.
But for now - for just one day - they can BELIEVE. They can believe that there really are Leprechauns who play tricks on you and leave you little treats and defy caputure year after year after year.
We can all be Tricky to someone. So get out there and turn some toilet water green!
My 2nd favorite holiday may be St. Patrick's Day. I'm not sure it used to be my 2nd favorite. I mean, it's great and all. I have Irish heritage. I've been to Ireland. I like green beer and Guiness and Irish Coffee. Goofy green clothes and sunglasses and beads. It's all good.
But then last year I became part of an alter-ego. I say "part" because I am not him alone.
Tricky is a leprechaun. A particularly troublesome one who likes to create havoc and mischief in Mrs. Harrison's Kindergarten Class. Last year I was recruited to help Tricky with his work. I arrived at the school at 6:00 am (Starbucks in hand for me, and the other half of Tricky, mrs. Harrison). Tricky then proceeded to do all kinds of damage. He turned the toilet water green. He turned the milk green. He left green little leprechaun footprints all over when he got into the finger paint. He left little pots of gold for each child. He vandalized the dry erase board with catchy little things like "Tricky Wuz Here". He turned all the chairs over and rearranged pretty much everything. I have never had so much fun in my life.
And then? I got to bring Chase back to school and see the kids responding to Tricky's havoc. Ab.So.Lute.Ly. Priceless.
Little did I know that Tricky had also been across the courtyard in Mrs. Kasper's first grade class. You see, Mrs. Kasper's daughter Olivia had been in mrs. harrison's class the year before Chase was. So the Tricky tradition continued and grew.
So this year I get to do double Tricky duty. Tricky already sent green pencils to the teachers that say "Tricky Wuz here!" Today, Tricky sent letters to both classes, daring them to catch him and hinting at the mass chaos he's going to bring on Thursday.
This year Tricky is replacing all of the color posters on the walls with green ones. He's replacing all of the desk name tags with ones that say "Tricky". he's even going to replace the American Flag with a St. Patrick's Day one (but just for the one day.) And his little paint footprints may extend outside this year, leading from one class to the other.
Being Tricky is one of those weird little experiences that you never dream you will have when you have kids. But to anyone out there who isn't Tricky: be your own Leprechaun. Finf some kids somewhere and make their day.
Lord knows only too soon we grow up and have to deal with Taxes and Tsunamis and Nuclear Meltdowns. Right down the road is safe sex and drugs and alcohol.
But for now - for just one day - they can BELIEVE. They can believe that there really are Leprechauns who play tricks on you and leave you little treats and defy caputure year after year after year.
We can all be Tricky to someone. So get out there and turn some toilet water green!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Should I Stay or Shoud I Go....
In my husband's exact words: "I don't want to stay in this house forever. I want to live in a house that makes me feel like I'm on vacation."
In my words: "I want my kids to go to Dunedin Highlands Middle School and Palm Harbor University High School."
In my realtor's words: "You're screwed."
OK - so she didn't really say that. What she did do was give me a possible sales price for our home, and it ain't pretty. We would maybe break even, but there's no way we could make enough to put a nice sized down payment on a new place. A place on the water. In the right school district. With neighborhood boat facilities.
Which is really depressing if you think about it. We didn't even buy at the peak - we bought right as the peak started up. It seems really unfair that after paying on this house for 6 1/2 years, we're only about $6,000 up. And that's before you factor in the pool Purchase. I really feel for the people who DID buy at the peak. How the hell are they supposed to manage the finances on that?
So the house may be the perfect house for us. It os across the street from the Gulf, with Gulf access in front of the house. It's the right size. The right location. Has cool features.
Of course, it's also un-Godly expensive.
Then there's the whole do-we-change-the-kid's-schools-now-and-move-them-away-from-their-friends-and-make-them-find-new-Scout-Troops thing. Granted, the house is only about 12 miles from our house now as the crow flies. But still.
You think maybe if we wait a few years, things will balance out better financially, right? Except that if OUR house increases in value, so will the house we are trying to buy. And once the kids are in college we may not even be able to afford to move, with paying the damned Harvard and Duke tuitions.
So we wait until the kids are out. That would be about 15 years from now. Making me 55. Too old to enjoy it.
There's no easy solution. Part of me feels if you don't aim high, how will you ever get there? But Bart is level-headed, and says it's a poor financial move.
He always says "Life is long - we can find our dream house in a few years." I say life is SHORT, and you have to scratch and claw to get what you want while you can.
Maybe I shoudl go buy a Lottery Ticket.
In my words: "I want my kids to go to Dunedin Highlands Middle School and Palm Harbor University High School."
In my realtor's words: "You're screwed."
OK - so she didn't really say that. What she did do was give me a possible sales price for our home, and it ain't pretty. We would maybe break even, but there's no way we could make enough to put a nice sized down payment on a new place. A place on the water. In the right school district. With neighborhood boat facilities.
Which is really depressing if you think about it. We didn't even buy at the peak - we bought right as the peak started up. It seems really unfair that after paying on this house for 6 1/2 years, we're only about $6,000 up. And that's before you factor in the pool Purchase. I really feel for the people who DID buy at the peak. How the hell are they supposed to manage the finances on that?
So the house may be the perfect house for us. It os across the street from the Gulf, with Gulf access in front of the house. It's the right size. The right location. Has cool features.
Of course, it's also un-Godly expensive.
Then there's the whole do-we-change-the-kid's-schools-now-and-move-them-away-from-their-friends-and-make-them-find-new-Scout-Troops thing. Granted, the house is only about 12 miles from our house now as the crow flies. But still.
You think maybe if we wait a few years, things will balance out better financially, right? Except that if OUR house increases in value, so will the house we are trying to buy. And once the kids are in college we may not even be able to afford to move, with paying the damned Harvard and Duke tuitions.
So we wait until the kids are out. That would be about 15 years from now. Making me 55. Too old to enjoy it.
There's no easy solution. Part of me feels if you don't aim high, how will you ever get there? But Bart is level-headed, and says it's a poor financial move.
He always says "Life is long - we can find our dream house in a few years." I say life is SHORT, and you have to scratch and claw to get what you want while you can.
Maybe I shoudl go buy a Lottery Ticket.
Friday, February 18, 2011
That "Oh Crap" Moment
So...I have successfully run 4 times in 5 days, didn't eat crap (aka junk) all week, and as a result lost 5 pounds. Which is great. I am likely the only crazy person on Earth who chooses to start a diet program on Valentine's Day. Why would I do such a thing? Because I had the "Oh Crap" moment.
People have their "Oh Crap" moments at different times. Maybe some don't ever have their "Oh Crap" moment. Mine happened on Sunday 2/13, when I saw some of the pictures from Bart's birthday bash at EPCOT.
I quite literally did not recognize myself in some of the pictures. I thought I was wearing a somewhat flattering outfit - dark jeans are supposed to be slimming, right? - but I was wrong. As a matter of fact, I don't think there is an outfit that would be flattering on me right now. I just stared at some of the pictures, and could not believe that was actually ME. I don't see that in the mirror, so where does that person come from? Does she burst forth and multiply mass and volume as soon as I leave the house?
The reality is no - she's doesn't. She's me, and that is what I really look like. I weigh more now than I ever have in my life, outside of pregnancy. God bless Bart with his rose-colored glasses...I know he doesn't mind. My kids still love me, although I think they're starting to realize that I don't look like most of the other moms. (Tampa is a very fit community.) If you took 2 pairs of my jeans, you could build a tent to house 4 people (there's a tent tie-in coming in a sec...). It's that bad.
Here's the jest of it all. I am going on a surprise cruise with my kids in a little more than 2 months, and I want to be in some of the pictures. I live in fear that something terrible will happen to me, and my kids will have no record of me being a part of ANYTHING, because I'm always the one taking the pictures. This is not because I'm some accomplished photographer. It's because I hate the way I look in pictures. It's the reality that I don't like to see.
It's like that Jimmy Buffet song line that goes "I treat my body like a temple; you treat yours like a tent." This is me and Bart. He works really hard at staying healthy. Granted, some of it is genetics - his whole family is skinny, and his dad used to be a runner in the Boston Marathon. Some of it is conditioning. For 8 some odd years, he was a diver in High School and College. Those daily practices and 2-a-day workouts became a habit for him - a routine. If he stopped exercising all together, he'd likely feel all wacko. It's too much a part of who he is. He doesn't exercise as much as he did in college, but he still exercises religiously. 4-7 days a week. He doesn't eat a lot of crap. He basically sets a great example for our kids.
I'm the tent. I hate to exercise, I hate salads, and if I could live my life eating Mac and Cheese and drinking beer, I would. I am a bread cheese potatoes and beer kind of girl. My genetics are much harsher than Bart's. I have little willpower, and I set a horrible example for my kids.
That changed last Sunday.
I have been worrying about my weight and how I looked since I was in 7th grade. I can remember faithfully doing the "20 Minute Workouts" on TV in 1982. If I started when I was 12, that means I've been obsessing about this shit for 28 years. And I have nothing to show for it. I am still heavier than ever. I need to fix this now. My own daughter will be 10 this year, and I don't want her to waste 28 years of her life on body image obsession.
I realize that I am 40 years old, and I will never be 20 again. I'm not aiming to be a super model. All I want is to not hate myself so damned much. I want to be in the pictures on our fun vacations. I want to not constantly be disappointed and guilty because I failed again. I want to not cry in the dressing room because I am solidly in the Plus section. I have a wonderful life, a fabulous family, and terrific friends. I just want to spend less time miserable, and more time enjoying all the blessings in my life.
I just want to not hate myself anymore. That's my "Oh Crap" moment. That picture of my fat ass in front of a fountain in EPCOT's Italy.
I can't even post the pic, because I immediately edited out everything below my boobs. But trust me - it's that bad. And don't even get me started on the 3 chins...
People have their "Oh Crap" moments at different times. Maybe some don't ever have their "Oh Crap" moment. Mine happened on Sunday 2/13, when I saw some of the pictures from Bart's birthday bash at EPCOT.
I quite literally did not recognize myself in some of the pictures. I thought I was wearing a somewhat flattering outfit - dark jeans are supposed to be slimming, right? - but I was wrong. As a matter of fact, I don't think there is an outfit that would be flattering on me right now. I just stared at some of the pictures, and could not believe that was actually ME. I don't see that in the mirror, so where does that person come from? Does she burst forth and multiply mass and volume as soon as I leave the house?
The reality is no - she's doesn't. She's me, and that is what I really look like. I weigh more now than I ever have in my life, outside of pregnancy. God bless Bart with his rose-colored glasses...I know he doesn't mind. My kids still love me, although I think they're starting to realize that I don't look like most of the other moms. (Tampa is a very fit community.) If you took 2 pairs of my jeans, you could build a tent to house 4 people (there's a tent tie-in coming in a sec...). It's that bad.
Here's the jest of it all. I am going on a surprise cruise with my kids in a little more than 2 months, and I want to be in some of the pictures. I live in fear that something terrible will happen to me, and my kids will have no record of me being a part of ANYTHING, because I'm always the one taking the pictures. This is not because I'm some accomplished photographer. It's because I hate the way I look in pictures. It's the reality that I don't like to see.
It's like that Jimmy Buffet song line that goes "I treat my body like a temple; you treat yours like a tent." This is me and Bart. He works really hard at staying healthy. Granted, some of it is genetics - his whole family is skinny, and his dad used to be a runner in the Boston Marathon. Some of it is conditioning. For 8 some odd years, he was a diver in High School and College. Those daily practices and 2-a-day workouts became a habit for him - a routine. If he stopped exercising all together, he'd likely feel all wacko. It's too much a part of who he is. He doesn't exercise as much as he did in college, but he still exercises religiously. 4-7 days a week. He doesn't eat a lot of crap. He basically sets a great example for our kids.
I'm the tent. I hate to exercise, I hate salads, and if I could live my life eating Mac and Cheese and drinking beer, I would. I am a bread cheese potatoes and beer kind of girl. My genetics are much harsher than Bart's. I have little willpower, and I set a horrible example for my kids.
That changed last Sunday.
I have been worrying about my weight and how I looked since I was in 7th grade. I can remember faithfully doing the "20 Minute Workouts" on TV in 1982. If I started when I was 12, that means I've been obsessing about this shit for 28 years. And I have nothing to show for it. I am still heavier than ever. I need to fix this now. My own daughter will be 10 this year, and I don't want her to waste 28 years of her life on body image obsession.
I realize that I am 40 years old, and I will never be 20 again. I'm not aiming to be a super model. All I want is to not hate myself so damned much. I want to be in the pictures on our fun vacations. I want to not constantly be disappointed and guilty because I failed again. I want to not cry in the dressing room because I am solidly in the Plus section. I have a wonderful life, a fabulous family, and terrific friends. I just want to spend less time miserable, and more time enjoying all the blessings in my life.
I just want to not hate myself anymore. That's my "Oh Crap" moment. That picture of my fat ass in front of a fountain in EPCOT's Italy.
I can't even post the pic, because I immediately edited out everything below my boobs. But trust me - it's that bad. And don't even get me started on the 3 chins...
Thursday, February 17, 2011
A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The.....
OK, so the weirdest thing happened to me today.
A few months ago, my two hateful evil friends asked me to run the Gasparilla 5K with them. They are both cute and skinny and I'm sure I'll be the comic relief, but I'm game for anything Pirate-related, so I responded with a resounding "maybe!"
Then I had the flu the first week in January. Not the best way to start a training routine.
After recovering, I started this training program that several people I know have used. It's called the "Couch to 5K" plan, and there are several versions of it on the internet. I downloaded a podcast from a dude named Robert Ullrey, and started it mid-January. It's supposed to get you running a 5K in 8 weeks.
First off, I only had 6 weeks. But OK.
It starts off innocently enough. You run for a minute and then walk for 2 minutes, or something like that, for a half an hour 3 times the first week. Week 2 increases to run for 2 minutes, walk for 90 seconds. Week three increases a little more. Then Week 4 hits. All the sudden, he wants you to run for 3 minutes, walk for 90 seconds, then run for 5 minutes, walk for three minutes. And then do it again. You go from a total of 8-9 minutes of running time to a staggering 16 minutes. It sucked.
I actually failed the first time. Couldn't do it. I began to fantasize about Mr. Ullrey, and not in a good way. On his podcast, he says "I'm a 43 year old Southern Californian who decided to start running again on my birthday." I have conjured up this whole life for Mr. Ullrey. I picture him as a cross between Bruce Jenner and the dude that played Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." He lives in a post-modern style ranch home in Southern California. He drinks fresh orange juice everyday, and rides his bike to his graphic designer job.
I created this whole fantasy so that I could then fantasize about running him and his bike over with my car. Repeatedly.
Then this week - WEEK 5 - we entered a whole new level of Hell. Day 1: Run three 5 minute intervals, with 3 minute walks in between. Amazingly, even after a weekend of Drinking Around the World at EPCOT, I managed to do it.
Day 2: It got worse. Two 8 minute intervals with a 5 minute walk in between. (That's running for 8 straight minutes with no break, two times.) Miraculously, I did it.
Day 3: (That's today) 20 minutes of straight running. No walking. No breaks. No way. I was sick yesterday, and I have blisters on my feet from wearing heels to the Science Fair Awards 2 nights ago. But I put on my shoes and headed out anyway.
And this is where the funny thing happened. I freakin did it. And it was even almost not painful. I looked down at my watch and had actually run 45 seconds past my turnaround time without even realizing it (yay to my buddies Usher and Taio Cruz.) And I ran for an extra minute and a half, just to compensate for the fact that I had to stop twice and wait on traffic to cross the road. But I did it!
The one mystery through all this has been: even though I run more of the time each week, I never seem to go any farther. It's always between 1.8 and 2.2 miles. Today I hit 2.5. I figure if I can survive 2.5, I can probably run the 3 necessary for a 5K race.
Something clicked with my body this week. It's like suddenly it went "Oh - so THIS is what you want me to do?" Don't get me wrong. It's not fun. It's not easy. But it is survivable.
So I registered for the race. I still have 8 days - time to get through 1 more week of training. It won't get me all the way, and I won't be running fast. But I think just maybe I might survive it without throwing up or passing out.
I think today I will let poor Mr. Ullrey ride his bike to work in peace.
A few months ago, my two hateful evil friends asked me to run the Gasparilla 5K with them. They are both cute and skinny and I'm sure I'll be the comic relief, but I'm game for anything Pirate-related, so I responded with a resounding "maybe!"
Then I had the flu the first week in January. Not the best way to start a training routine.
After recovering, I started this training program that several people I know have used. It's called the "Couch to 5K" plan, and there are several versions of it on the internet. I downloaded a podcast from a dude named Robert Ullrey, and started it mid-January. It's supposed to get you running a 5K in 8 weeks.
First off, I only had 6 weeks. But OK.
It starts off innocently enough. You run for a minute and then walk for 2 minutes, or something like that, for a half an hour 3 times the first week. Week 2 increases to run for 2 minutes, walk for 90 seconds. Week three increases a little more. Then Week 4 hits. All the sudden, he wants you to run for 3 minutes, walk for 90 seconds, then run for 5 minutes, walk for three minutes. And then do it again. You go from a total of 8-9 minutes of running time to a staggering 16 minutes. It sucked.
I actually failed the first time. Couldn't do it. I began to fantasize about Mr. Ullrey, and not in a good way. On his podcast, he says "I'm a 43 year old Southern Californian who decided to start running again on my birthday." I have conjured up this whole life for Mr. Ullrey. I picture him as a cross between Bruce Jenner and the dude that played Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." He lives in a post-modern style ranch home in Southern California. He drinks fresh orange juice everyday, and rides his bike to his graphic designer job.
I created this whole fantasy so that I could then fantasize about running him and his bike over with my car. Repeatedly.
Then this week - WEEK 5 - we entered a whole new level of Hell. Day 1: Run three 5 minute intervals, with 3 minute walks in between. Amazingly, even after a weekend of Drinking Around the World at EPCOT, I managed to do it.
Day 2: It got worse. Two 8 minute intervals with a 5 minute walk in between. (That's running for 8 straight minutes with no break, two times.) Miraculously, I did it.
Day 3: (That's today) 20 minutes of straight running. No walking. No breaks. No way. I was sick yesterday, and I have blisters on my feet from wearing heels to the Science Fair Awards 2 nights ago. But I put on my shoes and headed out anyway.
And this is where the funny thing happened. I freakin did it. And it was even almost not painful. I looked down at my watch and had actually run 45 seconds past my turnaround time without even realizing it (yay to my buddies Usher and Taio Cruz.) And I ran for an extra minute and a half, just to compensate for the fact that I had to stop twice and wait on traffic to cross the road. But I did it!
The one mystery through all this has been: even though I run more of the time each week, I never seem to go any farther. It's always between 1.8 and 2.2 miles. Today I hit 2.5. I figure if I can survive 2.5, I can probably run the 3 necessary for a 5K race.
Something clicked with my body this week. It's like suddenly it went "Oh - so THIS is what you want me to do?" Don't get me wrong. It's not fun. It's not easy. But it is survivable.
So I registered for the race. I still have 8 days - time to get through 1 more week of training. It won't get me all the way, and I won't be running fast. But I think just maybe I might survive it without throwing up or passing out.
I think today I will let poor Mr. Ullrey ride his bike to work in peace.
Monday, January 31, 2011
The Truth About Cats and Dogs
I have a dog and a cat. They are both weird. The dog might be crazy. Let me 'splain...
About 7 months ago, the dog saw a squirrel on the top of the pool screen enclosure. Admittedly, this is a rare occurrence, since we live in the burbs and there are not many mature trees in my hood. Anyway, he saw the squirrel, and a chase ensued. This resulted in the squirrel making a terrifying leap from the 2nd floor roof, across the fence, aiming for the tree. I don't think he made it, but we never found him, so who knows. We have not seen a squirrel since.
The problem is, the dog is still looking for the squirrel. He patrols that pool enclosure like it's Guantanamo, always on alert. We thought it was funny for awhile, but them it got annoying. He always wants to go out, but not to do his business. He just wants to run patrols.
Then, in recent weeks, he's started looking for the squirrel inside the house. He runs around looking at the ceiling and baseboards, hoping for a glimpse of his nemesis. It's really distracting to be trying to watch a movie while an 80 pound dog runs back and forth in front of you, looking over your heads.
We even bought a stuffed squirrel (it's really a koala, but looks enough like a squirrel), so that he could "catch" it and have some closure. We haven't used it yet, because we're worried it will make it worse. It will confirm in his squirrel-filled mind that - "A HA! See? There are squirrels! I knew it I knew it I knew it..."
Has the dog had some kind of psychotic break? Maybe. And we are 100% at a loss as to what to do.
Then there's the cat. I had never had a cat before this one, and I never intended to have one at all. But this one fell into my life when I worked at a vet clinic years ago. We have gone through alternate stages of he loves me - he hates me but loves Bart - he loves me because I'm pregnant - he loves Karlin - he hates Chase - he's on death's doorstep - he's Benjamin Button - and back to he loves me. The cat supposedly had cancer and 6 months to live. That way 5 years ago. He's healthier than ever.
He's 15 years old, and weird in his own ways. For example:
The cat is loud, and I don't mean meowing. The cat weighs about 4 pounds soaking wet, but when he runs down the hallway or up and down the stairs, it sounds like a herd of Buffalo. Seriously. One time my sister was staying over, babysitting the kids. She heard that buffalo-herd noise and jumped out of bed, worried that Chase had fallen down the stairs. It's that loud.
This cat also likes to have someone watch him eat. He will stand outside the laundry room door (where his food is), and meow furiously. You think he's out of food, so you go in there only to find that his food bowl is full. He just wants you to stand there and watch him eat.
He loves to hand out inside the pool screen enclosure (careful not to be stampeded by the Guantanamo Squirrel Patrol.) If Bart gets up in the morning and leaves for the gym or a run, he usually lets the cat out. If he forgets, or if it's too cold, the cat will raise holy hell, screeching like he's on fire.
The cat hates for Bart to read. It is the funniest thing I have ever seen. When Bart gets in bed with his book, the cat appears and immediately lays on the book. If Bart tries to move him or reposition, the cat will continue to head butt Bart and the book until he can wiggle himself back onto the pages. I can lay down next to him and read anything I want. It's only Bart who is not allowed to read.
Then there's the bedtime routine. Bart usually falls asleep first, while I am up reading or watching TV. The cat stays curled up at the bottom of the bed during this time, usually a little my side of center. Then i get up, turn out the lights, and get back in bed. By the time I'm next to the bed, he's already on his feet. I lay down on my right side, and then cat comes alongside me and head butts my hand. We do this for about a minute, then he turns around a lays down. He expects my hand to be on his tummy, and he will not settle down until things are to his liking. It is really bizarre - he's like a little old man who is stuck in his ways, and gets pissed off if you don't do things like he wants them done. I picture him a little like Walter Matthau in "Grumpy Old Men."
So we live with a psychotic, possibly hallucinating dog, and a bossy, cranky, exhibitionist cat. Funny? Yes. But also weird.
About 7 months ago, the dog saw a squirrel on the top of the pool screen enclosure. Admittedly, this is a rare occurrence, since we live in the burbs and there are not many mature trees in my hood. Anyway, he saw the squirrel, and a chase ensued. This resulted in the squirrel making a terrifying leap from the 2nd floor roof, across the fence, aiming for the tree. I don't think he made it, but we never found him, so who knows. We have not seen a squirrel since.
The problem is, the dog is still looking for the squirrel. He patrols that pool enclosure like it's Guantanamo, always on alert. We thought it was funny for awhile, but them it got annoying. He always wants to go out, but not to do his business. He just wants to run patrols.
Then, in recent weeks, he's started looking for the squirrel inside the house. He runs around looking at the ceiling and baseboards, hoping for a glimpse of his nemesis. It's really distracting to be trying to watch a movie while an 80 pound dog runs back and forth in front of you, looking over your heads.
We even bought a stuffed squirrel (it's really a koala, but looks enough like a squirrel), so that he could "catch" it and have some closure. We haven't used it yet, because we're worried it will make it worse. It will confirm in his squirrel-filled mind that - "A HA! See? There are squirrels! I knew it I knew it I knew it..."
Has the dog had some kind of psychotic break? Maybe. And we are 100% at a loss as to what to do.
Then there's the cat. I had never had a cat before this one, and I never intended to have one at all. But this one fell into my life when I worked at a vet clinic years ago. We have gone through alternate stages of he loves me - he hates me but loves Bart - he loves me because I'm pregnant - he loves Karlin - he hates Chase - he's on death's doorstep - he's Benjamin Button - and back to he loves me. The cat supposedly had cancer and 6 months to live. That way 5 years ago. He's healthier than ever.
He's 15 years old, and weird in his own ways. For example:
The cat is loud, and I don't mean meowing. The cat weighs about 4 pounds soaking wet, but when he runs down the hallway or up and down the stairs, it sounds like a herd of Buffalo. Seriously. One time my sister was staying over, babysitting the kids. She heard that buffalo-herd noise and jumped out of bed, worried that Chase had fallen down the stairs. It's that loud.
This cat also likes to have someone watch him eat. He will stand outside the laundry room door (where his food is), and meow furiously. You think he's out of food, so you go in there only to find that his food bowl is full. He just wants you to stand there and watch him eat.
He loves to hand out inside the pool screen enclosure (careful not to be stampeded by the Guantanamo Squirrel Patrol.) If Bart gets up in the morning and leaves for the gym or a run, he usually lets the cat out. If he forgets, or if it's too cold, the cat will raise holy hell, screeching like he's on fire.
The cat hates for Bart to read. It is the funniest thing I have ever seen. When Bart gets in bed with his book, the cat appears and immediately lays on the book. If Bart tries to move him or reposition, the cat will continue to head butt Bart and the book until he can wiggle himself back onto the pages. I can lay down next to him and read anything I want. It's only Bart who is not allowed to read.
Then there's the bedtime routine. Bart usually falls asleep first, while I am up reading or watching TV. The cat stays curled up at the bottom of the bed during this time, usually a little my side of center. Then i get up, turn out the lights, and get back in bed. By the time I'm next to the bed, he's already on his feet. I lay down on my right side, and then cat comes alongside me and head butts my hand. We do this for about a minute, then he turns around a lays down. He expects my hand to be on his tummy, and he will not settle down until things are to his liking. It is really bizarre - he's like a little old man who is stuck in his ways, and gets pissed off if you don't do things like he wants them done. I picture him a little like Walter Matthau in "Grumpy Old Men."
So we live with a psychotic, possibly hallucinating dog, and a bossy, cranky, exhibitionist cat. Funny? Yes. But also weird.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
WIJBD?
Yesterday, Jimmy Buffett had a little scare in Australia. He fell 5 feet off a stage during a show, was unconscious for 5 minutes, and spent the night in the hospital. People all over the world, well, freaked out. (He's going to be OK, by the way...)
There's a popular slogan that makes fun of the "WWJD" - "What Would Jesus Do?" slogan. It's "WWJBD?" (What Would Jimmy Buffett Do?) After the scare yesterday, I began thinking about this one: WIJBD?
"WHAT IF JIMMY BUFFETT DIES?"
Yes - it's morbid. But he's no spring chicken. Jimmy Buffett is more than a singer, more than famous. He's a legend. An icon. A lifestyle. Even people that don't like him can respect and envy the life he's made for himself. (That would be you, Bart.)
Let's face it. Like Elvis and the Beatles, there is no other Jimmy Buffett. When he's gone, there will be no replacement. He changed popular culture forever. What will we do when he's gone?
Then I start thinking things like "Maybe I should stay sober so I can take my kids to see Jimmy while I still can." We all know that's crazy talk. First off...me sober? And second: Who stays sober at a Jimmy Buffett concert? Has that ever even happened before? And would he condone it anyway?
So then I start thinking...OK - in 8 years Karlin will be 18, and Chase will be 16. I can take them then. 8 years is a long time. What if he falls off the stage again? And what caused him to fall anyway? Was HE drunk at the Jimmy Buffett concert? I just wonder becuase it looked like a pretty obvious edge-of-the-stage to me. Granted, I've never been on stage with spotlights shining on me while 60,000 screamed and sang at me, but still. What if he's just getting old? Too old to tour?
I cringe to think of a world without Jimmy Buffett. 99.99% of us will never have his life. Or even a part of his life. But he gives us hope that maybe one day we will. And when you are in a God-awful hawaiian shirt, with palm trees on your head, pirate beads around your neck, drunk on 6 hours of tailgaiting, and singing arm-in-arm with 25,000 of your new closest friends - it seems like - just for a few hours - you're there. We're all in the tropics, on a boat, drinking margaritas together. For a few hours, the real world stops and we're all on Buffett time.
I look forward to those few hours all year. The best thing about living in Tampa is that Jimmy comes here every April. We can all be Pirates and Parrot Heads Fruitcakes and generally be irresponsible for awhile. We can sing to Mother Ocean and ask our neighbors to Get Drunk and Screw. We can all be Nobodies from Nowhere. None of us knows where we're gonna go when the Volcano blows, and we all know where the Fins are. We had our Cheeseburgers in paradise in a tent in the parking lot, and lord knows we are wasted away in Margaritaville.
Stay with us for awhile, JB. The world is a brighter, funnier, tackier place with you in it.
There's a popular slogan that makes fun of the "WWJD" - "What Would Jesus Do?" slogan. It's "WWJBD?" (What Would Jimmy Buffett Do?) After the scare yesterday, I began thinking about this one: WIJBD?
"WHAT IF JIMMY BUFFETT DIES?"
Yes - it's morbid. But he's no spring chicken. Jimmy Buffett is more than a singer, more than famous. He's a legend. An icon. A lifestyle. Even people that don't like him can respect and envy the life he's made for himself. (That would be you, Bart.)
Let's face it. Like Elvis and the Beatles, there is no other Jimmy Buffett. When he's gone, there will be no replacement. He changed popular culture forever. What will we do when he's gone?
Then I start thinking things like "Maybe I should stay sober so I can take my kids to see Jimmy while I still can." We all know that's crazy talk. First off...me sober? And second: Who stays sober at a Jimmy Buffett concert? Has that ever even happened before? And would he condone it anyway?
So then I start thinking...OK - in 8 years Karlin will be 18, and Chase will be 16. I can take them then. 8 years is a long time. What if he falls off the stage again? And what caused him to fall anyway? Was HE drunk at the Jimmy Buffett concert? I just wonder becuase it looked like a pretty obvious edge-of-the-stage to me. Granted, I've never been on stage with spotlights shining on me while 60,000 screamed and sang at me, but still. What if he's just getting old? Too old to tour?
I cringe to think of a world without Jimmy Buffett. 99.99% of us will never have his life. Or even a part of his life. But he gives us hope that maybe one day we will. And when you are in a God-awful hawaiian shirt, with palm trees on your head, pirate beads around your neck, drunk on 6 hours of tailgaiting, and singing arm-in-arm with 25,000 of your new closest friends - it seems like - just for a few hours - you're there. We're all in the tropics, on a boat, drinking margaritas together. For a few hours, the real world stops and we're all on Buffett time.
I look forward to those few hours all year. The best thing about living in Tampa is that Jimmy comes here every April. We can all be Pirates and Parrot Heads Fruitcakes and generally be irresponsible for awhile. We can sing to Mother Ocean and ask our neighbors to Get Drunk and Screw. We can all be Nobodies from Nowhere. None of us knows where we're gonna go when the Volcano blows, and we all know where the Fins are. We had our Cheeseburgers in paradise in a tent in the parking lot, and lord knows we are wasted away in Margaritaville.
Stay with us for awhile, JB. The world is a brighter, funnier, tackier place with you in it.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Micellaneous Observations For The Day
Star Date Thursday Jan. 20, 2011. Captain's Log:
* I want to cheerfully beat my friend, who has lost 50 pounds and is still not happy about it.
* There is a video on the Internet of this stupid lady who was text messaging in the mall, and as a result fell into a fountain. Some security camera caught it, and someone then posted it on You Tube. Now the lady has a LAWSUIT. This? Right here? Is why America is so messed up. Instead of laughing and saying "ha ha - maybe I should have been watching where I was going..." She's now claiming that she "could have been hurt" and someone should have helped her. Please. My quote for the day?
"Stupidity is Public Domain."
* Let's imagine for a moment that there is a 9 Year Old girl, who - after school yesterday - managed to take off her khaki pants and put them God Only Knows Where. Knowing the next day is class picture day, Mom does the laundry so that beautiful brilliant 9 year old can have nice clean khakis for school the next day. Flash forward 14 hours. 9 year old never actually put her pants in the hamper, meaning they didn't get washed. The only pair that are now clean are "too tight in the legs, and too big in the waist, and are a nightmare!" (said with as much angst as a 9 year old drama queen can muster up at 7:40 in the morning...) This is the same pair of pants that I bought 10 days ago, and that were fine last week.
* Which leads up to our next observation, which is: Why can't the kids put their clothes in the clothes hamper? I mean, they can put them on the floor next to the hamper. Why can't they make it the extra 3 inches to the hamper? This would ensure that pants stay found, and that the laundry gets done. Is it because their dad has the same problem with dishes and the dishwasher? or because I have the same problem with my shoes and the shoe cubbies in the closet?
* Two weeks on Weight Watchers. One pound. Enough said.
* Lately I have had the urge to get rid of stuff. Maybe it's because I've been watching Hoarders on A&E.
* I'm beginning to suspect that the real reason I want a vacation condo is so I can have a pretty, clean place that actually STAYS CLEAN.
* Good Morning America is doing a story about "Tiger Moms." What in the heck is a Tiger Mom? They aren't talking about animals.
* Starbucks is apparently trying to ease the inconvenience of having to buy two Venti coffees by offering a new 31 oz version. Maybe a good idea, but 31 ounces is bigger than the capacity of the average stomach. meaning your coffee will get cold before you can finish it.
* Coffee and Comics are the best! :)
* I want to cheerfully beat my friend, who has lost 50 pounds and is still not happy about it.
* There is a video on the Internet of this stupid lady who was text messaging in the mall, and as a result fell into a fountain. Some security camera caught it, and someone then posted it on You Tube. Now the lady has a LAWSUIT. This? Right here? Is why America is so messed up. Instead of laughing and saying "ha ha - maybe I should have been watching where I was going..." She's now claiming that she "could have been hurt" and someone should have helped her. Please. My quote for the day?
"Stupidity is Public Domain."
* Let's imagine for a moment that there is a 9 Year Old girl, who - after school yesterday - managed to take off her khaki pants and put them God Only Knows Where. Knowing the next day is class picture day, Mom does the laundry so that beautiful brilliant 9 year old can have nice clean khakis for school the next day. Flash forward 14 hours. 9 year old never actually put her pants in the hamper, meaning they didn't get washed. The only pair that are now clean are "too tight in the legs, and too big in the waist, and are a nightmare!" (said with as much angst as a 9 year old drama queen can muster up at 7:40 in the morning...) This is the same pair of pants that I bought 10 days ago, and that were fine last week.
* Which leads up to our next observation, which is: Why can't the kids put their clothes in the clothes hamper? I mean, they can put them on the floor next to the hamper. Why can't they make it the extra 3 inches to the hamper? This would ensure that pants stay found, and that the laundry gets done. Is it because their dad has the same problem with dishes and the dishwasher? or because I have the same problem with my shoes and the shoe cubbies in the closet?
* Two weeks on Weight Watchers. One pound. Enough said.
* Lately I have had the urge to get rid of stuff. Maybe it's because I've been watching Hoarders on A&E.
* I'm beginning to suspect that the real reason I want a vacation condo is so I can have a pretty, clean place that actually STAYS CLEAN.
* Good Morning America is doing a story about "Tiger Moms." What in the heck is a Tiger Mom? They aren't talking about animals.
* Starbucks is apparently trying to ease the inconvenience of having to buy two Venti coffees by offering a new 31 oz version. Maybe a good idea, but 31 ounces is bigger than the capacity of the average stomach. meaning your coffee will get cold before you can finish it.
* Coffee and Comics are the best! :)
Sunday, January 16, 2011
What Happened to Sunday Dinners?
I was reading the comics this morning, and saw a Family Circus one. It was basically pondering what had happened to the old Sunday Dinner. I looked up and Bart and said "Did you used to go to your Grandma's to eat every Sunday?" He did, and so did I. We rotated between 2 grandma's houses, but every Sunday we went to Sunday Dinner.
What happened to that? Do you know ANYONE who still has or goes to a Sunday Dinner? I don't. Maybe it's because families are so spread out now. We don't have any grandparents within about 7 1/2 hours of here. Maybe it's because s many people get divorced, remarried, etc. and there are step-grandparents and step-parents and half siblings. Maybe it's because the entire freakin world is on a diet, and I'm pretty sure Nanny's home-made creamed corn and buttermilk biscuits don't make the list.
It's a little sad when you think about it. At least twice a month when I was a kid, I went over to Nanny Padgett's house. We helped Paw Paw pick the butter beans for lunch. Dad brought over tomatoes from his garden. We ran and played with the 8 or so cousins that were always there (the inside of the giant Camellia bush was the best place to hide...) Then we came in to eat. The kids all sat out on the porch, while the grown-ups sat in the kitchen or the dining room. Sometimes the men sat in the living room if good football was on. Sunday dinners consisted of sweet, SWEET iced tea (no wonder we ran around so much...), bread/rolls/biscuits, Roast beef/Turkey/Ham, creamed corn, butter beans, green beans, tomatoes and cucumbers, the best Mac & cheese you have ever eaten, fried okra, and sometimes collard greens. On holidays we had sweet potatoes too. Dessert was home-made vanilla ice cream, or the cheesecake cherry pie that no one has the recipe for. It was heaven to a kid. After dinner we'd play horseshoes, or play house out on the concrete patio beneath the giant Pecan trees. We knew when Amy got her hair cut, or Jamison broke his arm. Everyone knew that I had just cut all the hair off my new hair-styling barbie, and that Courtney busted her lip riding her bike that week.
On other weeks, we'd go to Nanny Satterwhite's house. It was a little more subdued, because we were usually the only kids. We'd go outside and watch Poppy feed the squirrels. We'd play with his dogs and collect acorns. Lunch was either Pot Roast and potatoes, bread/rolls, squash, gravy (Nanny S. makes the best gravy - you could eat it on anything), potato salad, OR we'd have spaghetti and meatballs. Dessert was usually ice cream or cobbler or something from the bakery around the corner. (Sometimes we went to church with Nanny, and on the walk back we'd stop at the bakery. We'd pick out dessert for dinner, then each get a doughnut or petit-four. It was awesome...) We watched TV sometimes, played hide and seek in Nanny's old antique furniture (the chiffrobe was the best place to hide), and played with Nanny's huge box of buttons and beads. It was always fun too.
Nobody does that anymore. All of our grandparents live hours away. My cousin and Aunt live in Alabama. Aunts Uncles and Cousins on BOTH sides of our family are a little nutty, and some of them we haven't seen in years. Bart's sister and her kids live 2 miles away, but we hardly ever see each other. My sister is an hour and a half away - too far to drive for a meal.
I guess it can't really be helped. It just never occurred to me before today that those Sunday Dinners were a staple of my childhood - for almost 18 years plus. And no one does them anymore.
Sad.
What happened to that? Do you know ANYONE who still has or goes to a Sunday Dinner? I don't. Maybe it's because families are so spread out now. We don't have any grandparents within about 7 1/2 hours of here. Maybe it's because s many people get divorced, remarried, etc. and there are step-grandparents and step-parents and half siblings. Maybe it's because the entire freakin world is on a diet, and I'm pretty sure Nanny's home-made creamed corn and buttermilk biscuits don't make the list.
It's a little sad when you think about it. At least twice a month when I was a kid, I went over to Nanny Padgett's house. We helped Paw Paw pick the butter beans for lunch. Dad brought over tomatoes from his garden. We ran and played with the 8 or so cousins that were always there (the inside of the giant Camellia bush was the best place to hide...) Then we came in to eat. The kids all sat out on the porch, while the grown-ups sat in the kitchen or the dining room. Sometimes the men sat in the living room if good football was on. Sunday dinners consisted of sweet, SWEET iced tea (no wonder we ran around so much...), bread/rolls/biscuits, Roast beef/Turkey/Ham, creamed corn, butter beans, green beans, tomatoes and cucumbers, the best Mac & cheese you have ever eaten, fried okra, and sometimes collard greens. On holidays we had sweet potatoes too. Dessert was home-made vanilla ice cream, or the cheesecake cherry pie that no one has the recipe for. It was heaven to a kid. After dinner we'd play horseshoes, or play house out on the concrete patio beneath the giant Pecan trees. We knew when Amy got her hair cut, or Jamison broke his arm. Everyone knew that I had just cut all the hair off my new hair-styling barbie, and that Courtney busted her lip riding her bike that week.
On other weeks, we'd go to Nanny Satterwhite's house. It was a little more subdued, because we were usually the only kids. We'd go outside and watch Poppy feed the squirrels. We'd play with his dogs and collect acorns. Lunch was either Pot Roast and potatoes, bread/rolls, squash, gravy (Nanny S. makes the best gravy - you could eat it on anything), potato salad, OR we'd have spaghetti and meatballs. Dessert was usually ice cream or cobbler or something from the bakery around the corner. (Sometimes we went to church with Nanny, and on the walk back we'd stop at the bakery. We'd pick out dessert for dinner, then each get a doughnut or petit-four. It was awesome...) We watched TV sometimes, played hide and seek in Nanny's old antique furniture (the chiffrobe was the best place to hide), and played with Nanny's huge box of buttons and beads. It was always fun too.
Nobody does that anymore. All of our grandparents live hours away. My cousin and Aunt live in Alabama. Aunts Uncles and Cousins on BOTH sides of our family are a little nutty, and some of them we haven't seen in years. Bart's sister and her kids live 2 miles away, but we hardly ever see each other. My sister is an hour and a half away - too far to drive for a meal.
I guess it can't really be helped. It just never occurred to me before today that those Sunday Dinners were a staple of my childhood - for almost 18 years plus. And no one does them anymore.
Sad.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
This Is Why People Quit...
WOO HOO. It's January, folks! Time to lose that weight! (again) Time to make healthier choices! (again) Time to get healthy! (again)
So I started Weight watchers last week. (again) Can't say I was 100% perfect, but I stayed within points 5 of the 7 days, and only went over a little on the other 2 days. I also exercised this week (first time since Thanksgiving.)
I have spent this week sore and hungry. I sat at Disney World and watched my family eat Ice Cream sundaes as big as their heads (as I munched on my yummy and totally satisfying protein bar.) I didn't eat pizza during the national championship football game. No chocolate. No pasta. Measuring food. Limited bread. No pasta.
So what do I get for this whole 7 days of deprivation? NADA. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Did not lose a single pound.
This is especially depressing to me because - as all women know - usually the first week of a diet is when you lose the MOST weight. Your body has a shock, and you lose like 4-5 pounds. Then it slows down after that. So if we follow that well-established precedent, what does that mean for me? If I lost NOTHING the first week, how can it slow down from here on out? Will I actually gain weight? (possibly)
So here I am, after 7 days, almost in tears and ready to quit. It's so hard to diet when you have kids in the house and your married to genetically skinny exercise Nazi. It was much easier when it was just me, or even just me and Bart. But trying to cook meals and do the shopping for a family of 4, while trying to stay within your diet guidelines and getting the kids to eat whatever it is you are cooking, is HARD.
So what do I do now? I am supposed to run this $#*& 5K race with a bunch of !%#*&^% skinny people in 7 weeks. I can't run outside because as I type this it's 30 degrees outside. Meaning I have to get dressed and haul myself to the gym. FOR WHAT PURPOSE?
"To be healthier!" you might say. Well, I was at the doctor in December for my physical, and I am 100% healthy. She even said the weight had no visible health consequences in me. All of my lab work came back optimal. Not, good, not normal, but PERFECT. I am healthy.
I have been dieting and exercising for the better part of 16 years. It never works. It never sticks. Here I am, still fat. Maybe I am fighting a losing battle. Maybe I am just genetically predisposed to being this big. Maybe I should just embrace it and be one of those chicks on Dr. Phil who just loves themselves just the way they are.
Or maybe I should just go to McDonalds and get 2 Breakfast Burritos.
So I started Weight watchers last week. (again) Can't say I was 100% perfect, but I stayed within points 5 of the 7 days, and only went over a little on the other 2 days. I also exercised this week (first time since Thanksgiving.)
I have spent this week sore and hungry. I sat at Disney World and watched my family eat Ice Cream sundaes as big as their heads (as I munched on my yummy and totally satisfying protein bar.) I didn't eat pizza during the national championship football game. No chocolate. No pasta. Measuring food. Limited bread. No pasta.
So what do I get for this whole 7 days of deprivation? NADA. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Did not lose a single pound.
This is especially depressing to me because - as all women know - usually the first week of a diet is when you lose the MOST weight. Your body has a shock, and you lose like 4-5 pounds. Then it slows down after that. So if we follow that well-established precedent, what does that mean for me? If I lost NOTHING the first week, how can it slow down from here on out? Will I actually gain weight? (possibly)
So here I am, after 7 days, almost in tears and ready to quit. It's so hard to diet when you have kids in the house and your married to genetically skinny exercise Nazi. It was much easier when it was just me, or even just me and Bart. But trying to cook meals and do the shopping for a family of 4, while trying to stay within your diet guidelines and getting the kids to eat whatever it is you are cooking, is HARD.
So what do I do now? I am supposed to run this $#*& 5K race with a bunch of !%#*&^% skinny people in 7 weeks. I can't run outside because as I type this it's 30 degrees outside. Meaning I have to get dressed and haul myself to the gym. FOR WHAT PURPOSE?
"To be healthier!" you might say. Well, I was at the doctor in December for my physical, and I am 100% healthy. She even said the weight had no visible health consequences in me. All of my lab work came back optimal. Not, good, not normal, but PERFECT. I am healthy.
I have been dieting and exercising for the better part of 16 years. It never works. It never sticks. Here I am, still fat. Maybe I am fighting a losing battle. Maybe I am just genetically predisposed to being this big. Maybe I should just embrace it and be one of those chicks on Dr. Phil who just loves themselves just the way they are.
Or maybe I should just go to McDonalds and get 2 Breakfast Burritos.
Monday, January 10, 2011
The Changing of Christmas
Christmas is all about the kids, right? So it's cool when you have kids, and you get that age-old Santa torch passed to you.
That first year, everyone goes all out. Santa, Mom & Dad, both sets of grandparents, two great-grandparents, 2 aunts, cousins, and more all present the child with MILLIONS of gifts. Never mind that the 6 month old child is just as happy gnawing on that pretty red bow for, oh, 3 hours. It's HER FIRST CHRISTMAS. She's THE FIRST GRANDCHILD.
Fast forward 12 months. This time, everyone figures she's old enough now to get it. So Santa, Mom & Dad, both sets of grandparents, two great-grandparents, 2 aunts, cousins, and more all present the child with MILLIONS of gifts. This time, she is actually interested in the actual toy. However, that's where it ends. She opens one gift, and then - for the love of Pete - actually wants to just play with THAT ONE TOY. For hours. This leaves about 30 relatives anxiously awaiting thier turn to give her their pile of presents. At the toddler's pace, this will take approximately 18 years. Try to give her a new present - just go ahead. She doesn't want it, and she will cry if you take away the ONE TOY.
By the time she's on her third Christmas, everyone pretty much accepts the situation, and it takes her about 2 weeks to get through all the gifts.
Fast forward again about 6 years. Now THE FIRST GRANDCHILD has a younger brother. Brother learned much faster that after THE ONE TOY there is another. And another. And another. So this year, the two children ripped through their MILLIONS of gifts in approximately 25 minutes. And then want to know what's next.
Granted, some of the things they unwrapped, but still haven't opened to play with. The point is that in the beginning, you wait with baited breath FOREVER for the child to open the gifts. You don't really appreciate how wonderful that is until years later when $3000 worth of Christmas is decimated in a half an hour.
Santa still comes each year. There are cookies and milk. There are reindeer feedings. But sometimes I still wish I could see the endless fascination and joy my kids found once upon a time in THAT ONE TOY.
That first year, everyone goes all out. Santa, Mom & Dad, both sets of grandparents, two great-grandparents, 2 aunts, cousins, and more all present the child with MILLIONS of gifts. Never mind that the 6 month old child is just as happy gnawing on that pretty red bow for, oh, 3 hours. It's HER FIRST CHRISTMAS. She's THE FIRST GRANDCHILD.
Fast forward 12 months. This time, everyone figures she's old enough now to get it. So Santa, Mom & Dad, both sets of grandparents, two great-grandparents, 2 aunts, cousins, and more all present the child with MILLIONS of gifts. This time, she is actually interested in the actual toy. However, that's where it ends. She opens one gift, and then - for the love of Pete - actually wants to just play with THAT ONE TOY. For hours. This leaves about 30 relatives anxiously awaiting thier turn to give her their pile of presents. At the toddler's pace, this will take approximately 18 years. Try to give her a new present - just go ahead. She doesn't want it, and she will cry if you take away the ONE TOY.
By the time she's on her third Christmas, everyone pretty much accepts the situation, and it takes her about 2 weeks to get through all the gifts.
Fast forward again about 6 years. Now THE FIRST GRANDCHILD has a younger brother. Brother learned much faster that after THE ONE TOY there is another. And another. And another. So this year, the two children ripped through their MILLIONS of gifts in approximately 25 minutes. And then want to know what's next.
Granted, some of the things they unwrapped, but still haven't opened to play with. The point is that in the beginning, you wait with baited breath FOREVER for the child to open the gifts. You don't really appreciate how wonderful that is until years later when $3000 worth of Christmas is decimated in a half an hour.
Santa still comes each year. There are cookies and milk. There are reindeer feedings. But sometimes I still wish I could see the endless fascination and joy my kids found once upon a time in THAT ONE TOY.
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