Paper Napkin

The couch is calling my name

I'm taking a few brief minutes before I collapse on the couch to post. I should be making phone calls to contractors, doctors, and car mechanics, but I had some basal cancer cells removed from my forehead, and my head? She is hurting. Also I feel really nauseous for some reason. The procedure is a snappy affair-- snip, snip. But then they make you sit in the waiting room for 2 hours to make sure they got it all. I read in the waiting room, but when they got me in the chair afterward, to sew me up, they made me wait in a reclining position for a little too long, and I was sawing logs when the doctor came in. Ha, that was a little embarrassing. I just know I'm going to be one of those old people who is always falling asleep at the most inappropriate times. But hey, if your tired, what's in appropriate about that? Maybe I have narcolepsy. Anyway, I'm off to watch TV instead of being productive, and good grief, my to do list is about 8 miles long. I hope Aaron gets take out for dinner.

How's your day going?

Sweet Moses, wheres the delete button?!

Sorry I didn't post what we ate for dinner last night, but dang, I've been swamped with work today. Plus on Wednesdays I volunteered to be the leader to first graders for a group at church, which is basically the equivalent of co-ed Christian Scouts-- patches, badges, games, etc. Every Wednesday I think to myself, why did I volunteer for this dumb thing? The reason being, I wanted my kids to go, and I knew that if I volunteered to be a leader, I would be Committed, and I wouldn't be able to peter out in a few months when I'm sick of taxiing the kids.

But you know, when I get there, and it's game time, and I see those faces cheering, and those little bods running around, and pitching the bean bag, and trying to knock down the bowling pins, I get all caught up, and before I know it, I'm jumping up and down whooping like a goober. What can I say, I'm very suggestible.

Anyway, on to tonight's topic. I have GOT to start exercising. If I don't, I'm going to turn into the anti-super hero, Atrophied Prune Woman. I will consider saving old ladies from being mugged; I'll ponder running into a burning building, up 7 flights of stairs to save Mr. Wubbly's cat, Constance. But instead, when I see the MegaPrune glowing neon purple on top of yonder hill, as a signal that Someone, Somewhere is in distress, I will rally to a sitting position on the couch, then promptly roll over and eat some more Cheez Doodles.

But I HATE to exercise, and I have a very difficult time getting myself to do that which I hate. I have tried rewarding myself, setting goals, giving myself a talking-to with my index finger wagging vigorously, poking myself in the sternum with said finger, because YOU ARE GOING TO GET YOUR HEART A PUMPIN', DO YOU HEAR ME MISSY? To no avail. Apparently, I don't find myself very intimidating. Oh yeah? Who's gonna make me? You with your orange, Cheez-Doodle-stained finger? I don't THINK so.

But you know what motivates me? The threat of potential embarrassment. Truly, dread gets me hoppin'. And that's where you come in. You, dear internet, if you would be so kind, are going to help me get healthy. This will take no effort on your part.

Here's how it's gonna work. Each week I will exercise everyday, except Monday and Friday. I will exercise for 45 minutes, riding my bike, walking the treadmill, or doing an exercise video.

You will leave a comment requesting I do something embarrassing if I don't exercise. When you leave a comment, whatever number commenter you are, that will be your corresponding week.

So, for example, if you're commenter # 5, and you ask me to run down the street clucking like a chicken, then on the 5th week, if I miss a designated day of exercise, I will run down my street clucking like a chicken. Aaron will take pictures, or document in some other way that I carried out whatever humiliation you requested, and I will write about it on this here blog.

If you want to participate, but are unable to bring yourself to ask me to do something embarrassing (because personally, I hate for people to feel embarrassed) you can send me a reward if I complete my exercise that week. But this is voluntary, so don't feel bad about asking me to do something embarrassing.

Cardiohellfest '07 will start Tuesday, September 25, and run through December something-or-other when I go to AZ for Christmas. I'll set up a separate page charting my progress, and what I'm supposed to do that week if I miss a day of exercise.

Let the humiliation begin! *wimper*

If you need me I'll be hiding under the covers.

Vacations should come with warning labels: Please consult your doctor prior to returning to normal life. Stopping vacation abruptly, especially on a week day may cause nausea, dizziness, a to do list 8 miles long, or in rare cases myocardial infarction. The day following vacation, invariably your children will have to eat canned beans for breakfast.

I cannot imagine if I were actually one of those bona fide busy people. What must it be like? I'd just have to curl up in the corner and rock back and forth, until the nice men came to get me. Lordy.

I hates me some exercise.

Seriously. Riding my bike seems to be the least-evil form of raising my heart rate, but to tell you the truth, I'd like scientists to discover a way of exercising without all that work. But I know it's something I need to do, must do, etc. etc.. So give me your opinion, oh wise internet.

Really really lazy: day two

Oh. my. gosh. I am so lazy. Really. I have completely abandoned school for two days now, and done nothing but watch cartoons with my kids, take Will to the movies, read, and shop online. (Okay, I did cook 3 meals, and do the dishes, but still, that's just basic to survival.) The dog threw up on the tile this morning, and I haven't even cleaned it up yet. Now that's lazy. This must stop. I'm posting it right here, on the internet, so I can guilt myself into getting up tomorrow at 5:30 (or 6:00) at the latest, get off my ever widening ass, and get some crap done around here. I cannot take the guilt. Here's my list for tomorrow (Notice how I still give myself permission to be lazy for the rest of the day. But the kids do have gymnastics tonight, so that counts for something. I mean, I'll have to drive somewhere else to sit on my ass and read, right? A for effort? No dice, huh?)

5 things I will do tomorrow, as God as my witness:

• walk a mile on the treadmill
• do dishes
• do at least 3 loads of laundry (fold and put away too, not just let it wrinkle and grow old in the baskets)
• clean bathrooms
• do school

It's not a lot, but it's a start.

What say you, Internet?

As you long-time readers know, I have truckload of things I needed to change about myself (if you're a new reader, consider yourself lucky to have been spared my adolescent angst).  So. Let's say I haul this truckload of bad habits down to the ethos-dump, and then I order shiny new habits from Amazon (they sell everything there). They arrive via really cute UPS guy, but all the instruction manuals are in Japanese...hmm, my metaphor seems to be disintegrating. 

What I'm trying to say is change is hard as hell for me; I don't know how you people do it. I'm so overwhelmed by the number and nature of the changes I need to make. I feel like my brain is broken. I'm like a roly-poly bug, I take two steps forward, then curl into a little ball. Anyway, I've come up with my 7,800,476th plan, and I wonder if you think it could work.

Let's say I wanted to stop chewing tobacco, drinking lemonade, and listening to smooth jazz.  I set one (1) goal, related to any of my bad habits for a period of twenty-four (24) hours. Day one I say, "My goal today is to only listen to country music." The next day I say, "Today I will only drink whiskey." So each day I work on one bad habit, and forget about the others. Do you think that over time (say, the span of a year) I could successfully stop chewing tobacco, drinking lemonade, and listening to smooth jazz? Or am I just fooling myself?

It's dark and I'm the only one awake

Dear sweet Moses I want to go back to bed. I want to go back to bed so much I may actually do it, even though it will wreak havoc on the rest of my day. What do you want to do right now?

To Do Or Not To Do

The first week of virtual school is behind us. I work at the craft store Saturday, Sunday, and Monday night (what is my manager smoking?). That means I have a long list of things I need to accomplish this afternoon because I won't have much of a chance over the weekend, especially since we have school on Labor Day (which is a little self-imposed torture so that sometime in the future, when I reeaally need it, I can take a free mental health day, 'cause I know that day is coming.)

Stuff I have to do by Monday (I'll cross off as I go)

• Buy the ridiculously long list of supplies for science class, including an eye dropper. Do they even make eye droppers any more?

• Go to the grocery store

• Go to Warehouse Store

• Buy all the school supplies I didn't buy last week because I wasn't sure what I would need

• Fold the 3 loads of laundry that are sitting in the baskets

• Do at least 2 more loads

• Clean the bathrooms

• Pay bills, esp. the mortgage, which is due, um, today.

• Call the mother and foster mother of my G@L kid, and write a report, because I have to go to court on Tuesday to present my findings to the judge.

• Find someone to watch my kids on Tuesday

• Buy a canvas tote, and some stuff to decorate it for Will's preschool, which starts Tuesday

• Go to the library

• Design 2 banners

• Vacuum

What I'd like to do

• Take a nap

Ever Get That "Not So Fresh" Feeling?

Yeah, I think my brain needs a douche, or maybe my life. Wouldn't it be nice if the brain was a self-cleaning organ? Or maybe it is. I think I won't explore that further.

So anyway, I've been thinking about the direction my life is going. (I think about it a lot.) You know, you're born with a certain temperament, but events shape you. They shift your direction, they modify your personality.

Like the ball in a pinball machine, you hit the flippers, or tilt, and the ball takes another trajectory.

Or Michael Jackson's face. You go to the plastic surgeon with an idea of how you'd like things to turn out, and then you wake up one morning and you say, "I think I'm addicted to rhinoplasty." or "At last! I've always dreamed of being a white woman." or "AAUUUGHHH!" Depending on your taste.

I don't want this to be a depressing post, but I have to tell you where I'm coming from, in order to tell you what direction I'm headed. I feel some shame, because I know those of you who have read me from the beginning have heard me say all this in one form or another. But I can't write for an audience. Plenty of other blogs out there, move along if you feel impatient with my lack of yada, yada, yada, or my propensity for blah, blah, blah.

You know you're lazy when

the clock on your computer is wrong, and instead of getting up to look at the clock, you Google: "What time is it?"

An Audience With The Emperor of The Penguins

Am giant sloth. If it didn't take so much energy I'd probably hate myself, but as it stands I'll settle for some disgust. See? I can't even meet my own standard for disapproval. Pathetic. Well, as it's already 1:30 and I have done nothing, I may as well take my children to the movies, and do nothing in Dolby surround sound.

Lethargy
(To the tune of The Beatles' "Yesterday")

Sitting here,
on my arse in front of my PC
the poster child for inactivity.
I'm overrun with lethargy.

Lethargy,
Is it just a lack of energy?
Or inertia that has come for tea?
Oh, I believe in lethargy.

Why I can't get up
I don't know, I couldn't say.
I know at this rate
I'll get nothing done today.

Lethargy
All these moving boxes stare at me,
So I'll go see a documentary
Oh, I believe in lethargy.

In Which I Am Pee Em Essy

There is something wrong with me. I can't quite put my finger on it, but an educated guess is that I suck in every conceivable way. Yeah, I think that about covers it. Also, I lack all the neccesary skills of a functioning adult. But! Instead of  rehashing the same old flaws like so many moldy leftovers, I will direct you to the latest issue (?) of vox box. It's a little magazine article thingy I do once in a while. If you like it, spread the word, because last issue I only got about 450 hits. Or you can play flikr memotest (stolen from Pam.)

These Are A Few Of My Un-Favorite Things

God, I feel like utter crap.
...
...

Gee, I had hoped to post something longer, but that about sums it up. Maybe I can milk it for a couple of paragraphs. Let's see, why do I feel like utter crap?

One reason is financial. I won't bore you with the details other than to say, a family of five living on one income is a challenge sometimes. Especially when your husband was out of work for 18 months and  presently the balance in your savings account is $5.18. Thanks to some unexpected bills, the next couple of months should be interesting, and by interesting I mean no fun.

Also? While being a G@L is interesting and rewarding, it's also depressing as hell. A mother, who is having a lot of trouble staying off crack, with 13 children, all farmed out to various family members, trying to do the best she can, is heart breaking. And there ain't a whole lot I can do to help.

Another reason I am feeling like the dregs is that sugar withdrawls are no fun.

Is this a candy bar I see before me?
It's Butterfinger toward my fingers?  Come, let me clutch thee.
I have eaten thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but
a candy of the mind, a false creation,
proceeding from the sugar-withdrawn brain?
My heart did grieve at the sight
of the new limited edition
Reeses peanut butter lover cups,
a sweet harvest my lips shall never reap.

So I'm going to go cruise the isles of Barnes and Noble, and whisper sweet nothings to my latte. Hope your weekend is better than mine.

Not Entertaining, Unless You Like Neurosis

I am the only human on the planet who is not busy. Since I do not think busy is synonymous with important, I am neither ashamed, nor proud of that fact; it just is. All the other people on the planet run around with PACKED day-planners, full of all their appointments and social activities, and errands, and children's schedules, but not me.  Today I have to get ready for court tomorrow, and make dinner for somebody who just had a baby, and register Haley and Will for day care, and Emily has a friend over right now--that's it, and I cannot handle it. I don't mind that I am the quintessential type-B, and don't usually have much going on, but NOW it seems I no longer have the capacity to handle a full day. I feel like such a schlep. So feel free to lie and tell me that even Franklin Covey couldn't handle this work load.  If you need me, I'll be napping. Feh.

ETA: Wait! Aaron's taking Emily on a date tonight, I can put the other kids to bed early. I just got my Vanity Fair DVD from Netflix. Steak and Cabernet for dinner...this day may still be salvageable.

Why I Can Never Get My Crap Together

en·tro·py   n. (ntr-p)    

1. The tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity.    
2. Inevitable and steady deterioration of a system or society.    
3. Bane of my existence.

I Am The Anti-Crast

When I was in school I was a professional procrastinator. Suffice it to say, that the guilt and anxiety that caused was not fun. One semester I was put on academic probation, which scared the crap out of me. Fear is a great motivator. After that I made the Dean's list every semester until I graduated. I pulled my crap together and over came my procrastination. This weekend, as usual, I did a lot of soul searching. I realized that procrastination has snuck back into the control center in my brain and is wreaking havoc in there. So I read and researched and scheduled and planned yesterday, and I made up a battle plan to defeat it. I am no longer a procrastinator. I am the Anti-crastinator.

The problem is that,  being a SAHM,  I have no structure imposed upon me, and those are the conditions I work best under.  But I am going to overcome this problem anyway. I have a plan, I will follow the plan. No perfectly, but I will do it. Not doing it is not an option. Each citizen of the United States is allocated 6,473 uses of the excuse "But I don't want to." I have used all mine, and yours too, and that phrase is no longer part of my vocabulary. This morning I rolled out of bed and walked for 30 minutes.I heard voices which told me I would get lost walking in the dark. I heard voices which told me that 30 minutes of brisk walking was inadequate exercise. I told the voices to shut the hell up.  I did not let the fact that I didn't want to walk stop me. I squished the I-don't-want-to bug under my Reeboks, and walked on down the street. I'm buying a red satin cape. I'm changing my name to Tenacity Jones.

And Now For A Word From Our Sponsor

My cold which was getting better has now summoned reinforcements. Please talk amongst yourselves while I do my best sloth impersonation.

Signs you're watching too much children's television:

> When faced with a moral dilemma you ask yourself what would Elmo do?
> You know you have to start making lunch because Dora The Explorer is on.
> You're sure Mama Berenstein would do a better job of raising your kids.
> You think The Count suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
> You wonder who cleans up Clifford's poop.
> You have impure thoughts about Anthony.

Signs your children are watching to much TV:

> When you tell them to turn off the tv they say "Bedtime already?"
> "Calliou's mommy never yells at him like that!"
> Your 4 year old knows how to operate the VCR.
> They ask if DW can come over to play.
> Your toddler's first word is Zaboomafoo.
> They leave the room and say they'll be back after these messages.

Automamom

There are many days I wish I was an automaton. Completely consistent. Never doing things in fits and starts. Oh, to have an even, smooth approach to running my life. But I don’t want to be just any automaton. Not C3PO. He's  too emotional and scattered to even qualify as an automaton. Really he's just a person in a shiny gold suit. And I don't want to be like the Terminator. I want to be able to multi-task, and the model Ts are just too single minded,  "Kill John Connor. Kill John Connor." Give it a rest already. Not a Stepford wife. Too perky, and too much at the whim of others. If I'm going to go to all the trouble of being a robot, I want to carry out my own agenda.

Did you ever think that there was a robotic quality to Mr. Rogers? I totally love Mr. Rogers don't get me wrong, but I read the tributes people wrote to him after he had died, and they all said that he was the same with everyone in every situation, who's like that? It's pretty admirable actually. And he was really consistant. He exercised everyday, and was very  devoted in many of his habits. So I wouldn't mind being like Mr. Rogers. Or maybe I could be June Cleaver. I mean, she was basically an automaton. She was efficient and productive, kept everything  running smooth as silk. Oh sure, sometimes she worried or struggled, but no problem June ever had couldn’t be solved in 22 minutes plus commercials. What I want to be is an automamom.

There was a time when I was almost an automamom. When my oldest, Emily was born I thought I had to be super-mom. I was tidy, I was organized, I was routinized. I sorted and resorted clothes, and baby accessories. I had a feeding schedule and sleeping schedule for Emily, and practically put her through baby boot camp. I was a compulsive, neurotic pain in the ass. One day my husband came into the kitchen to find me cooking dinner, and crying. I was breaking under the strain of doing all things well and orderly. It’s just not my temperament.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” He asked.
“NOTHING!” I replied sweetly through gritted teeth. “I’m just cooking *sniff* dinner.”
“Well, why don’t you just take a break and we’ll order out.” He suggested.
“No. I want it to be home made.” I said stubbornly.  (Home made? What the?)
“Uh… okay,” he said in his don’t-piss-off-the crazy-woman voice. “Well, don’t you have a lot of dinners you made in advance?” He opened the freezer to reveal stacks of neatly labeled dinners waiting patiently in their Ziplocks. “Can’t you just pop one of these in the micro?”
“No! Those are for an emergency!”
“Hon. This is it! This is the emergency.”

After convincing me that I did not need a special dispensation from the governor to use the frozen meals I had diligently prepared in advance, we nuked some dinner. I realized at that point that I just wasn’t cut out to be super-mom. When I looked around one day and saw that my house was back to its normal state I knew I was getting better. It’s the only time I was ever really happy to be untidy.

The question is why? Why wish for something so banal? I think it’s because I equate my inconsistencies with some  kind of moral failing. Isn’t that deep in the American  psyche? Aren’t people who have all their ducks in a row considered better people than those who don’t? At least on some level I view them that way. But if I really think about it (I’ve got to stop thinking so much) although it’s helpful and probably makes life a bit easier, there’s really no moral correlation whatsoever. In fact, in my case there is a moral decline, because I am a raving bitch. My normal state of disorder is about a 5 on a scale from 1 to 10. 1 being pin neat and 10 being Mt. Vesuvius. When I'm a 5 I am a much much nicer, more pleasant person. What I need is to work my way to being a 4 in neatness and consistancy. And I need to appreciate the good qualities about me. Those are my two new wishes. That and a winning lottery ticket.

Meh Pt. 2

Back from swimming; the girls had a blast,  and as you can tell I am putting off putting up the laundry, but will do it right after this important message. Which is...um...Oh! I know, Clementines. Sweet little members of the orange family. I bought a box at Costco thinking we would never eat them all, and they're disappearing like rabbits. Also KC Masterpiece 30 minute marinade, I tried the garlic a few days ago and tonight is the teriyaki, yum. Finally, I have never posted a quiz, because although I like taking them and looking at the results of other people's quizzes, well...meh (quickly becoming my word of the day). Anyway one indulgence before I go put the laundry away.

Brain Lateralization Test Results

Right Brain (30%) The right hemisphere is the visual, figurative, artistic, and intuitive side of the brain. Left Brain (78%) The left hemisphere is the logical, articulate, assertive, and practical side of the brain

Are You Right or Left Brained?
personality tests by similarminds.com

So I guess this means I'll be filing my laundry by color, item, and percentage of cotton. Yeah, I crack myself up too. Practical, yes. Anal, no. This is especially funny because along with putting the laundry away I have to unpack the suitcase. Yes that would be the suitcase from my vacation which ended 12 days ago. I just pull out items I need like tooth brushes and moisturizer one at a time until finally I remember I don't have a butler. This test is accurate, it's just that the 30% of my right brain has a stronger magnetic pull over my body than the 78% of my left brain. And did you notice that's 108%?

Meh

I'm tired. Not the bone numbing tired that sometimes accompanies motherhood, just the can't find it within myself to do much kind of tired. Or maybe I am the bone tired kind of tired, but am just so used to it by now it seems normal. I did manage to bathe and groom all of us, feed us breakfast and lunch, and do the dishes. I took the laundry upstairs, though the last time I checked it had not flown to its proper drawers ala Mary Poppins. I actually rousted my bum out of bed this morning to walk 3 miles. I've decided that the only way to do exercise it to do it first thing and get it out of the way. *sigh* I would like to curl up with a good book or take a nap but within the next 45 minutes I have to get the girls ready for swimming lessons. Technically, I do have an out since Will is asleep, but I really don't think my inner sloth can win the "stay home and don't wake the baby" debate when the other side is arguing "paid for lessons, two weeks only". The girls are contentedly playing "guinea pigs", and needed grapes and string cheese and water, because apparently that is a guinea pig's favorite fare.

I think Aaron is going to want to go to the baseball game tonight. We had a lil' spat last night because he took the girls and Will was screaming bloody murder because he wanted to go too. Aaron tried to persuade me to come along, but Will had been up half the night, and we wouldn't be home from the game until about 11:00. Gee, how could I pass up an invitation to chase around a tired cranky two year old in 90 degree weather for 5 hours? So Will and I stayed home which I had a little guilt about, since we're a Family and supposed to do things together as a Family, thereby being Familial. But hey, it's not a normal day until I have guilt over something, I am a MOM after all. So tonight he is going to want to go to the game and I am going to have to plead Amazing Race, unless of course it's the last game they'll be playing at home for a while in which case I'll probably still stay home, but feel a little extra guilt.

 

The Rubber And The Road

This post will probably be pretty tedious to everyone but me, so feel free to click on by.

I have discovered a missing piece of my life’s puzzle.

My mom is organized and particular about the way she like things done. She gets her hair and nails done regularly. She has an entire cabinet full of coffee cups in various colors so that her coffee cup will match her outfit. Her socks are contained in individual clear boxes and filed according to color. She has never left the house without full make-up. She has drawn a diagram she refers to when making the bed, so that she can exactly place each of the 20 bazillion throw pillows. Books in the library are organized according to subject, author and size. There is also some elaborate system for Christmas decorations, which slips my mind at the moment.

Then there is my dad. My dad wears shirts until the collars are frayed and there are holes in them. He recently repaired the patio umbrella with duct tape and a stapler. His toenails have turned hard and yellow from fungus, and must be clipped with grass shears (no I’m not kidding). Even though there is medication (both oral and topical) which can eliminate this fungus, he does not use it because the fungus doesn’t bother him, and it doesn’t hurt his toes. You get the picture.

Both my parents are great people: intelligent, creative and very successful. They both have a style which suits them. They operate in a way that makes them comfortable. Take these two people with their very diverse approaches to living and make them parents. Enter me. My temperament and thinking process is more like my dad, so I have approached some things the way he would. Still, I have been very conflicted about how to manage the business of life, having two very different models to try to assimilate in my wee brain.

For example: what difference does it make if I take a shower before I go to the store? It’s not hurting anyone (assuming I put on deodorant). So what if there are leaves which blew into the garage last fall and are still sitting there? Those leaves aren’t hurting anyone. But I think they are hurting someone. All this time I have failed to realized  the other component by which both parents operate: what bothers them. I don’t know why it has taken me so many years to figure this out.

I am WAY too utilitarian for my own good. I feel as if I need to justify why something needs to be improved if it is functional. Does it need to be done? Is it hurting anyone? What is the point of doing that? These are questions I ask myself a lot. Even if it’s not pretty or pleasing, if it functions okay, leave it alone. But you know what? Some things bug me. Just because. No, chipped toenail polish isn’t hurting my toes, but it bugs me. So do the leaves in the garage. And isn’t discomfort one of the primary human motivators? It’s right up there with fear and anger. I’ve been ignoring something that could help me evolve.

I see this so clearly in my kids. Emily likes things just so. She wants the tag cut out because it scratches her neck. She sometimes sleeps on top of her bedspread because she doesn’t want to wrinkle her covers. If her penmanship is messy, she does it over. Haley is like me. She wears her underwear on backwards and her shoes on the wrong feet. (Uh...I have graduated beyond wearing my underwear and shoes backwards fyi.) Even though she knows the right way to wear them, the wrong way just doesn’t bother her. I indulge both girls. I cut out tags and I let shoes remain unchanged, because I want to respect both girls (except for flip flops, which Haley will wear on the wrong feet between the wrong toes, and I just can’t take that).

Anyway, we all have our own styles, and I am thankful that not a lot bothers me. But I am going to change the stuff that bugs me, whether I NEED to or not. I gotta go sweep the garage now.