I’m pretty sure that although my daughter has dreams of being a lounge singer, she is better suited to be a linguist.
And it’s not just because her father is a genius and uses words I’ve never heard of before. And it’s not because before I had children, I had a pretty good vocabulary myself.
It’s not even because I suspect my husband of sneaking J.R.R. Tolkien books under her pillow at night, hoping some of Tolkien’s linguistic talent will go to her head through osmosis.
It’s because she’s already started down the path that leads to being a linguist.
I think one of the talents you must have to be a linguist is the ability to make up words on the spot and define them and then convince everyone that your definition is correct. She’s really good at this.
For example, during the Christmas season, we would drive around town looking at lights. If there was a house that had a display of lights that might put Las Vegas to shame, the Four Year Old would say, “HungaMunga!”
Without even waiting for the question that would ask for clarification, she would define her word for us: “HungaMunga. It means A LOT of lights.”
Pretty soon we were all bursting out with “HungaMunga!” anytime we saw a house with a lot of lights. Then my husband began to use it in a sentence, “That house has a lot of HungaMunga. Wouldn’t you agree?”
One day last week I was driving around completing errands with my kids in the car and my daughter started crying. If you know my daughter, it’s not very unusual for her to burst into tears all of a sudden and scare the heck out of you. Sometimes I can be strong enough and patient enough to deal with these little emotional outbursts. Other times she is so spontaneous in her crying that it surprises me and I respond by practically jumping out of my seat.
“What is wrong?” I asked. If you want to, you may believe that I asked this in the most patient and loving Mommy voice. If you want the truth…I probably asked it with a tone of exasperation.
“All the HungaMunga is gone!” she wailed.
I didn’t know whether to laugh because it’s obvious this word has become part of our family vocabulary or cry because I was too tired to explain the cycle of Christmas decorations yet again.
I could make a list of the words that she has made up and have become part of the household vocabulary, but I won’t because I need that list for future blog entries. I have to stretch the fun out.
Another language “issue” I’ve noticed about the Four Year Old, though, is her ability to make sure that everyone understands that words that are used in past tense, are REALLY used in past tense. What I mean is that she throws an extra “ed” on the end of a word to make it as meaningful as possible. She doesn’t just say, “Mommy, I missed you.” She says, “Mommy, I missed-ed you.”
I know this is a typical preschooler thing to do, but I am going to kind of miss (ded) those words when she grows out of them.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
It's not easy being green
The other night I almost had a heart attack.
Well, not really, but I did almost do a cartwheel and shout, "Yippee!"
You see, my daughter ate a vegetable.
Not just any vegetable. But the green one that looks like trees and that one must usually smother in cheese sauce to make it appear edible to anyone under the age of thirty.
"What is this called again?" asked the Four Year Old, holding up her fork that had speared one of the small trees (not covered in any sauce, mind you).
"Broccoli."
She stuck it in her mouth. I waited.
"I like broccoli now."
Inside my head, the crowd was going wild. Cheers of joy filled my head. I mentally spoke to the vitamins in the green stuff she had just swallowed, asking them to find their way to the most vital parts and take root, because who knew when she would eat another vegetable. It took me four years to get her to eat this.
"Oh, good." I said.
"I don't like the white ones, though."
My husband said, "That's cauliflower. That's different. It's okay if you don't like it. You tried it at least."
My daughter ate another piece of broccoli. She could have asked me for anything she wanted and I would have given it to her. Would you like a pony? I will go get you a pony. Thank you, thank you, for eating a vegetable.
Did you ever notice that they make it as easy as possible to lie on the Wellness Questionaire at the Pediatrician's office? Maybe not at all doctor's facilities, but at least in ours. They put all the right answers in one column, and all the wrong ones in another. Does anyone smoke in your home? Is your water heater turned to the right temperature? Do you put your baby in a car seat? It's all yes or no, check this box, type of questions, all the correct answers in the same column to make it convenient to just check down the row. I wonder if whoever wrote that questionaire knew that most mothers are suffering from lack of sleep and multi-tasking headaches, and thought, "The poor dears, let's just make it so they don't have one more thing to think about." So I'm taking my son to get his wellness check up (four months late) and to get his shots and I'm filling out the form, feeling like I could get an A or a happy face sticker on the form for being such a good mom. And then the form says, "Do you offer your child vegetables at every meal?"
I actually hesitated. Like I held my pencil in the air and stared at the form and considered lying by marking "yes." Why, yes, my children are offered vegetables at every meal because what kind of mother would I be if I didn't do that? I'm certainly not the mother who throws five chicken nuggets on a plate in the microwave and asks, "You want ketchup with that?" and calls it good. I'm certainly not the mother who considers chocolate cheerios a decent snack.
I had visions of being tied up to a chair and being questioned by Jack Bauer (Okay, if you never watched 24, you won't get it) on my children's eating habits. Then being declared some sort of vegetable hater or terrorist and hauled away never to be heard from again. Caught by the Counter Terrorist Unit in defense of all things veggie. No, Jack, don't hurt me, I promise to offer peas and carrots.
I marked "no". I do not offer vegetables with every meal. Let the chips fall where they may. I can take it.
That Pediatrician didn't even look at my questionaire.
I still felt guilty - I made a promise to myself that I would make an effort to at least offer vegetables with dinner. And even if they don't eat them, I will have done my job. I was rewarded with 4 small trees of green being eaten by the Four Year Old. The Toddler just threw them on the floor.
You can't win them all.
I gave the Four Year Old cake for dessert.
Well, not really, but I did almost do a cartwheel and shout, "Yippee!"
You see, my daughter ate a vegetable.
Not just any vegetable. But the green one that looks like trees and that one must usually smother in cheese sauce to make it appear edible to anyone under the age of thirty.
"What is this called again?" asked the Four Year Old, holding up her fork that had speared one of the small trees (not covered in any sauce, mind you).
"Broccoli."
She stuck it in her mouth. I waited.
"I like broccoli now."
Inside my head, the crowd was going wild. Cheers of joy filled my head. I mentally spoke to the vitamins in the green stuff she had just swallowed, asking them to find their way to the most vital parts and take root, because who knew when she would eat another vegetable. It took me four years to get her to eat this.
"Oh, good." I said.
"I don't like the white ones, though."
My husband said, "That's cauliflower. That's different. It's okay if you don't like it. You tried it at least."
My daughter ate another piece of broccoli. She could have asked me for anything she wanted and I would have given it to her. Would you like a pony? I will go get you a pony. Thank you, thank you, for eating a vegetable.
Did you ever notice that they make it as easy as possible to lie on the Wellness Questionaire at the Pediatrician's office? Maybe not at all doctor's facilities, but at least in ours. They put all the right answers in one column, and all the wrong ones in another. Does anyone smoke in your home? Is your water heater turned to the right temperature? Do you put your baby in a car seat? It's all yes or no, check this box, type of questions, all the correct answers in the same column to make it convenient to just check down the row. I wonder if whoever wrote that questionaire knew that most mothers are suffering from lack of sleep and multi-tasking headaches, and thought, "The poor dears, let's just make it so they don't have one more thing to think about." So I'm taking my son to get his wellness check up (four months late) and to get his shots and I'm filling out the form, feeling like I could get an A or a happy face sticker on the form for being such a good mom. And then the form says, "Do you offer your child vegetables at every meal?"
I actually hesitated. Like I held my pencil in the air and stared at the form and considered lying by marking "yes." Why, yes, my children are offered vegetables at every meal because what kind of mother would I be if I didn't do that? I'm certainly not the mother who throws five chicken nuggets on a plate in the microwave and asks, "You want ketchup with that?" and calls it good. I'm certainly not the mother who considers chocolate cheerios a decent snack.
I had visions of being tied up to a chair and being questioned by Jack Bauer (Okay, if you never watched 24, you won't get it) on my children's eating habits. Then being declared some sort of vegetable hater or terrorist and hauled away never to be heard from again. Caught by the Counter Terrorist Unit in defense of all things veggie. No, Jack, don't hurt me, I promise to offer peas and carrots.
I marked "no". I do not offer vegetables with every meal. Let the chips fall where they may. I can take it.
That Pediatrician didn't even look at my questionaire.
I still felt guilty - I made a promise to myself that I would make an effort to at least offer vegetables with dinner. And even if they don't eat them, I will have done my job. I was rewarded with 4 small trees of green being eaten by the Four Year Old. The Toddler just threw them on the floor.
You can't win them all.
I gave the Four Year Old cake for dessert.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
A use for bacon
As if anyone needed to be told a use for bacon. I just couldn't think of a clever title.
So I was looking for good crockpot recipes because, let's face it, they are few and far between it seems, and I found one. But then I tweaked it because I felt it needed bacon.
Here is the recipe. It's a navy bean and ham soup. With bacon. And sauteed onions. And carrots. And cream. Basically, I rewrote the recipe. It turned out quite yummy, but rich. A little goes a long way with this one. I also threw on some asiago shredded cheese on the top. I served it with fresh asiago cheese bread.
You will need :
A bag of navy beans. Soak 2 cups overnight in 6 cups of water. Drain.
A whole package of bacon (I used applewood smoked. It was quite extraordinary)
3 or 4 large carrots
1 yellow onion
whipping cream
1 box of chicken stock (low sodium)
a bunch of ham, cubed
pepper to taste
throw in some garlic with the onions while your sauteing if you want.
After soaking beans over night and draining, throw them in a crockpot.
Cook all your bacon, pat dry with paper towels and crumble. Add to crockpot.
Save the bacon grease. While bacon grease is still hot, saute one diced, yellow onion.
When onions are mostly soft, add to crockpot.
Slice carrots and saute in onion and bacon grease. When carrots are completely coated and change color a bit, remove and add to crockpot.
Add cubed ham to crockpot.
Add in one box of chicken stock (about 4 cups or so) and 1 cup of water.
Stir and cook on low for 7-9 hours.
About 1/2 hour or so before eating, add in some cream. I did about half of a small carton.
Serve in bowls with a little sprinkled asiago cheese.
Enjoy!
So I was looking for good crockpot recipes because, let's face it, they are few and far between it seems, and I found one. But then I tweaked it because I felt it needed bacon.
Here is the recipe. It's a navy bean and ham soup. With bacon. And sauteed onions. And carrots. And cream. Basically, I rewrote the recipe. It turned out quite yummy, but rich. A little goes a long way with this one. I also threw on some asiago shredded cheese on the top. I served it with fresh asiago cheese bread.
You will need :
A bag of navy beans. Soak 2 cups overnight in 6 cups of water. Drain.
A whole package of bacon (I used applewood smoked. It was quite extraordinary)
3 or 4 large carrots
1 yellow onion
whipping cream
1 box of chicken stock (low sodium)
a bunch of ham, cubed
pepper to taste
throw in some garlic with the onions while your sauteing if you want.
After soaking beans over night and draining, throw them in a crockpot.
Cook all your bacon, pat dry with paper towels and crumble. Add to crockpot.
Save the bacon grease. While bacon grease is still hot, saute one diced, yellow onion.
When onions are mostly soft, add to crockpot.
Slice carrots and saute in onion and bacon grease. When carrots are completely coated and change color a bit, remove and add to crockpot.
Add cubed ham to crockpot.
Add in one box of chicken stock (about 4 cups or so) and 1 cup of water.
Stir and cook on low for 7-9 hours.
About 1/2 hour or so before eating, add in some cream. I did about half of a small carton.
Serve in bowls with a little sprinkled asiago cheese.
Enjoy!
Friday, December 23, 2011
Sneaky Christmas
Not to be one to say the glass is half empty, I am surprised at myself for thinking only of the Christmas-sy things I haven't done this season, rather than the ones I have.
I am slightly peeved because Christmas is two days away and I have not been to one "Sing-a-long Handel's Messiah" and I have not seen enough Las Vegas style Christmas lights. I haven't sung enough Christmas carols and I have not had one glass of eggnog. The closest I came was having eggnog flavored creamer in my coffee. Not really a decent substitute.
I didn't even get to attend the one adult Christmas Party I was invited to because the morning of the party, my daughter threw up five times and then I was so queasy by 4pm all I wanted to do was crawl in bed. I almost cried when I called the babysitter to cancel.
So now that Christmas has completely snuck up on me, I have finally submitted to the fact that although I didn't do everything Christmas-sy I wanted, I did at least do some things.
For instance, I took my four year old daughter to see The Nutcracker. She loved it, but she did loudly ask during the ballet, "Why are all the boys wearing tights?!?" I had to explain that men who do ballet sometimes wear tights. This led to all kinds of questions about costume choices so that I had to finally say, "Shush! Just watch the play!" To which she responded, "Is it over yet?"
I escorted both my kids to our church's childrens Christmas musical, only to have them both have a meltdown after the first 20 minutes. Then we had to leave.
We drove around town oohing and ahhing at Christmas lights one night.
My daughter and I watched "Elf" together and giggled through the whole thing.
We made Christmas cake pops that turned out not too bad. We made Christmas chocolate lollipops and gave them to preschool teachers and day care workers. We made sure they were wrapped in pretty ribbons.
The kids and I went to Target to go Christmas shopping at least five times.
I mailed out Christmas cards. Our pictures actually look decent this year. I know this because my mom told me. Last year she said, "Your card is really awful." It was. Last year I threw the kids on the living room chair and said "hold still" and took a few bad pictures of them not holding still. Then I threw those pictures on a card. This year, we at least are all holding still. And we're sitting on a beach.
I watched the movie "The Nativity Story" and cried my eyes out at the end.
After frantically searching for my James Taylor Christmas CD, and not being able to find it, I downloaded it onto my iPhone so I can listen to it in the car. Since I just downloaded it and I haven't heard it all season, my husband can expect to hear it all the way to San Diego on Christmas Day.
I frantically wrapped presents ahead of time so that my husband has the room to wrap his at the last minute.
And yes, we have a Christmas tree. All the ornaments are above waist level now because of the 16 month old, but we have a beautiful tree. And today I actually took the time to look at some of my favorite ornaments on the tree and just breath in the peaceful feeling that comes with having a Christmas tree.
I baked one batch of sugar cookies shaped like Christmas stars and trees. I made 11 cookies. Six of them burned. C'est la vie.
There's still time to watch A Christmas Story. It doesn't look like I'll get to go caroling this year or see Las Vegas type lights, but we may actually make it to a "Day After Christmas" party given by one of my old high school chums.
And in the end, I will get to watch my kids tear into wrapping paper and their stockings and eat candy and play and play and play. And then three days later, we travel to my parent's house and do it all over again. That's alright by me.
I start to wish that the Christmas season was two months long, but then I think about how I hate it when Christmas decorations go up in stores right after Halloween and I haven't had time to transition to the season.
Really, Christmas only lasted one night. One blessed, silent night.
I am thankful we get almost a whole month to revel in the season when I look at it that way. And even though I didn't get to do everything I wanted to put me in the Christmas Spirit, my daughter reminds me daily when she opens the door on her Advent Calendar that Christmas can't come soon enough.
So welcome Christmas and Happy Birthday, Jesus.
I just hope I get that bike put together before Christmas morning!
I am slightly peeved because Christmas is two days away and I have not been to one "Sing-a-long Handel's Messiah" and I have not seen enough Las Vegas style Christmas lights. I haven't sung enough Christmas carols and I have not had one glass of eggnog. The closest I came was having eggnog flavored creamer in my coffee. Not really a decent substitute.
I didn't even get to attend the one adult Christmas Party I was invited to because the morning of the party, my daughter threw up five times and then I was so queasy by 4pm all I wanted to do was crawl in bed. I almost cried when I called the babysitter to cancel.
So now that Christmas has completely snuck up on me, I have finally submitted to the fact that although I didn't do everything Christmas-sy I wanted, I did at least do some things.
For instance, I took my four year old daughter to see The Nutcracker. She loved it, but she did loudly ask during the ballet, "Why are all the boys wearing tights?!?" I had to explain that men who do ballet sometimes wear tights. This led to all kinds of questions about costume choices so that I had to finally say, "Shush! Just watch the play!" To which she responded, "Is it over yet?"
I escorted both my kids to our church's childrens Christmas musical, only to have them both have a meltdown after the first 20 minutes. Then we had to leave.
We drove around town oohing and ahhing at Christmas lights one night.
My daughter and I watched "Elf" together and giggled through the whole thing.
We made Christmas cake pops that turned out not too bad. We made Christmas chocolate lollipops and gave them to preschool teachers and day care workers. We made sure they were wrapped in pretty ribbons.
The kids and I went to Target to go Christmas shopping at least five times.
I mailed out Christmas cards. Our pictures actually look decent this year. I know this because my mom told me. Last year she said, "Your card is really awful." It was. Last year I threw the kids on the living room chair and said "hold still" and took a few bad pictures of them not holding still. Then I threw those pictures on a card. This year, we at least are all holding still. And we're sitting on a beach.
I watched the movie "The Nativity Story" and cried my eyes out at the end.
After frantically searching for my James Taylor Christmas CD, and not being able to find it, I downloaded it onto my iPhone so I can listen to it in the car. Since I just downloaded it and I haven't heard it all season, my husband can expect to hear it all the way to San Diego on Christmas Day.
I frantically wrapped presents ahead of time so that my husband has the room to wrap his at the last minute.
And yes, we have a Christmas tree. All the ornaments are above waist level now because of the 16 month old, but we have a beautiful tree. And today I actually took the time to look at some of my favorite ornaments on the tree and just breath in the peaceful feeling that comes with having a Christmas tree.
I baked one batch of sugar cookies shaped like Christmas stars and trees. I made 11 cookies. Six of them burned. C'est la vie.
There's still time to watch A Christmas Story. It doesn't look like I'll get to go caroling this year or see Las Vegas type lights, but we may actually make it to a "Day After Christmas" party given by one of my old high school chums.
And in the end, I will get to watch my kids tear into wrapping paper and their stockings and eat candy and play and play and play. And then three days later, we travel to my parent's house and do it all over again. That's alright by me.
I start to wish that the Christmas season was two months long, but then I think about how I hate it when Christmas decorations go up in stores right after Halloween and I haven't had time to transition to the season.
Really, Christmas only lasted one night. One blessed, silent night.
I am thankful we get almost a whole month to revel in the season when I look at it that way. And even though I didn't get to do everything I wanted to put me in the Christmas Spirit, my daughter reminds me daily when she opens the door on her Advent Calendar that Christmas can't come soon enough.
So welcome Christmas and Happy Birthday, Jesus.
I just hope I get that bike put together before Christmas morning!
Monday, December 19, 2011
Christmas is coming...
To Santa or not to Santa? That is the question.
My husband and I briefly discussed this before having kids and as we talked over whether or not we would introduce our children to the make believe world of Santa, I honestly thought it might be a deal breaker and end our marriage before it even started. Seriously, who doesn't love Santa? My husband, apparently. Actually, he might like Santa, but he doesn't like to lie. At all. End of story. Case closed.
I finally got the compromise of we could "play" Santa as a "game". If she ever asks, we explain that Santa is a really fun game to play, but he isn't real like you or me. She's never asked. Okay, I take that back. She must have asked the babysitter. And the babysitter said Santa was real.
Enter her word against ours.
And somehow, I, the person that wanted Santa in the first place, is left to explain that Santa is a game to my four year old who is standing with her hands on her hips, saying, "Oh, no! He's real!"
"Talk to your father," I said. I figured he started this mess anyway.
In the meantime, I end up discussing with a friend how much money I owe to the Susan G. Komen Foundation . This leads to talking about debt. Which leads to talking about my drug addicted brother. Which leads to me talking about how my drug addicted brother acts all tough, but is really scared to death. Which leads to a mention of my fears and insecurities and how come I didn't end up like him.
I say, "There but for the grace of God, go I."
And then I end up spilling my guts about how there is a debt I will never be able to pay. How much I owe God. For saving me from self-destructing. For pulling me out of situations that I was stupid enough to get into.
And I say that I know all the spiritual buzz talk in my head about how I can never pay that debt back, but that's not the point.
I FEEL as if I'm supposed to pay it back and I never can. So I'm frozen in place.
So then my friend brings up lavishing gifts on our children at Christmas time. Actually, I brought that up, but she brings it up and asks if I expect as many gifts from my children in return.
Of course not.
For one thing, they don't have jobs. Their job skills are poorly lacking at this particular time. Unless you can call knowing all the words to Little Einsteins a job skill. Or throwing food on the floor.
No. I give my children gifts because of the sheer bliss I get out of seeing the joy on their faces when they open presents. It's a way to show them I love them.
And I realize I never will pay my parents back in a hundred Christmases for the lavishness of presents and love shown to me. They probably aren't keeping track anyway.
And I won't care if my children ever lavish me with gifts.
As for God...well, you get where I'm going with this.
Open the present. Look inside. Be joyful. Make someone else joyful.
Follow the star. Look in the manger. Be joyful. Make Someone else joyful.
Just accept that I didn't earn the gift and I can't pay it back.
Okay, and this leads back to Santa.
Why in the world do some people hold over kid's heads that they have to be good all year long to earn a Christmas present? Adults can't even be good all year long.
And we don't even remind them of being good all year long for Santa until like, after Thanksgiving.
I don't hear any parents on the playground in July saying, "Knock that off or Santa won't bring you a present this year!"
It's not until Christmas carols start playing on the radio after Thanksgiving that we are reminded we better watch out and we better not cry or pout. Or honk our horn in traffic. Or become impatient with our children. (I'm only talking about myself now). The year is practically over by then. I don't think that's very fair.
I remember one year when I was asked if I had been good all year thinking back to a particular incident in September and hoping Santa wouldn't remember. Oh, the pressure.
I hope my kids grow up knowing that even though they weren't good all year long, they still get presents at Christmas because it's fun and I love them.
And we still haven't completely resolved the Santa issue. Well, I resolved it. I just am putting a bunch of presents under the tree with a name on them, but no "from". So for all they know, the Easter Bunny could have left the presents there.
My guess is my cover is blown anyway because my daughter caught me wrapping one of her gifts and said, "So how's it going wrapping my gift?"
I said, "Fine. Get out."
See? It's all about the love.
My husband and I briefly discussed this before having kids and as we talked over whether or not we would introduce our children to the make believe world of Santa, I honestly thought it might be a deal breaker and end our marriage before it even started. Seriously, who doesn't love Santa? My husband, apparently. Actually, he might like Santa, but he doesn't like to lie. At all. End of story. Case closed.
I finally got the compromise of we could "play" Santa as a "game". If she ever asks, we explain that Santa is a really fun game to play, but he isn't real like you or me. She's never asked. Okay, I take that back. She must have asked the babysitter. And the babysitter said Santa was real.
Enter her word against ours.
And somehow, I, the person that wanted Santa in the first place, is left to explain that Santa is a game to my four year old who is standing with her hands on her hips, saying, "Oh, no! He's real!"
"Talk to your father," I said. I figured he started this mess anyway.
In the meantime, I end up discussing with a friend how much money I owe to the Susan G. Komen Foundation . This leads to talking about debt. Which leads to talking about my drug addicted brother. Which leads to me talking about how my drug addicted brother acts all tough, but is really scared to death. Which leads to a mention of my fears and insecurities and how come I didn't end up like him.
I say, "There but for the grace of God, go I."
And then I end up spilling my guts about how there is a debt I will never be able to pay. How much I owe God. For saving me from self-destructing. For pulling me out of situations that I was stupid enough to get into.
And I say that I know all the spiritual buzz talk in my head about how I can never pay that debt back, but that's not the point.
I FEEL as if I'm supposed to pay it back and I never can. So I'm frozen in place.
So then my friend brings up lavishing gifts on our children at Christmas time. Actually, I brought that up, but she brings it up and asks if I expect as many gifts from my children in return.
Of course not.
For one thing, they don't have jobs. Their job skills are poorly lacking at this particular time. Unless you can call knowing all the words to Little Einsteins a job skill. Or throwing food on the floor.
No. I give my children gifts because of the sheer bliss I get out of seeing the joy on their faces when they open presents. It's a way to show them I love them.
And I realize I never will pay my parents back in a hundred Christmases for the lavishness of presents and love shown to me. They probably aren't keeping track anyway.
And I won't care if my children ever lavish me with gifts.
As for God...well, you get where I'm going with this.
Open the present. Look inside. Be joyful. Make someone else joyful.
Follow the star. Look in the manger. Be joyful. Make Someone else joyful.
Just accept that I didn't earn the gift and I can't pay it back.
Okay, and this leads back to Santa.
Why in the world do some people hold over kid's heads that they have to be good all year long to earn a Christmas present? Adults can't even be good all year long.
And we don't even remind them of being good all year long for Santa until like, after Thanksgiving.
I don't hear any parents on the playground in July saying, "Knock that off or Santa won't bring you a present this year!"
It's not until Christmas carols start playing on the radio after Thanksgiving that we are reminded we better watch out and we better not cry or pout. Or honk our horn in traffic. Or become impatient with our children. (I'm only talking about myself now). The year is practically over by then. I don't think that's very fair.
I remember one year when I was asked if I had been good all year thinking back to a particular incident in September and hoping Santa wouldn't remember. Oh, the pressure.
I hope my kids grow up knowing that even though they weren't good all year long, they still get presents at Christmas because it's fun and I love them.
And we still haven't completely resolved the Santa issue. Well, I resolved it. I just am putting a bunch of presents under the tree with a name on them, but no "from". So for all they know, the Easter Bunny could have left the presents there.
My guess is my cover is blown anyway because my daughter caught me wrapping one of her gifts and said, "So how's it going wrapping my gift?"
I said, "Fine. Get out."
See? It's all about the love.
Monday, November 21, 2011
The 3 Day Walk
Well, I think we can all agree that I failed the blog-a-thon month.
I have good reason, though. November also happens to be the month that I embarked on one of the greatest challenges of my life.
I took on the Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk for a Cure and attempted to walk 60 miles in 3 days.
I confess, my walking partner, Shawna, and I did not do all 60. We did more like 45. But still, that's more walking than I've done in awhile.
If you haven't done the 3 Day Walk, then in your wildest imagination you can't imagine what it's like. It's beyond amazing.
For 3 Days, I answered not one email from work. I didn't even take my computer to San Diego.
For 3 Days my only responsibility was to take care of myself, to take care of my walking partner, and to walk and walk and walk and walk. Oh, and to have fun doing it. And to ignore the pain. To yell, "Limping is still walking!" when I felt like I couldn't walk anymore.
On Day 1, I wore the worst shoes I could have possibly worn. I wore these "easy tone" shoes and by mile 4, my feet felt like they were on fire. I had to redo the moleskin bandages on my feet at every pit stop. There were times I thought to myself, "I am so not going to make it. I can't do this. I'm already in pain."
But then a breast cancer survivor would walk by me. Or a van full of moms dressed in pink boas would drive by cheering us on and playing music full blast. Or someone would give me candy. Or a little girl's sign would say, "The life you are saving might be my own." So I kept walking. And walking.
We walked 18.5 miles on Day 1. Some of those miles included the killer hill up to Torrey Pines Lodge in San Diego. If you want to know how awful that hill was, picture a walker on the side of the road throwing up. Thank God it wasn't me, but it could have been.
On Day 2, I changed to different shoes and the bottoms of my feet felt better, but the tops of my toes started to get blisters. My back started to ache. There were longer stretches of time between people who cheered, which allowed us to enjoy the beauty around us. Then, right when we would need it, a huge group of people would be there with signs and candy and smiles and 'thank you's' and it would propel us forward to the next pit stop, where I would wrap my toes. Toward the end of the day, when I really wanted to quit, some guy was passing out little tequila shots (it was awesome) and then we met this woman who was dancing around and we come to find out she's just one year off her treatment for breast cancer and she did the San Francisco 3 Day Walk just recently, and she raised $12,000 in fundraising money. I loved her. And her colorful friend (I don't remember his name) played Abba on his stereo for us so we could dance our way to the end. We did 15.5 miles that day.
At the end of the day, my husband's cousin Susie picked us up at "camp" and took us back to her house. Camp is full of pink tents where lots of walkers stay. They also have this tent set up called "In Remembrance" and when you walk into this large tent, there is a smaller tent in the middle with all these notes on it from walkers who have written the names of people they have lost to breast cancer. Around the sides of the tent are pictures of women who had done the walk, and then passed away from breast cancer. All these courageous, amazing women. I felt so thankful that my mother was one of the blessed ones- a ten year survivor.
Susie and her husband fed us smoked tri tip and salad and garlic bread. Then we went for a soak in their hot tub outside and Susie brought us a glass of wine. I slept like a baby that night.
The morning of Day 3, I realized my feet wouldn't fit in any of my shoes. I put on one shoe and my foot screamed for me to take it off. I couldn't even get the other shoe on. "What will I do?" I asked my husband. All I could think about was finishing. I had to finish.
We figured out that cousin Susie wears one size bigger than me. I put her shoes on and they fit perfectly and felt fantastic.
We walked only 12 miles on Day 3. We were late getting started (Starbucks run) and then we stopped to have lunch with Shawna's boyfriend in Old Town. It was a blast. People gave us mimosas in the morning (don't worry, they were small, and we were told to 'drink your water' all the time) and candy and kleenex and stickers and music and anything else they could think of. We took pictures. We laughed and made up funny words. We stretched at every stop light. And in the end...we cried.
Closing Ceremonies were incredible. Picture 3,600 people who walked. Picture $9 million raised for breast cancer. Picture a party of music and screaming and laughing. Picture "thank you" being told to you by almost every member in the community. And picture the survivors. So many women. They paraded in between us during the closing ceremony while we all held up one shoe and shouted to them "You're beautiful! You're courageous! Thank you for walking!" and tears poured down all of our faces.
I didn't even mention the times when my husband showed up with my kids to cheer me on. Or the San Diego Police Department who dressed in pink and rode beside us on bikes and were so amazingly nice. Or the sorority team who wore T-Shirts that said, "Whoever says winning isn't everything, isn't fighting breast cancer."
I woke up this morning feeling sore and tired. And sort of sad. Kind of like the let down you have after camp. The "What do I do now?" feeling. The sensation that I should be putting on my tennis shoes and I should start walking. Only they don't fit me right now.
And I gained 5 pounds. Can you believe it? My husband says it has to be water weight because I'm swollen. Whatever. I know I didn't have 5 pounds of electrolytes and candy.
I'm doing this again in 2013 if anyone wants to be part of a team.
Let's go for a walk.
I have good reason, though. November also happens to be the month that I embarked on one of the greatest challenges of my life.
I took on the Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk for a Cure and attempted to walk 60 miles in 3 days.
I confess, my walking partner, Shawna, and I did not do all 60. We did more like 45. But still, that's more walking than I've done in awhile.
If you haven't done the 3 Day Walk, then in your wildest imagination you can't imagine what it's like. It's beyond amazing.
For 3 Days, I answered not one email from work. I didn't even take my computer to San Diego.
For 3 Days my only responsibility was to take care of myself, to take care of my walking partner, and to walk and walk and walk and walk. Oh, and to have fun doing it. And to ignore the pain. To yell, "Limping is still walking!" when I felt like I couldn't walk anymore.
On Day 1, I wore the worst shoes I could have possibly worn. I wore these "easy tone" shoes and by mile 4, my feet felt like they were on fire. I had to redo the moleskin bandages on my feet at every pit stop. There were times I thought to myself, "I am so not going to make it. I can't do this. I'm already in pain."
But then a breast cancer survivor would walk by me. Or a van full of moms dressed in pink boas would drive by cheering us on and playing music full blast. Or someone would give me candy. Or a little girl's sign would say, "The life you are saving might be my own." So I kept walking. And walking.
We walked 18.5 miles on Day 1. Some of those miles included the killer hill up to Torrey Pines Lodge in San Diego. If you want to know how awful that hill was, picture a walker on the side of the road throwing up. Thank God it wasn't me, but it could have been.
On Day 2, I changed to different shoes and the bottoms of my feet felt better, but the tops of my toes started to get blisters. My back started to ache. There were longer stretches of time between people who cheered, which allowed us to enjoy the beauty around us. Then, right when we would need it, a huge group of people would be there with signs and candy and smiles and 'thank you's' and it would propel us forward to the next pit stop, where I would wrap my toes. Toward the end of the day, when I really wanted to quit, some guy was passing out little tequila shots (it was awesome) and then we met this woman who was dancing around and we come to find out she's just one year off her treatment for breast cancer and she did the San Francisco 3 Day Walk just recently, and she raised $12,000 in fundraising money. I loved her. And her colorful friend (I don't remember his name) played Abba on his stereo for us so we could dance our way to the end. We did 15.5 miles that day.
At the end of the day, my husband's cousin Susie picked us up at "camp" and took us back to her house. Camp is full of pink tents where lots of walkers stay. They also have this tent set up called "In Remembrance" and when you walk into this large tent, there is a smaller tent in the middle with all these notes on it from walkers who have written the names of people they have lost to breast cancer. Around the sides of the tent are pictures of women who had done the walk, and then passed away from breast cancer. All these courageous, amazing women. I felt so thankful that my mother was one of the blessed ones- a ten year survivor.
Susie and her husband fed us smoked tri tip and salad and garlic bread. Then we went for a soak in their hot tub outside and Susie brought us a glass of wine. I slept like a baby that night.
The morning of Day 3, I realized my feet wouldn't fit in any of my shoes. I put on one shoe and my foot screamed for me to take it off. I couldn't even get the other shoe on. "What will I do?" I asked my husband. All I could think about was finishing. I had to finish.
We figured out that cousin Susie wears one size bigger than me. I put her shoes on and they fit perfectly and felt fantastic.
We walked only 12 miles on Day 3. We were late getting started (Starbucks run) and then we stopped to have lunch with Shawna's boyfriend in Old Town. It was a blast. People gave us mimosas in the morning (don't worry, they were small, and we were told to 'drink your water' all the time) and candy and kleenex and stickers and music and anything else they could think of. We took pictures. We laughed and made up funny words. We stretched at every stop light. And in the end...we cried.
Closing Ceremonies were incredible. Picture 3,600 people who walked. Picture $9 million raised for breast cancer. Picture a party of music and screaming and laughing. Picture "thank you" being told to you by almost every member in the community. And picture the survivors. So many women. They paraded in between us during the closing ceremony while we all held up one shoe and shouted to them "You're beautiful! You're courageous! Thank you for walking!" and tears poured down all of our faces.
I didn't even mention the times when my husband showed up with my kids to cheer me on. Or the San Diego Police Department who dressed in pink and rode beside us on bikes and were so amazingly nice. Or the sorority team who wore T-Shirts that said, "Whoever says winning isn't everything, isn't fighting breast cancer."
I woke up this morning feeling sore and tired. And sort of sad. Kind of like the let down you have after camp. The "What do I do now?" feeling. The sensation that I should be putting on my tennis shoes and I should start walking. Only they don't fit me right now.
And I gained 5 pounds. Can you believe it? My husband says it has to be water weight because I'm swollen. Whatever. I know I didn't have 5 pounds of electrolytes and candy.
I'm doing this again in 2013 if anyone wants to be part of a team.
Let's go for a walk.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Remembering the attention span of a baby is important.
Remembering the attention span of a baby is important.
And even if you do, that doesn't mean everyone else around you will.
And so you'll end up feeding chocolate cheesecake to your 15 month old to appease him.
Today we went out to brunch at some golf/country club in Beaumont.
We went after church, so at least we were dressed okay. But because neither my husband or my Mother-In-Law knew exactly where we were going, we ended up driving around in circles for awhile. My daughter contributed her two cents to the argument my husband and his mother were having up front about where we were going. I was in the very back of the van and my job was to keep my body from falling off the seat everytime my mother-in-law suddenly slammed on the brakes, while correcting my daughter in proper back seat manners. The baby slept peacefully through the whole thing.
I always carry a "bag of stuff" anytime I have my children with me. I don't call it a diaper bag, because diaper bag would indicate some sort of organizational thinking and I ceased that a long time ago, so now I just have this "bag of stuff". It usually does include a diaper and a baggie of wipes. It also includes various food items intended on distracting my children. I also may throw in a toy or two, but I can't testify as to whether the toy is always in good condition or not.
Today's "bag of stuff" contained 1 diaper, 1 baggie of wipes, 1 baggie of crunchy veggie sticks, and one baby yogurt. Oh, and I made my husband go back to the car after we got in the restaurant, for this new strawberry milk thing Gerber has made. It's like a juice box, only it's strawberry milk for toddlers.
My husband going back to the car delayed us some.
My mother-in-law going back to the car delayed us some.
By the time we had sat down to eat, the baby had worked his way through half of his veggie sticks and 5 of the 10 minutes he can tolerate a high chair.
So far my children were the models of good restaurant behavior. If you know the attention span of a baby, you know this won't last long.
The 15 month old sucked down that strawberry milk quicker than I can say, "Slow down, little buddy."
So with a full plate in front of me, I had half a baggie of veggie sticks (3 minutes eating time) and a baby yogurt (2 minutes eating time)to distract the toddler. My daughter started to whine, so we distracted her with bacon and some kind of strawberry tart.
She likes bacon.
I did finish my biscuits (and gravy!) before the squirming in the high chair started.
I was able to finish my little omlette because the two Simon and Garfunkel sound alike guitarists took the stage and held the children's fascination for about 3 extra minutes. Then my husband took the baby out for a walk.
Then I took the baby out for a walk.
Then my husband took the baby out for a walk again.
Then I got a piece of cheesecake. Right when my husband brought the baby back.
How is it children know the sight and smell of chocolate so well? How is it they know they will like it?
This baby, who is only 15 months old and can only say "sock" and "up" and "uh-oh" and "mama", reached as far across the table as he could and grabbed my cheesecake fork with the intention of bringing it to his mouth.
Baby likes chocolate cheesecake.
A lot.
And even if you do, that doesn't mean everyone else around you will.
And so you'll end up feeding chocolate cheesecake to your 15 month old to appease him.
Today we went out to brunch at some golf/country club in Beaumont.
We went after church, so at least we were dressed okay. But because neither my husband or my Mother-In-Law knew exactly where we were going, we ended up driving around in circles for awhile. My daughter contributed her two cents to the argument my husband and his mother were having up front about where we were going. I was in the very back of the van and my job was to keep my body from falling off the seat everytime my mother-in-law suddenly slammed on the brakes, while correcting my daughter in proper back seat manners. The baby slept peacefully through the whole thing.
I always carry a "bag of stuff" anytime I have my children with me. I don't call it a diaper bag, because diaper bag would indicate some sort of organizational thinking and I ceased that a long time ago, so now I just have this "bag of stuff". It usually does include a diaper and a baggie of wipes. It also includes various food items intended on distracting my children. I also may throw in a toy or two, but I can't testify as to whether the toy is always in good condition or not.
Today's "bag of stuff" contained 1 diaper, 1 baggie of wipes, 1 baggie of crunchy veggie sticks, and one baby yogurt. Oh, and I made my husband go back to the car after we got in the restaurant, for this new strawberry milk thing Gerber has made. It's like a juice box, only it's strawberry milk for toddlers.
My husband going back to the car delayed us some.
My mother-in-law going back to the car delayed us some.
By the time we had sat down to eat, the baby had worked his way through half of his veggie sticks and 5 of the 10 minutes he can tolerate a high chair.
So far my children were the models of good restaurant behavior. If you know the attention span of a baby, you know this won't last long.
The 15 month old sucked down that strawberry milk quicker than I can say, "Slow down, little buddy."
So with a full plate in front of me, I had half a baggie of veggie sticks (3 minutes eating time) and a baby yogurt (2 minutes eating time)to distract the toddler. My daughter started to whine, so we distracted her with bacon and some kind of strawberry tart.
She likes bacon.
I did finish my biscuits (and gravy!) before the squirming in the high chair started.
I was able to finish my little omlette because the two Simon and Garfunkel sound alike guitarists took the stage and held the children's fascination for about 3 extra minutes. Then my husband took the baby out for a walk.
Then I took the baby out for a walk.
Then my husband took the baby out for a walk again.
Then I got a piece of cheesecake. Right when my husband brought the baby back.
How is it children know the sight and smell of chocolate so well? How is it they know they will like it?
This baby, who is only 15 months old and can only say "sock" and "up" and "uh-oh" and "mama", reached as far across the table as he could and grabbed my cheesecake fork with the intention of bringing it to his mouth.
Baby likes chocolate cheesecake.
A lot.
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