Summer in a Vice Grip

A coworker of mine tweeted yesterday about not dumping the sand out of her $350 handbang in a effort to hold on to summer just a little bit longer, and it plucked a such chord in my heart, and made me realize that it was time to mobilize.

My 7 year old (super smart, and easily bored when not challenged) girly-girl and my 4 year old (high maintenance, "cars-n-trucks-n-dinosaurs") boy with the jet-fueled energy level have had a pretty rough go of it this summer.  As has their mommy.  Abby has been so patient with her brother's incessant chatter and roughhousing, when she has just wanted to sit quietly and watch a show or read a book.  He is constantly flying airplanes (complete with sound effects) in her face or jumping around and being a spaz, and I can't blame her when she gets short fused with him.  He needs constant attention.  I often have to tell him to please just leave her alone, and I have spent quite a bit of time this summer seperating them in an effort to keep the peace.

We have spent a lot of time in the pool, but times being what they are and money being tight, we really have not done much else.  No trips or excursions, other than July 4 fireworks and a Phillies game. Still, despite the bickering and the boredom, with just 10 days left until school starts- I want to hang on to summer and wring every last little bit of fun out of it that I can.  When Sarah tweeted about the sand in her purse I got a little misty-eyed and wanted to scream YES!  I started a mental inventory, right then and there, of things to be done over the next 10 days.

Take the kids to the beach and eat boardwalk fries on the boardwalk.  Build sand castles. Camp in the back yard.  Walk to the playground and slide down slides and swing to their hearts' content.  Trace their bodies with sidewalk chalk and have them color them in.  Make S'mores. Blow bubbles.  Picnic.  Have a lemonade stand. Hear the music in the neighborhood, and run to the corner to buy ice cream from the Mr. Softie truck. Have a water balloon fight. Go to the zoo. Picnic again. Fingerpaint. Run. Play. Repeat.

I should have been working at this list all summer, but at least it will end memorably. Raking leaves, apple picking and leaves tumbling from the trees will have to wait.  Summer - I am not finished with you yet.

Affirmations About the Sum

I am not defined by:

• the extra cream I put in my coffee today
• the large healthy salad I will have for lunch
• the exercise I did for an hour yesterday
• the complete absence of exercise over the weekend
• being the mom who can make her daughter laugh so hard that she cries
• being the screaming shrew of a mom who yells at kids for hours every afternoon, all while trying to get work done
• being the "always on" employee with the great job for people she genuinely likes
• being the person who just wants to shut off the work when the weekend comes
• my home, which looks like it was kit by a tornado most days
• my ability and passion for tidying up and preparing the perfect party
• having the worst brought out in my by my mother, when offereing up her parenting "two cents"
• being the daughter who is so grateful for the amazing amount of love she gives my kids each and every day of the summer, when most kids of a working mom would have to be in day care
• wanting to throttle my husband for waiting until the last possible day to pay a bill
• adoring this man so much it makes my heart ache

I am the sum of all these things, and more.

A Milestone 18 Years in the Making

I did something today that I haven't done in over 18 years.

I ran. 

Just a few days before my 25th birthday in 1993 I was in a car crash that catapulted me through the back seat, tearing the upholstery, into the trunk of the car.  I crushed my 4th and 5th lumbar, fractured my 3rd cervical vertebrae and snapped my collarbone.  I was able to avoid surgery, but I was immobile in bed for 7 weeks and in physical therapy for a better part of a year.  Since then, I have not even tried to run.

Fast forward more than a decade -  I have gotten married and had two babies.  With both pregnancies I actually lost weight because I was so unhealthy to start out with, and my calorie intake was more than enough to fuel me and the growing baby.   In 2006 - 2007 I lost 82 lbs, only to gain most of it back by not making room for any exercise when my daughter started kindergarten and the family schedule changed.  I am obese, unhealthy and terrified of not being here for my children.  My dad had his first heart attack when he was 43 - the age I will be in January.  The age my mother was when she was widowed.  Yesterday, my 68 year old uncle died in front of the computer at his desk of a heart attack.  In front of the computer is how I spend much of my life.

Today, I ran.

It was more of a jog than a run, and It wasn't pretty.  It was on a treadmill as "Sandstorm" blasted on my MP3 Player.  The song accelerated and so did I, my index finger frantically tapping the "speed "up" button.  I stayed there for 2 whole minutes, before tapping the button back down to my fast-walk pace, sweat pouring off my face.

My body didn't get this way overnight and it certainly isn't going to change overnight.  But I do feel like I am making good choices, cooking whole foods that nourish me and my family, that I am looking forward to those 30 minutes of 'me' time every afternoon when I escape to the treadmill.  I know myself well enough to know that making goals for myself at this stage is setting myself up for excuses and failure, so I will go slow and commit only to the idea that when my son starts kindergarten in a year, I won't let the family schedule stall me, like it did when my daughter started.

I won't stall.

I will run.

Life Clutter

My husband had two days of vacation last week, and spent one of them cleaning out our full of shit over-cluttered office.

It is adjacent to our kitchen and at one time, before babies, functioned as our family room.  Once we had kids, we inherited volumes of hand-me-down toys,baby gear, etc from siblings and cousins, received more gifts that I wouldn't be caught dead giving my kids (helloooooo-Bratz dolls!?!?) and basically sacrificed the idea of an office, turning the room into more of a giant closet of miscellany.  Which grew. And grew some more. 

Did you ever watch Friends?  Ever seen the episode about (super OCD) Monica's closet of crap?  That was our office.

Did you ever notice that most Bratz dolls look like Snooki ? :::shudder:::

But about the office....fast-forward a couple of years and another kid later: I now work part-time (ish) for these fine folks, telecommute for about 20% of my work week, and have set up camp at the kitchen table with my computer and peripherals.  Because the office was buried under kiddie crap, Christmas wrapping paper and extinct electronics.  Which doesn't exactly make for a fine family dinner experience unless you really want to nosh pork chops and examine spreadsheets simultaneously.  (Don't laugh, I've done it)

On his days off  hubby emancipated the desk, set up the TV and FREED THE TREADMILL from its tortured kiddie-clad tyranny!

The result you ask?  I have a refuge to actually get work done, still within earshot of the rugrats as they play, with a real desk chair instead of a ladder back kitchen one, and with fabulous light and a view of my back yard.  More importantly - the treadmill - the sweet, sweet $2,000 investment we made a year before my 7 year old was born that has not yet (still) earned her keep in this house...she is being used and enjoyed and I feel slightly re-energized in my quest to get un-fatty-fied.

Summertime Blues

This week has given me a reason to slow down and try to focus on what is really important.

There is something going on with my 4 year old son, and for the first time, we will be taking off our ostrich hats and facing it head on this week.  Thursday, he has an appointment with the doctor and the plan is to discuss his delays and issues.  I am terrified.  And a little bit, mourning my ignorant bliss.

Before I get into what is going on, I need to explain that I don't give one bit of an aerial poop what "letters" or names are assigned to his ailment.  (OCD, ADHD, PDD-NOS, Sensory Integration Disorder and Aspergers' Syndrome are some of the things that have been tossed at me from well-meaning family members.)  Jack is, and always will be, Jack, quirks and all.  Some of these quirks are really quite amusing and endearing, but the fact that they seem to be escalating is what is worrisome. Intervention now only betters is chances of growing up normally and getting his learning curve on target.  Also, despite all the armchair diagnoses, the kid is engaging, funny, interactive and all around happy.  I just happen to think (finally) that he would benefit from a little structured therapeutic learning in some areas.  All of those things are the reason why we waited so long to do anything about it.  We really were waiting for him to grow out of it all.

Jack took his sweet time getting around to talking, and even now when he gets very excited sounds as if he is trying to speak with socks in his mouth.  He will sometimes makes nonsense noises, and then laugh and giggle into a heap on the floor with amusement at himself.  He is very excitable and has a very hard time slowing down to an appropriate "speed" in certain situations.  I know he is 4, and a boy, and they all play into this too - but my "mom's inner voice" is telling me that there is more to it.

He has developed some pretty bizarre rituals, like stopping at every doorway to touch the threshold with the very tips of his toes, then he steps over, then lines his heels up to the threshold, and then finally keeps going.  That is just one example.  He also provides his own soundtrack.  By that, I mean that ordinary everyday tasks have a corresponding sound to him (creaky opening doors, thud of marching shoes, etc)-and he makes all the sounds with his voice as he does each task.  He also seems to be affected by background noise to the point that he will not be able to filter out actual dialogue.  If the TV is on, in any room of the house, I might say "go get the blue comb on the table" and he stops listening at "go" and heads upstairs.

As a four year old he should be on the verge of wrapping up this potty/diaper standoff, but we really do have a ways to go.  He just WILL NOT stop playing to go if he needs to.  As long as I ask (remind) him to go, we are fine but if I don't, forget it.  And don't even get me started on "Number two..."; for anyone who reads who isn't a parent - well I'll spare you.

When I was pregnant with Jack, and we found out it would be a boy, a friend said to me, "There is just something about baby boys and their mommies..."and she was right.  Don't get me wrong, my daughter is my light and my joy, and she is the special soul who made me a mommy.  I cherish all of our secret girlie moments.  But my boy & I have something entirely different and ethereal.  It doesn't have a label and can't be described, but it is something like I have never experienced with another human being, and I can only chalk it up to the "mom & boy" theory of which my friend spoke, nearly 5 years ago.

So forgive me if I mourn a little bit.  If I am a little extra sad.  Even if it ends up being a long journey, we will be the same people and the same family we are - but I just want my baby boy to be OK.

Stupor Duper

I have been S-U-C-K-I-N-G at the blog thing, huh?  You know me. Ms. Consistency. (With a capital "C", thankyouverymuch!)

July.  Hot.  Parties+fun stuff+ too hot to exercise = feeling like crap.  I feel like I have been wandering around in a half-sleep for a few weeks now, which is seriously becoming a bummer.  I want to take a nap get out there!  Be lazy active! Chase my kids out of my bedroom in the morning and my dog around the yard!  I have been trying to haul it out the door in the mornings to take the dog for a nice long walk, but when the temperature is like the surface of the sun at 7:00 am, I find myself staying indoors and doing the Wii fit.  Which in my humble estimation is OK, but not nearly as challenging or as good for the soul as fresh air and sunshine.  Or I do nothing at all.  Yay me. Sigh.  Which brings me to another digression - who were the craptastic folks that decided that smearing hydro-Ican'tpronounceyouchemicals or Whoopsthismightcausecancertoo Lotion was better than a little sunshine?  I am not talking about dipping yourself in baby oil, laying down on a field of aluminum and sizzling for 8 hours...just a walk, or a little kiss of sun on the tip of the nose.  I'll save that rant for another day.

Anyway....it is also my favorite food time of the year. New Jersey field grown tomatoes, peaches, blueberries and sweet corn are something seriously special.  If you don't live in these parts, if you ever get to the east coast in the summer, make a special day to come to New Jersey and eat corn and tomatoes.  They are THAT good.  Anyway, it is also the time of year where I go all "urban homestead" and make jams and jellies, pickle and can things, and generally get very much like my grandmother.  You know, because you should crank the heat up in the kitchen as much as you can during the summer months.  While I spend the day on my feet doing this, I am not being active, and as you may have gleaned, the heat really saps me of my motivation.  It hasn't helped that since June 1, New Jersey has been 90+ degrees ALOT.  (Girl who loves to eat+not motivated to exercise = static waistline number/annoyed with myself)
I am struggling to strike a balance these days: there is all this lovely, inexpensive fresh summer produce to prepare for myself and my family in our effort to eat wholesome, healthful, non-fake food - but that takes time, planning and effort. There is my desire to preserve all the vegetable and fruit loveliness for when there is much less of it available.  There is my struggle to get a decent amount of exercise, while simultaneously having a rugrat of one size or another tethered to my leg saying "mommy" over and over.  There is the necessity to keep up with my job outside the home; I am fortunate that I works for a great company and awesome people, who understand the mom thing and allow me work flexible hours-but that can mean it occasionally spills over into my "at home" hours.  Factor in basic hygiene, sleep, laundry, household care for me and the family, and I have got nothing left at the end of the week.


I know I am not the first, nor will I be the last mom / wife to struggle with balance.  Under the circumstances, I think I do an OK job - I just wish I could keep the motivation to find that 1/2 hour of 'me' time each day.   I often find myself sacrificing it for my kids/husband/dog/job/mom/sister/neighbor.  One of' these days I am going to stand up and say, "There are 47 other half-hours in the day - you can't have THIS one.  It's MINE!"

Help me find ways to strike a balance and keep it!

Maybe then I can get a post up here every now and then!

The Accidental Sugar Experiment

Abby ate 3 cupcakes and two brownies on Saturday.  Oy.

From the day my daughter tasted solid food for the very first time, she was a mother's dream.  As a toddler she would choose an apple over candy, water over juice,  every day of the week.  She would gobble up grape tomatoes and baby carrots and cucumber slices with a fervor I can only describe as freakish.  She didn't seem to enjoy the few treats she was offered (cake at a birthday party, for example).

Until school.

Our day Saturday was planned to the gills and we had not time nor patience for a kid with an attitude.  (Mistake on our part, #1).  Abby's a good kid who generally abides by the rules, even though she is every bit an almost- seven year old girl.  And the morning was fine.  She slept until 8:15 after being allowed to stay up late the night before, played until late morning, when it was time to leave for a softball game.  She played the game well and was even focused enough on the coach's instructions to get a hit and score and run (she isn't exactly the best batter yet).  When the game ended, her coach busted out the after-game snack which was a big tray of cupcakes to be shared between the two teams.  Jack was in a bit of a needing-a-nap meltdown, so I left the field with him,  leaving Abby there with her father and the team.(Mistake #2; keep reading)

Abigail's father is a self-described junk food addict.  He loves to see the faces of both kids when they taste their first [marshmallow; jelly bean; french fry; gumdrop; chocolate; cheese doodle; insert any other kind of junk you can think of here].  A little bit, in moderation....fine.  Abby & Chris arrived home from the field and a majorly jacked up Abby screamed about how she has eaten not one, but TWO cupcakes.  Before lunch.  Which was on the table waiting for her.  Oy.

And so the behavior began.  She ate her lunch, and then we went upstairs to get her ready for her cousin's birthday party.  It was little things:  not paying attention to me so that I had to repeat myself, not following directions  about very simple things like putting the laundry in the hamper or being quiet because her brother was sleeping.  When we came downstairs, and as we were packing everyone & everything up to leave, it continued for her father.

Fast-forward to a couple of hours later, after a party and carbohydrate overload (bread, pretzels and chips, and macaroni salad) as well as the requisite birthday cake & ice cream (Mistakes 3-9), and she was a a royal holy freaking bat-terror.  Like I kid I had never met before.

As the party emptied out, I went outside to ask her to please stop playing in the water sprinklers, so she could start drying off to go home. I ran back inside the house to get her a towel, got caught up in a conversation with someone for a few minutes and when I got outside, there she was....running through the sprinklers again.  Blatant defiance. 

Now I don't consider myself to be a parenting hard-ass, but there are two things we do not tolerate.  Blatant defiance is one of them.  When I confronted her, she told me that "she forgot" I asked not to play in the water anymore.  This is the same kid who can tell me what I made for dinner the second Thursday in January, 2006.  Forgetting is not in her repertoire.  I was already mad, and now she was going to add lying to the mix. (Remember the TWO things we don't tolerate?  Lying is the other thing).

It was a long, quiet ride home that night.  Chris & I were furious, but mostly puzzled, about who this awful misbehaving child was.

The kids went to bed and Chris & I got a few minutes to reflect on it all, when it hit me.

Sunday was slow, quiet, restful, nourishing, and most importantly, sugar and fake-food free.  Guess who came home?  Our sweet almost seven year old.