For those of you that have followed me before my mini hiatus, the following photo is worth 1,000 blog words:
I was a Diva for a day!
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 cup of DD coffee with peppermint mocha creamer. Yum!!]
Friday, October 29, 2010
Diva for a Day
I'd like to start by saying that I'm sorry for the HUGE gap between posts. All I can say is that life just got in the way of blogging. I'll try to keep things more current.
For those of you that have followed me before my mini hiatus, the following photo is worth 1,000 blog words:
I did it!!! After over 12 weeks of training, I completed all 13.1 miles of the Diva Half Marathon in 2 hours and 23 minutes. I got my red rose (presented to me by one hunky 'seasoned' firefighter), drank my champagne toast, and received my fabulous shiny, spinning Diva medal all while wearing my feather boa and tiara!!!
I was a Diva for a day!
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 cup of DD coffee with peppermint mocha creamer. Yum!!]
For those of you that have followed me before my mini hiatus, the following photo is worth 1,000 blog words:
I was a Diva for a day!
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 cup of DD coffee with peppermint mocha creamer. Yum!!]
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Training Update
So I am now officially half-way through my half marathon training program. Six weeks down and six more to go. I am very pleased to announce that the woman who once could barely run around the block can now run six and half MILES!!! Yes, ladies and gentlemen....miles. I am so excited by the new found energy and body this training has brought me that I'm even considering running a second half marathon at the end of November.
In the six weeks of my training I have lost almost 10 pounds and I've dropped 2 pant sizes. I am constantly restraining myself from going on a bender at the mall buying new cute clothes. I have however, dropped a surprising amount of money on 'running gear.' I have a GPS watch that tracks my pace/distance. There are now two pairs of running shoes in my closet. Four pairs of running capris and two running skirts are in my bureau. An undisclosed number of wicking shirts have been added into my rotation. And a portable hydration system joins me on my long runs.
All of this makes me wonder 'what did people do before modern day training?' I guess in caveman days, you only needed to be faster than the slowest person to avoid being eaten by animals. And in pioneering times, you worked for 16 hours on the homestead. After a day like that, one didn't need to run for recreational purposes.
So this morning I was all geared up and out the door bright and early for my weekly long run. While my endurance has improved dramatically, I am still by no means a fast (or graceful) runner. So it came as no huge surprise the encounter I had on today's run. I'm about 4 miles into my run at a blazing 11:25/mile pace. I live in a very rural area and so there is basically not much except forests and farms along my route.
All of a sudden I hear panting coming from behind me and the sound nearly made me jump out of my skin. From the corner of my eye I see this very slender woman racing up to me. "Hello there," she says. "I've been chasing you for the past 1/4 mile. Catching you has been my challenge." I looked at her and said "Catching me is no body's challenge." She barely looks like she has broken a sweat and says to me "I am just recovering from knee surgery, catching you after my 15 mile run is my challenge." Is this woman for real? She then tells me to have a good day and that she's off to meet back up with her running partner.
After she trotted away from me a thought crosses my mind. If she and I were living back in prehistoric times, I was so the one getting eaten by the Saber Tooth Tiger.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 Diet Dr. Pepper]
In the six weeks of my training I have lost almost 10 pounds and I've dropped 2 pant sizes. I am constantly restraining myself from going on a bender at the mall buying new cute clothes. I have however, dropped a surprising amount of money on 'running gear.' I have a GPS watch that tracks my pace/distance. There are now two pairs of running shoes in my closet. Four pairs of running capris and two running skirts are in my bureau. An undisclosed number of wicking shirts have been added into my rotation. And a portable hydration system joins me on my long runs.
All of this makes me wonder 'what did people do before modern day training?' I guess in caveman days, you only needed to be faster than the slowest person to avoid being eaten by animals. And in pioneering times, you worked for 16 hours on the homestead. After a day like that, one didn't need to run for recreational purposes.
So this morning I was all geared up and out the door bright and early for my weekly long run. While my endurance has improved dramatically, I am still by no means a fast (or graceful) runner. So it came as no huge surprise the encounter I had on today's run. I'm about 4 miles into my run at a blazing 11:25/mile pace. I live in a very rural area and so there is basically not much except forests and farms along my route.
All of a sudden I hear panting coming from behind me and the sound nearly made me jump out of my skin. From the corner of my eye I see this very slender woman racing up to me. "Hello there," she says. "I've been chasing you for the past 1/4 mile. Catching you has been my challenge." I looked at her and said "Catching me is no body's challenge." She barely looks like she has broken a sweat and says to me "I am just recovering from knee surgery, catching you after my 15 mile run is my challenge." Is this woman for real? She then tells me to have a good day and that she's off to meet back up with her running partner.
After she trotted away from me a thought crosses my mind. If she and I were living back in prehistoric times, I was so the one getting eaten by the Saber Tooth Tiger.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 Diet Dr. Pepper]
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Musings on Motherhood
I started this list shortly after my son was born. Periodically I've added to it. Just thoughts I've had during the amazing journey of motherhood.
1. The worst 10 minutes of my life was the span of time between when the doctor said "you are having an emergency c-section now" and when I heard my son's cry for the first time.
2. You may drive the same road home a million times, without any incident, but the day you drive your newborn home from the hospital, on the very same road, you will swear that meteors are going to shoot out of the sky and hit your car.
3. I never felt unconditional love until I held my son for the first time.
4. Suddenly your entire life revolves around another person's bodily functions. You will have entire conversations (over dinner) about the number of poopie diapers, the color, consistency and smell of said poop.
5. My favorite time of day is during one of those 3 a.m. feedings when the world is quiet and peaceful and no other people exist except for you and your child.
6. I never understood what people meant by "time flies" until I started packing away my son's infant clothes as he kept outgrowing them.
7. No book could ever come close to describing the feeling of your unborn child moving inside of you.
8. Becoming a mother has made me appreciate my friends (and all of their wisdom) more than words can say.
9. The funniest moment of my life was when my son discovered he could make raspberry sounds on MY belly.
10. I have discovered that a baby monitor can also be used as a public address system to summon my husband when I find my son covered in either poop or puke in his crib.
11. It takes a village to raise a child....and an allergist, dermatologist, ENT, gastroenterologist, orthopedic surgeon, and an oncologist.
12. Bad meltdowns can happen to good kids (and good mommies), that is why God created red wine.
13. Your child will never puke on you while you are wearing a raincoat. Once you take off the raincoat, you are on your own sister.
14. You will cry the day you take down your child's crib.
15. Potty training a toddler is the beginning of the end of your own personal bathroom experiences. From now on, you have an audience.
16. I now laugh at the fact that I was once nervous about having a boy because I didn't know what they like. Today I have an honorary PhD in making car/truck/airplane sounds and can spot a track hoe from a 1/4 mile away.
17. There is no stopping the uncontrollable flow of tears when you hear your child tell you "I don't love you mommy." (Even if they are only joking.)
18. Nothing can prepare you for the moment your child calls a perfect stranger a 'troll' in public.
19. After a year of soul searching, I can now see the irony of taking birth control for a decade 'to wait until I was ready to have a child' and the fact that now that I'm ready to expand my family my body is telling me it 'is not ready to have another child.'
20. Even though I love animals, I have a hard time keeping my composure when someone compares their pet to my child. The moment you walk out the front door and leave your pet alone when you go to work makes your pet different than my child. Sorry.
21. It takes becoming a mom to realize that Mother's Day is more than just a day to buy a card for your own mom.
22. You will wish that you had the Wonder Woman invisible jet to secretly fly in and out of daycare when your child becomes the 'class biter/pusher/hitter' in order to avoid all eye contact with the other parents.
23. During a time of crisis, you will miraculously summon the strength of 100 mommies to protect and care for your child.
24. 'Catholic Guilt' has nothing on 'Working Mommy Guilt'.
25. I used to laugh at the working parents that had their children's 'art' plastered all over their desk at work. I am hard pressed to find one official business communication mixed in among my son's gallery show currently on display at my place of employment. (My son is currently going through a Jackson Pollock phase.)
This list will probably be updated over time. Feel free to post your own thoughts in the comments below.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: one Coke Zero (LOVE this stuff)]
1. The worst 10 minutes of my life was the span of time between when the doctor said "you are having an emergency c-section now" and when I heard my son's cry for the first time.
2. You may drive the same road home a million times, without any incident, but the day you drive your newborn home from the hospital, on the very same road, you will swear that meteors are going to shoot out of the sky and hit your car.
3. I never felt unconditional love until I held my son for the first time.
4. Suddenly your entire life revolves around another person's bodily functions. You will have entire conversations (over dinner) about the number of poopie diapers, the color, consistency and smell of said poop.
5. My favorite time of day is during one of those 3 a.m. feedings when the world is quiet and peaceful and no other people exist except for you and your child.
6. I never understood what people meant by "time flies" until I started packing away my son's infant clothes as he kept outgrowing them.
7. No book could ever come close to describing the feeling of your unborn child moving inside of you.
8. Becoming a mother has made me appreciate my friends (and all of their wisdom) more than words can say.
9. The funniest moment of my life was when my son discovered he could make raspberry sounds on MY belly.
10. I have discovered that a baby monitor can also be used as a public address system to summon my husband when I find my son covered in either poop or puke in his crib.
11. It takes a village to raise a child....and an allergist, dermatologist, ENT, gastroenterologist, orthopedic surgeon, and an oncologist.
12. Bad meltdowns can happen to good kids (and good mommies), that is why God created red wine.
13. Your child will never puke on you while you are wearing a raincoat. Once you take off the raincoat, you are on your own sister.
14. You will cry the day you take down your child's crib.
15. Potty training a toddler is the beginning of the end of your own personal bathroom experiences. From now on, you have an audience.
16. I now laugh at the fact that I was once nervous about having a boy because I didn't know what they like. Today I have an honorary PhD in making car/truck/airplane sounds and can spot a track hoe from a 1/4 mile away.
17. There is no stopping the uncontrollable flow of tears when you hear your child tell you "I don't love you mommy." (Even if they are only joking.)
18. Nothing can prepare you for the moment your child calls a perfect stranger a 'troll' in public.
19. After a year of soul searching, I can now see the irony of taking birth control for a decade 'to wait until I was ready to have a child' and the fact that now that I'm ready to expand my family my body is telling me it 'is not ready to have another child.'
20. Even though I love animals, I have a hard time keeping my composure when someone compares their pet to my child. The moment you walk out the front door and leave your pet alone when you go to work makes your pet different than my child. Sorry.
21. It takes becoming a mom to realize that Mother's Day is more than just a day to buy a card for your own mom.
22. You will wish that you had the Wonder Woman invisible jet to secretly fly in and out of daycare when your child becomes the 'class biter/pusher/hitter' in order to avoid all eye contact with the other parents.
23. During a time of crisis, you will miraculously summon the strength of 100 mommies to protect and care for your child.
24. 'Catholic Guilt' has nothing on 'Working Mommy Guilt'.
25. I used to laugh at the working parents that had their children's 'art' plastered all over their desk at work. I am hard pressed to find one official business communication mixed in among my son's gallery show currently on display at my place of employment. (My son is currently going through a Jackson Pollock phase.)
This list will probably be updated over time. Feel free to post your own thoughts in the comments below.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: one Coke Zero (LOVE this stuff)]
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Porterhouse Lies
I have a confession to make. For the first 2 year of my marriage, I was involved in a deceitful activity that involved multiple men, all under my husband's nose. Ultimately it was one of those very men that unknowingly revealed the secret that brought down my house of cards.
It all started when I walked into my local, family owned, butcher shop. Standing there before me was something I longed for, yet was too afraid to try. It's size intimidated me. It's cost made me a little nervous. But I knew that it's taste was calling me. It's name was the Porterhouse.
Now here is where the elaborate web of lies began. During one of my visits to this store I summoned up enough courage to ask the strapping butcher "What do you recommend today?" The manly man looked at me and with those deep chocolate eyes said, "You can't go wrong with a Porterhouse. Best of both worlds." What could he possibly mean by 'best of both worlds.' So I bit. "What do you mean by 'best of both worlds'?" And here is where the bond of trust was broken with my husband. "A Porterhouse is a New York Strip steak and a Filet Mignon all in one steak."
'Is this true?' I wondered. Could it really be? A filet and a strip all in one steak? So I instructed him to get me one of these steaks and to not bother writing anything on the wrapping. I quickly grabbed my brown paper bag and stole away to my car. Tonight I was going to eat filet right in front of my husband and he was never going to know.
At home I secretly removed the filet and the strip steak from the bone and tossed away the evidence in the trash. I delicately seasoned (salt and pepper only please) the prize and precisely cooked the steaks to a perfect medium with gorgeous criss-crossed sear marks on both sides. And then like any good grill master, I let them sit for 10 minutes before I executed my perfect plan. I bring the platter to the dinner table and coyly announce to my spouse "I'm not very hungry today sweetie. You go ahead and take the big steak and I'll just eat the little one." He looks at me lovingly and says "Thank you very much." All the while I'm thinking 'No. Thank YOU very much."
And so it went like that. Week after week. Butcher after butcher. I would hide my evidence. Generously offer my husband the bigger steak and I would sit back and enjoy my butter knife tender filet. I would constantly have to remind myself to keep my poker face in check and my sounds of enjoyment to a minimum in order to elude suspicion.
Until the day my husband sweetly stopped at the butcher shop to surprise me with a Porterhouse steak. His demeanor coming in the door was different. Standoff-ish. His brow, furrowed. His jaw, clenched. And then the words "You've been holding out on me for the past two years!!" indicated that my secret had been betrayed. I try to play it off 'What do you mean sweetie?' And then it all comes out. He says, "I'm at the butcher shop and order a Porterhouse when the butcher turns to me and asks. 'Which cut do you prefer the New York Strip or the Filet?' Apparently the butcher noticed the confused look on my husband's face and offered "You know, a Porterhouse is a NY Strip (the big one) and a Filet Mignon (the small one)."
So I had been caught red-handed. The trust I had been building for years with my husband had been shaken. And now I'm eating NY Strip for the next 2 years. Darn you butchers!!!!
It all started when I walked into my local, family owned, butcher shop. Standing there before me was something I longed for, yet was too afraid to try. It's size intimidated me. It's cost made me a little nervous. But I knew that it's taste was calling me. It's name was the Porterhouse.
Now here is where the elaborate web of lies began. During one of my visits to this store I summoned up enough courage to ask the strapping butcher "What do you recommend today?" The manly man looked at me and with those deep chocolate eyes said, "You can't go wrong with a Porterhouse. Best of both worlds." What could he possibly mean by 'best of both worlds.' So I bit. "What do you mean by 'best of both worlds'?" And here is where the bond of trust was broken with my husband. "A Porterhouse is a New York Strip steak and a Filet Mignon all in one steak."
'Is this true?' I wondered. Could it really be? A filet and a strip all in one steak? So I instructed him to get me one of these steaks and to not bother writing anything on the wrapping. I quickly grabbed my brown paper bag and stole away to my car. Tonight I was going to eat filet right in front of my husband and he was never going to know.
At home I secretly removed the filet and the strip steak from the bone and tossed away the evidence in the trash. I delicately seasoned (salt and pepper only please) the prize and precisely cooked the steaks to a perfect medium with gorgeous criss-crossed sear marks on both sides. And then like any good grill master, I let them sit for 10 minutes before I executed my perfect plan. I bring the platter to the dinner table and coyly announce to my spouse "I'm not very hungry today sweetie. You go ahead and take the big steak and I'll just eat the little one." He looks at me lovingly and says "Thank you very much." All the while I'm thinking 'No. Thank YOU very much."
And so it went like that. Week after week. Butcher after butcher. I would hide my evidence. Generously offer my husband the bigger steak and I would sit back and enjoy my butter knife tender filet. I would constantly have to remind myself to keep my poker face in check and my sounds of enjoyment to a minimum in order to elude suspicion.
Until the day my husband sweetly stopped at the butcher shop to surprise me with a Porterhouse steak. His demeanor coming in the door was different. Standoff-ish. His brow, furrowed. His jaw, clenched. And then the words "You've been holding out on me for the past two years!!" indicated that my secret had been betrayed. I try to play it off 'What do you mean sweetie?' And then it all comes out. He says, "I'm at the butcher shop and order a Porterhouse when the butcher turns to me and asks. 'Which cut do you prefer the New York Strip or the Filet?' Apparently the butcher noticed the confused look on my husband's face and offered "You know, a Porterhouse is a NY Strip (the big one) and a Filet Mignon (the small one)."
So I had been caught red-handed. The trust I had been building for years with my husband had been shaken. And now I'm eating NY Strip for the next 2 years. Darn you butchers!!!!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
George Carlin: Get Out Of My Head!!!
This voice haunts me in my sleep. If you have a son, you will know exactly where it comes from. If you have a daughter, I'm sorry for all of the Princess stuff you have to go through but it doesn't come close to the level of annoying this voice, and by association this show, has brought to my life. I am of course talking about that cheeky little blue tank engine with the big yellow number one, Thomas and the voice that brings him to life, George Carlin.
I would love for the world to think that I'm hip, edgy and cool and have legendary comedic routines stuck in my head by Mr. Carlin. But alas, I am no longer these things. My toddler is obsessed with this blue train and his 500 or so friends. Most days, the first thing he wants to see is Thomas and unfortunately the last thing of the day is typically an episode of Thomas as well. And wedged in between is generally hours of play involving all things railroad. As a by product of this obsession, I hear George's voice in my head almost all day long and unfortunately he also joins me in my dreams.
If you asked me when I was in my twenties (back when I was single and in the middle of running off on my world travels in Copenhagen, Barbados, Zurich, Cancun, Munich and Amsterdam) if I would be able to point Rusty, James, Edward, Kevin, Murdoch, Percy or Billy out of a line-up. I would have probably turned to you and asked 'are those members of an up and coming British rock band?' But now as a mom, I can point out the differences between Percy and Duck. I can tell you that James has the number 5 on him. And I know that Sir Handle was originally named Falcon. Can I tell you today where Succinate fits into the Krebs Cycle? Or who is the lead singer in Muse? The answer to both of those questions would be a resounding 'no!!"
While I'm on this Thomas vent, let's take a minute to talk about Sir Topham Hatt. How has this man not been arrested or sued for every penny he owns in at least one episode? Never in my life have I seen one railway with an accident rate as bad as his. Has Sodor no department of transportation that regulates safety? Nearly every episode of Thomas has at least one reportable accident that should have OSHA beating down his door and fining the top hat off this guy. What message are we sending our children? 'Go ahead and enter the workforce and damage your employer's property and while you are at it feel free to endanger the public. And when all is said and done, no one will care." Seriously?!?!?
Could things be worse? I guess my son could be obsessed with Barney. Thankfully he is not. And I'll take Thomas over Calliou any day of the week.
Weesh. Weesh.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: One ice cold Coke Zero]
I would love for the world to think that I'm hip, edgy and cool and have legendary comedic routines stuck in my head by Mr. Carlin. But alas, I am no longer these things. My toddler is obsessed with this blue train and his 500 or so friends. Most days, the first thing he wants to see is Thomas and unfortunately the last thing of the day is typically an episode of Thomas as well. And wedged in between is generally hours of play involving all things railroad. As a by product of this obsession, I hear George's voice in my head almost all day long and unfortunately he also joins me in my dreams.
If you asked me when I was in my twenties (back when I was single and in the middle of running off on my world travels in Copenhagen, Barbados, Zurich, Cancun, Munich and Amsterdam) if I would be able to point Rusty, James, Edward, Kevin, Murdoch, Percy or Billy out of a line-up. I would have probably turned to you and asked 'are those members of an up and coming British rock band?' But now as a mom, I can point out the differences between Percy and Duck. I can tell you that James has the number 5 on him. And I know that Sir Handle was originally named Falcon. Can I tell you today where Succinate fits into the Krebs Cycle? Or who is the lead singer in Muse? The answer to both of those questions would be a resounding 'no!!"
While I'm on this Thomas vent, let's take a minute to talk about Sir Topham Hatt. How has this man not been arrested or sued for every penny he owns in at least one episode? Never in my life have I seen one railway with an accident rate as bad as his. Has Sodor no department of transportation that regulates safety? Nearly every episode of Thomas has at least one reportable accident that should have OSHA beating down his door and fining the top hat off this guy. What message are we sending our children? 'Go ahead and enter the workforce and damage your employer's property and while you are at it feel free to endanger the public. And when all is said and done, no one will care." Seriously?!?!?
Could things be worse? I guess my son could be obsessed with Barney. Thankfully he is not. And I'll take Thomas over Calliou any day of the week.
Weesh. Weesh.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: One ice cold Coke Zero]
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Glutton For Punishment
There are only 24 hours in a day. Right? So someone please tell me why I just decided to add training for a half marathon to my already brimming plate? Let's see exactly what I've got going on in my life: I work full time at a pretty insanely demanding job, I am a mother to a highly active 2 1/2 year old that happens to be a medically complicated child in the middle of chemotherapy, and I'm a wife.
What about all of this made me think there was time to add training for a 13.1 mile race in my life? I can sum it up in a few words: feather boa and tiara. I'm guessing right now you are sitting there and wondering "why would a feather boa and a tiara make this crazy woman want to train for and then subsequently run a half marathon?" It is very easy, a quirky little race called the Diva's Half Marathon.
One of my dear friends e-mailed me a link to this race a few weeks ago and told me she was thinking of registering for it and wanted to know if I was interested. As any sane person would do, I immediately thought to myself "why on earth would I choose to run 13.1 miles unless it was the apocalypse and I was running away from the three horsemen?" And then I checked out the website and saw this under the description of the event:
Stop the presses. You had me at 'feather boa stations and tiara stops'. You see, my life is completely, and painfully, devoid of feather boas and tiaras. Every night I lay in bed and say to myself "the only thing that would have made this day any better is if there was a feather boa or tiara involved in it." It was karmic destiny that this Diva's Half Marathon found its way into my feather boa/tiara longing life.
And so it seems that many other women in my life have the same hole in their existence because from that one e-mail there are now at least 8 of us training for this same race. Come October 3rd, we will all be physically fit, mentally strong and completely fulfilled running across the finish line at mile 13.1 donned in a feather boa and tiara getting reading to get our groove on at the post race dance party.
Now you may be thinking to yourself "Doesn't this poor woman know that you can buy a feather boa and tiara at Frederick's of Hollywood or Spencer's Gifts?" My answer to that would be "Uh, yeah. I know. But they don't have an awesome, shinning and spinning diva medal with a spot for my own photo." Let the insanity...I mean training... begin!!
http://www.runlikeadiva.com/
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 iced coffee]
What about all of this made me think there was time to add training for a 13.1 mile race in my life? I can sum it up in a few words: feather boa and tiara. I'm guessing right now you are sitting there and wondering "why would a feather boa and a tiara make this crazy woman want to train for and then subsequently run a half marathon?" It is very easy, a quirky little race called the Diva's Half Marathon.
One of my dear friends e-mailed me a link to this race a few weeks ago and told me she was thinking of registering for it and wanted to know if I was interested. As any sane person would do, I immediately thought to myself "why on earth would I choose to run 13.1 miles unless it was the apocalypse and I was running away from the three horsemen?" And then I checked out the website and saw this under the description of the event:
- Roses, champagne, tiaras and more to make you feel pretty and strong
- Refresh and Renew Stations on the Course
- Feather boa stations and tiara stops on the course
- Awesome, shining and spinning diva medals featuring a spot for your own photo.
- Post Race Dance Party
Stop the presses. You had me at 'feather boa stations and tiara stops'. You see, my life is completely, and painfully, devoid of feather boas and tiaras. Every night I lay in bed and say to myself "the only thing that would have made this day any better is if there was a feather boa or tiara involved in it." It was karmic destiny that this Diva's Half Marathon found its way into my feather boa/tiara longing life.
And so it seems that many other women in my life have the same hole in their existence because from that one e-mail there are now at least 8 of us training for this same race. Come October 3rd, we will all be physically fit, mentally strong and completely fulfilled running across the finish line at mile 13.1 donned in a feather boa and tiara getting reading to get our groove on at the post race dance party.
Now you may be thinking to yourself "Doesn't this poor woman know that you can buy a feather boa and tiara at Frederick's of Hollywood or Spencer's Gifts?" My answer to that would be "Uh, yeah. I know. But they don't have an awesome, shinning and spinning diva medal with a spot for my own photo." Let the insanity...I mean training... begin!!
http://www.runlikeadiva.com/
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 iced coffee]
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Can Someone Please Direct Me to the Nearest Rock???
You don't need to have children of your own to know that they can say some pretty embarrassing things. Heck even Bill Cosby knows that 'Kids Say the Darnedest Things'. But no matter how prepared you think you are for the stuff that comes out of their mouths, there will always be a time when you get thrown a curve ball and are completely caught off guard for the whole new level they can take things to. The moment when they raise the bar on saying something embarrassing, will almost always: 1) happen in a public location and 2) there will be witnesses.
So let me share the story of the whole new level my son took this game to last week. [Please note that my face may still be a shade or two redder than usual because of this encounter.] One day after work I picked my son up from daycare and brought him with me to our local grocery store. After we complete our shopping we stand in line at the check out. There are a few people in line in front of us and then a person comes on up and stands behind us.
Out of the blue my son looks at me and says "Look Mommy, I see a troll!" And proceeds to point at the woman directly in front of us. Time suddenly seems to stand still and the world starts spinning around us. My mind cannot process what is actually happening in front of me. Apparently my son takes my lack of speech as a sign to repeat what he just said in a louder voice and with a more pronounced pointing motion says "Look, I see a troll!!!"
My heart starts racing in my chest. I can feel the laser beams from the troll's eyes burning a hole directly into my skull. If ever was the time when the theory of spontaneous combustion needed to be proven, now was it. Oh please let us poof away in a magical cloud of white smoke right now. But alas the white smoke never comes and I must now react to the whole situation.
I immediately bend over and tell my son "Sweetheart, that is not very nice. There is no such thing. Please no more talking until we get into the car." Mortified, I turn to the woman and say "Please forgive my son, he is only two and doesn't know any better." She grunts at me, and turns her back to us.
We stand there in complete silence. I swear I can hear the people behind us in line snickering to themselves. I pray that my son stays quiet until the woman in front of us pays for her stuff and leaves. Is the cashier going slower just to see if the two year old follows up with another witty gem? And sure enough he bites. "What is not nice about saying she is a troll? She looks just like the troll in my movie." At that point I grab my son, turn two shades of fuchsia, say 'sorry' and dash out of line in search of shelter in the soda aisle to regroup until the troll leaves the store (and possibly the state).
Looking back on the whole episode a few days later, I can finally laugh. And in my son's defense, the woman was not really playing her "A game" in the appearance department. So this experience reminded me that it is never a good idea to wear food stained clothing in public, brushing my hair before leaving the house is always a good idea, it only takes you two extra minutes to throw on some eyeliner, blush and lip gloss and there is never a rock close enough for you to crawl under when you really need it.
P.S.: The people at Disney are evil for putting trolls in kids movies because this entire episode could have been avoided if the ugly trolls were replaced with fluffy, cute kittens!!
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: None =( ]
So let me share the story of the whole new level my son took this game to last week. [Please note that my face may still be a shade or two redder than usual because of this encounter.] One day after work I picked my son up from daycare and brought him with me to our local grocery store. After we complete our shopping we stand in line at the check out. There are a few people in line in front of us and then a person comes on up and stands behind us.
Out of the blue my son looks at me and says "Look Mommy, I see a troll!" And proceeds to point at the woman directly in front of us. Time suddenly seems to stand still and the world starts spinning around us. My mind cannot process what is actually happening in front of me. Apparently my son takes my lack of speech as a sign to repeat what he just said in a louder voice and with a more pronounced pointing motion says "Look, I see a troll!!!"
My heart starts racing in my chest. I can feel the laser beams from the troll's eyes burning a hole directly into my skull. If ever was the time when the theory of spontaneous combustion needed to be proven, now was it. Oh please let us poof away in a magical cloud of white smoke right now. But alas the white smoke never comes and I must now react to the whole situation.
I immediately bend over and tell my son "Sweetheart, that is not very nice. There is no such thing. Please no more talking until we get into the car." Mortified, I turn to the woman and say "Please forgive my son, he is only two and doesn't know any better." She grunts at me, and turns her back to us.
We stand there in complete silence. I swear I can hear the people behind us in line snickering to themselves. I pray that my son stays quiet until the woman in front of us pays for her stuff and leaves. Is the cashier going slower just to see if the two year old follows up with another witty gem? And sure enough he bites. "What is not nice about saying she is a troll? She looks just like the troll in my movie." At that point I grab my son, turn two shades of fuchsia, say 'sorry' and dash out of line in search of shelter in the soda aisle to regroup until the troll leaves the store (and possibly the state).
Looking back on the whole episode a few days later, I can finally laugh. And in my son's defense, the woman was not really playing her "A game" in the appearance department. So this experience reminded me that it is never a good idea to wear food stained clothing in public, brushing my hair before leaving the house is always a good idea, it only takes you two extra minutes to throw on some eyeliner, blush and lip gloss and there is never a rock close enough for you to crawl under when you really need it.
P.S.: The people at Disney are evil for putting trolls in kids movies because this entire episode could have been avoided if the ugly trolls were replaced with fluffy, cute kittens!!
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: None =( ]
Sunday, May 9, 2010
No Comments From the Peanut Gallery
So I've started my personal journey towards getting in better shape. Surprisingly I did not kill anyone during the first 72 hours of my new dietary lifestyle. That right there my friends is a huge sign of success.
I read somewhere that chewing gum, or brushing your teeth, after eating helps keep you from snacking between meals. I should buy stock in Orbits gum because I'm almost at a pack a day habit in trying to stop the munchies. The miracle is that in the first week, I've totally stopped eating between meals and after dinner by using this trick and I've already lost 4.7 pounds. (There is the very distinct possibility that I was consuming half of my daily caloric intake between the hours of 7 and 10 p.m.) Twelve more pounds to go until I'm back at my happy target weight.
I broke out the jogging stroller last week for my first 'run' in about a year. With me on this outing was my 2 1/2 year old son. He is probably one of the funniest people I've ever met (part of me would really like to take credit for that trait.) My son is remarkably verbal for his age. Here is a brief overview of the conversation we had during this early morning 'run':
Me: Sit back sweetie and enjoy our morning jog.
Son: Mommy where are we going on our walk?
Me: Sweetie this is a jog not a walk. We are going to jog through the neighborhood, around the pond and over to the park.
Son: Mommy why are we walking over to the park?
Me: This is not a walk, this is a jog.
Son: When will we start jogging?
Me: We are already jogging.
Son: No Mommy we are walking.
Me: No sweetie, we are jogging.
Son: No Mommy, this is walking.
Me: So what animals do you think we will see this morning at the pond?
Son: Maybe some duckies.
Me: [huff]
Son: Mommy, what is that bird called?
Me: A killdear.
Me: [huff, pant, huff]
Son: Why is it called a killdear?
Me: I don't know.
Son: Why don't you know?
Me: I don't know. [huff, pant, huff, huff]
Son: When we walk past him, will he fly away?
Me: [huff, huff, cough, huff]
Son: Mommy?
Me: [gasp, huff, pant, cough]
Son: Mommy? Are you okay?
Me: [cough] Yes. [cough, cough, pant]
Son: I think we need to walk back home so you can have coffee.
[Silence]
[Silence]
Me: OK.
Happy Mother's Day to all the special women in my life.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 very old cup of coffee]
I read somewhere that chewing gum, or brushing your teeth, after eating helps keep you from snacking between meals. I should buy stock in Orbits gum because I'm almost at a pack a day habit in trying to stop the munchies. The miracle is that in the first week, I've totally stopped eating between meals and after dinner by using this trick and I've already lost 4.7 pounds. (There is the very distinct possibility that I was consuming half of my daily caloric intake between the hours of 7 and 10 p.m.) Twelve more pounds to go until I'm back at my happy target weight.
I broke out the jogging stroller last week for my first 'run' in about a year. With me on this outing was my 2 1/2 year old son. He is probably one of the funniest people I've ever met (part of me would really like to take credit for that trait.) My son is remarkably verbal for his age. Here is a brief overview of the conversation we had during this early morning 'run':
Me: Sit back sweetie and enjoy our morning jog.
Son: Mommy where are we going on our walk?
Me: Sweetie this is a jog not a walk. We are going to jog through the neighborhood, around the pond and over to the park.
Son: Mommy why are we walking over to the park?
Me: This is not a walk, this is a jog.
Son: When will we start jogging?
Me: We are already jogging.
Son: No Mommy we are walking.
Me: No sweetie, we are jogging.
Son: No Mommy, this is walking.
Me: So what animals do you think we will see this morning at the pond?
Son: Maybe some duckies.
Me: [huff]
Son: Mommy, what is that bird called?
Me: A killdear.
Me: [huff, pant, huff]
Son: Why is it called a killdear?
Me: I don't know.
Son: Why don't you know?
Me: I don't know. [huff, pant, huff, huff]
Son: When we walk past him, will he fly away?
Me: [huff, huff, cough, huff]
Son: Mommy?
Me: [gasp, huff, pant, cough]
Son: Mommy? Are you okay?
Me: [cough] Yes. [cough, cough, pant]
Son: I think we need to walk back home so you can have coffee.
[Silence]
[Silence]
Me: OK.
Happy Mother's Day to all the special women in my life.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 very old cup of coffee]
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Oh where oh where has my little tush gone?
Oh where oh where can it be?
I was looking at some recent photos taken of me and can see that the stress of the past four months has taken its toll. I am a notorious stress eater. When the going gets tough, I go to the pantry. So it comes as no surprise in light of all that has been going on in my personal life, that I have sought comfort in Fritos, McDonalds, Sour Patch Jelly Beans, fried chicken and pizza.
My closet has become a museum of Ann Taylor clothing ranging from size 6 and up. (You will need to waterboard me in order to get me to disclose my current weight and size.) I like muffins as much as the next person, but I do not like having muffin top.
All of this leads me to a few realities: 1) the destructive eating habits must come to an end, 2) I need to find a better way to channel my stress and 3) I see that there will be some sort of physical activity routine added to my schedule that will involve pain and excessive sweating. So here is my plan of attack:
Refined sugar and white flour are now banished!!! My carbohydrate intake will be exclusively limited to fruits, veggies and whole grains. Fortunately this does not affect my coffee experience because for as long as I've been drinking coffee, I've been using the pink stuff as a sweetener. (Please spare me the research. I'm aware of the fact that there is no Sweet'n Low plant in nature and therefore the stuff is all chemicals and is not good for me. I'm fine with that.)
As for a better channel for my stress, I will commit to jumping on my computer and writing a blog entry. (Even if it is only to tell the world that I am on the verge of a Frito-detox induced rage.)
And finally there is the physical activity piece. As much as it may come as a surprise to some of you, I was a 'decent' runner not too long ago. I ran (and completed) a full 26.2 mile marathon in 2002. I will never ever feel the need to repeat that insanity again. (I just finally got the last of my four toenails that I lost during the race to grow back this winter.) I think my logical next step is to reintroduce running into my daily routine.
Should you pass me along the road while I am out on a jog, here are the things I ask you to consider:
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 Diet Mountain Dew]
I was looking at some recent photos taken of me and can see that the stress of the past four months has taken its toll. I am a notorious stress eater. When the going gets tough, I go to the pantry. So it comes as no surprise in light of all that has been going on in my personal life, that I have sought comfort in Fritos, McDonalds, Sour Patch Jelly Beans, fried chicken and pizza.
My closet has become a museum of Ann Taylor clothing ranging from size 6 and up. (You will need to waterboard me in order to get me to disclose my current weight and size.) I like muffins as much as the next person, but I do not like having muffin top.
All of this leads me to a few realities: 1) the destructive eating habits must come to an end, 2) I need to find a better way to channel my stress and 3) I see that there will be some sort of physical activity routine added to my schedule that will involve pain and excessive sweating. So here is my plan of attack:
Refined sugar and white flour are now banished!!! My carbohydrate intake will be exclusively limited to fruits, veggies and whole grains. Fortunately this does not affect my coffee experience because for as long as I've been drinking coffee, I've been using the pink stuff as a sweetener. (Please spare me the research. I'm aware of the fact that there is no Sweet'n Low plant in nature and therefore the stuff is all chemicals and is not good for me. I'm fine with that.)
As for a better channel for my stress, I will commit to jumping on my computer and writing a blog entry. (Even if it is only to tell the world that I am on the verge of a Frito-detox induced rage.)
And finally there is the physical activity piece. As much as it may come as a surprise to some of you, I was a 'decent' runner not too long ago. I ran (and completed) a full 26.2 mile marathon in 2002. I will never ever feel the need to repeat that insanity again. (I just finally got the last of my four toenails that I lost during the race to grow back this winter.) I think my logical next step is to reintroduce running into my daily routine.
Should you pass me along the road while I am out on a jog, here are the things I ask you to consider:
- Do not honk at me. I will not know if you are showing me a sign of support/encouragement on my attempt at physical fitness or if you are telling me that there is not enough room on the road for your vehicle and my very large behind.
- Should I appear to be in some sort of cardiac distress, please be kind and dial 911.
- Do not assume that I appear to be walking. My jog and walk are deceptively similar in appearance.
- Do not expect me to be sweet and social when I 'run' past you. I will not only be in physical pain but I'll also be going through carbohydrate withdrawal and that is a double whammy if I ever heard of one.
[Caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1 Diet Mountain Dew]
Sunday, April 25, 2010
High Treason
In the immortal words of Jerry Maguire, coffee "completes me." So it comes as no surprise to find out that I was beyond upset this morning when I discovered that my sacred morning ritual of savoring a cup of hot, caffeinated, heaven has been a sham over the past two weeks.
Before I tell this story, let's get a few things straight. I am not a high volume coffee drinker. Quality, not quantity is my mantra for coffee. I would rather drink 2 great cups (albeit very large ones) of coffee a day instead of 2 pots of mediocre java. The moment that first taste of caffeinated heaven hits my lips each morning is like that very first true love kiss of my youth. I savor each taste until the rendevous is over and we part ways for a few hours. My drug of choice is mild, moderately priced Dunkin' Donuts original blend (whole bean please).
So back in December my mother (also a fellow DD orignal blend drinker) for some reason felt the need to give me a bag of DD decaf coffee to have on hand 'just in case.' I am presuming she was worried that some day I would have a guest over at my house that urgently craved the taste of decaffeinated coffee and I would be unable to meet their needs. The fear that she would be branded a failure for raising a child that was a terrible hostess, must have fueled her decision to purchase said decaf, drive it across state lines, and deliver it to me for safe keeping. Not knowing when this mystery guest would arrive at my home, I shoved the bag of decaf into my freezer and began waiting for the day that someone would make their way to my doorstep.
Flash forward to April of this year. My husband is an amazing partner. Each night after we both get home from work, we divide and conquer to clean up from the day's activities, take care of our 2 year old son, and prepare for the next day's repeat of the whole cycle. His job is to clean out the coffee pot and prepare it for the next morning. Let me also say that my husband thinks he's a funny man and always feels the need to 'work new material'. At times I feel like I am living with Jerry Seinfeld. Typically his material involves some sort of 'zinger' for me.
So it comes as no surprise that two weeks ago he started cracking jokes that he was going to switch me over to decaf. Every night, while I'm frantically cleaning up after our son and preparing his food for the next day at daycare, my husband opens the freezer and pulls out the bag of coffee and starts telling me that he could add decaf to my coffee and I would never know. I of course tell him 'don't mess with my coffee' and leave it at that. But the jokes continue and I of course continue to take them as idle threats. Until this morning.
This morning was my husband's turn to sleep in. I am downstairs with our son. I crack open the freezer to pull out the coffee and for some reason a little voice in my head says 'check and see if the bag of decaf is still sealed shut.' I grab the bag of decaf and immediately panic as it mysteriously feels lighter than I remember. I remove the wire clip and gasp at the fact that the bag opens and it is half EMPTY!!!! The stinker has been slipping me decaf (right in front of my nose) for the past two weeks!!!
Eventually he wakes up from his peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware that I am fuming over the fact that the cat is out of the bag. "Morty, the jig is up!!" He walks into the kitchen and says 'oh great the coffee is ready.' Then I pull out the bag of decaf and confront him with the powerful truth, 'you've been messing with my coffee!' His answer, 'Yeah I know. Every night I've been taking out the bag of decaf coffee along with the regular coffee and right in front of your face I add them to the coffee maker.'
Ugh. When that mystery decaf-loving guest arrives at my home they better come armed with their own bag of coffee because my bag of decaf is now somewhere in a local landfill. Thanks Mom.
[Cups of caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1]
Before I tell this story, let's get a few things straight. I am not a high volume coffee drinker. Quality, not quantity is my mantra for coffee. I would rather drink 2 great cups (albeit very large ones) of coffee a day instead of 2 pots of mediocre java. The moment that first taste of caffeinated heaven hits my lips each morning is like that very first true love kiss of my youth. I savor each taste until the rendevous is over and we part ways for a few hours. My drug of choice is mild, moderately priced Dunkin' Donuts original blend (whole bean please).
So back in December my mother (also a fellow DD orignal blend drinker) for some reason felt the need to give me a bag of DD decaf coffee to have on hand 'just in case.' I am presuming she was worried that some day I would have a guest over at my house that urgently craved the taste of decaffeinated coffee and I would be unable to meet their needs. The fear that she would be branded a failure for raising a child that was a terrible hostess, must have fueled her decision to purchase said decaf, drive it across state lines, and deliver it to me for safe keeping. Not knowing when this mystery guest would arrive at my home, I shoved the bag of decaf into my freezer and began waiting for the day that someone would make their way to my doorstep.
Flash forward to April of this year. My husband is an amazing partner. Each night after we both get home from work, we divide and conquer to clean up from the day's activities, take care of our 2 year old son, and prepare for the next day's repeat of the whole cycle. His job is to clean out the coffee pot and prepare it for the next morning. Let me also say that my husband thinks he's a funny man and always feels the need to 'work new material'. At times I feel like I am living with Jerry Seinfeld. Typically his material involves some sort of 'zinger' for me.
So it comes as no surprise that two weeks ago he started cracking jokes that he was going to switch me over to decaf. Every night, while I'm frantically cleaning up after our son and preparing his food for the next day at daycare, my husband opens the freezer and pulls out the bag of coffee and starts telling me that he could add decaf to my coffee and I would never know. I of course tell him 'don't mess with my coffee' and leave it at that. But the jokes continue and I of course continue to take them as idle threats. Until this morning.
This morning was my husband's turn to sleep in. I am downstairs with our son. I crack open the freezer to pull out the coffee and for some reason a little voice in my head says 'check and see if the bag of decaf is still sealed shut.' I grab the bag of decaf and immediately panic as it mysteriously feels lighter than I remember. I remove the wire clip and gasp at the fact that the bag opens and it is half EMPTY!!!! The stinker has been slipping me decaf (right in front of my nose) for the past two weeks!!!
Eventually he wakes up from his peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware that I am fuming over the fact that the cat is out of the bag. "Morty, the jig is up!!" He walks into the kitchen and says 'oh great the coffee is ready.' Then I pull out the bag of decaf and confront him with the powerful truth, 'you've been messing with my coffee!' His answer, 'Yeah I know. Every night I've been taking out the bag of decaf coffee along with the regular coffee and right in front of your face I add them to the coffee maker.'
Ugh. When that mystery decaf-loving guest arrives at my home they better come armed with their own bag of coffee because my bag of decaf is now somewhere in a local landfill. Thanks Mom.
[Cups of caffeine consumed during the making of this blog: 1]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
