After a recent comment from the General, "Mommy, you look like you've got a baby in your belly!" I've once again have ventured off and on to yet another health kick. After packing on several pounds, over the last year, I've decided an intervention was needed. I thought I'd seek professional guidance.
I decided to share my new epiphany with the Bear. "I think I'm going to call Weight Watchers," I told him, all proud of myself.
He just shook his head.
"What's that suppose to mean?" I asked.
"You don't have a weight problem. They probably wouldn't even let you join" answered the Bear.
"Why would you say that?"
Before the Bear could answer I continued my whining, "I can't button my jeans, and the General told me I look like I have a baby in my belly!."
"So buy new jeans. And the General just wants another brother, wishful thinking on his part," answered the Bear, annoyed at the fact that we were even having such a conversation.
Annoyed, I came up with all that I could think of at the moment, "Even my bras don't fit!"
"And that's a bad thing?"
Guys just don't get it.
I decided that I was going to have to go at it alone. So, I looked into several weight management programs to see which one I could possibly stomach.
Motivated about my new commitment to a healthier lifestyle, I decided to research the program on line, to find out more information. As I read the webpage, my insides were bubbling with excitement, I could envision the new fitter and healthier me!
I decided to fill out the on line questionnaire to determine which group would suit me best.
1. Are you over 17?
yes
2. Are you pregnant?
I sure as hell hope not.
3. Breastfeeding?
Only when my husband's really hungry.
4. Are you or have you ever been bulimic?
God no! If I was getting rid of the food before it had time to settle on my a** then I wouldn't need your program.
5. What are your goals?
To be able to button my jeans.
6. How tall are you?
5 feet 3 and 1/4 inches
7. How much do you weigh?
***lbs
8. List health goals.
I don't really care how much weight I loose, I just want to button my jeans, fit into my bras and not look like I have a baby in my belly!.
It's been about two weeks, and I still haven't heard anything back. I'm starting to think that no one takes me seriously!
Monday, September 21, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The Tank's new Achilles heel
Is there such thing as having slight OCD? Or is it like being a little bit pregnant...you either are or you aren't?
My four year old, the Tank has recently become extremely germ conscious. At first, I thought it was really cute when the Tank insisted on washing his hands to "kill the germs." In fact, I praised his pre-school teachers for stressing that good hygiene keeps everyone healthy. I was really excited that they were reinforcing habits that I was already teaching my troops at home.
The Tank's teachers were militant about the children washing their hands upon entering the classroom, "we don't want to pass around our germs" they would reason with the students. The teachers were also adamant about the children not sharing food or drinks, "no sharing germs" they would emphasize at snack time.
I was even excited when the Tank started to share his passion for being clean with his brothers at home. Again, his little anxieties were cute at first. He became the "hand inspector," as his brothers would exit the toilet he'd be standing right outside the door, "Let me see them!" he'd command, referring to their hands. Once the Destroyer waved his wet mitts in front of the Tank and the Tank instructed him to return for another washing, "I don't smell soap," he insisted.
One time we were at Disney and the Tank needed to use the potty, so I brought him to the restroom, where the line was just as long as the line to meet and greet Mickey Mouse. When it was our turn, we went into the stall, only to find that it was out of seat covers, which is a necessity for the Tank to use the facilities in public. I assured him that a little bit of toilet paper would serve the same purpose and not to worry, that his tushy would be safe. My reasoning seemed to appease the Tank, until the toilet paper slipped while he was in the middle of doing his business.
"Quick! Lift me up!" screamed the Tank.
"Why?"
"My butt's going to catch germs!" practically hyperventilating the Tank commanded, "Lift me up!"
"You'll be fine, we're in Disney, it's one of the cleanest places on Earth! You can probably eat off this floor and not catch anything. Just finish up ," I responded calmly.
At this point, I could hear the lady in the stall next to us begin to giggle.
When we finally exited the restroom, the Bear asked, "what took so long?"
"The Tank found a new kryotonite."
My four year old, the Tank has recently become extremely germ conscious. At first, I thought it was really cute when the Tank insisted on washing his hands to "kill the germs." In fact, I praised his pre-school teachers for stressing that good hygiene keeps everyone healthy. I was really excited that they were reinforcing habits that I was already teaching my troops at home.
The Tank's teachers were militant about the children washing their hands upon entering the classroom, "we don't want to pass around our germs" they would reason with the students. The teachers were also adamant about the children not sharing food or drinks, "no sharing germs" they would emphasize at snack time.
I was even excited when the Tank started to share his passion for being clean with his brothers at home. Again, his little anxieties were cute at first. He became the "hand inspector," as his brothers would exit the toilet he'd be standing right outside the door, "Let me see them!" he'd command, referring to their hands. Once the Destroyer waved his wet mitts in front of the Tank and the Tank instructed him to return for another washing, "I don't smell soap," he insisted.
One time we were at Disney and the Tank needed to use the potty, so I brought him to the restroom, where the line was just as long as the line to meet and greet Mickey Mouse. When it was our turn, we went into the stall, only to find that it was out of seat covers, which is a necessity for the Tank to use the facilities in public. I assured him that a little bit of toilet paper would serve the same purpose and not to worry, that his tushy would be safe. My reasoning seemed to appease the Tank, until the toilet paper slipped while he was in the middle of doing his business.
"Quick! Lift me up!" screamed the Tank.
"Why?"
"My butt's going to catch germs!" practically hyperventilating the Tank commanded, "Lift me up!"
"You'll be fine, we're in Disney, it's one of the cleanest places on Earth! You can probably eat off this floor and not catch anything. Just finish up ," I responded calmly.
At this point, I could hear the lady in the stall next to us begin to giggle.
When we finally exited the restroom, the Bear asked, "what took so long?"
"The Tank found a new kryotonite."
Monday, July 13, 2009
Next gift...I'll Take Some Sense Please!
We all have those not so lucid moments when we say or do totally off the wall things that just don't make much sense. I guess I just seem to have those moments more often than other people. My brother use to say to me, quite frequently, "if common sense is so common, how come you don't have any?"
Apparently I wasn't around the day God was handing it out, but I was in line when he was handing out the blond gene. I guess that's the Polish in me.
My most recent blond/Polish moment, as my family refers to these totally ridiculous junctures in my life, came last week. The Bear called me all excited at work and told me that he got me an early birthday present, "it's something that you've been wanting for a long time."
"Yes, finally diamond earrings!" I quietly thought to myself.
"Are you going to tell me or do I have to wait in suspense?" I asked.
"Well it's something that you can use when you get home if you want," the Bear replied trying to clue me in.
"Hmm, what am I going to cut glass?" I started to reason, I was grasping for straws.
"It's a beater bar for the central vac!" said the Bear almost squealing with excitement.
"Seriously?" I asked, you can imagine how hard it was for me to try and contain my excitement.
Later that night when I arrived home the Bear asked me if I wanted to try my new gift out.
Again, working hard to control my emotion, "that's ok. I'll wait until tomorrow, I don't want to wake the boys."
The next day the restless Bear called from work, "so did you try it yet?"
"Just getting ready to fire this baby up, I'll let you know how it works at lunch."
After we hung up the phone I took my new beater bar up the stairs and hooked the hose into the wall and went to town vacuuming my troops' barracks. As I'm swaying the beater bar back and forth, I noticed it's not really sucking much up. I thought to myself, "what a piece of junk...he should have went with the earrings."
At lunch time the hungry Bear bustled through the door all chipper, "so how did it work?"
"It's a peace of junk, return it. I was just up in the kids room and it barley sucked anything up," I retorted.
Deflated the Bear said he go check to see what was wrong with it.
As soon as he got to the top of the stairs the Bear growled for me to come up and show him how I was using the vacuum.
So, to oblige him, I attached the hose to the central vac, flipped the switch and started to vacuum. "Look it's barley sucking anything up," I whined.
"That's because you didn't plug the beater bar into the wall," roared the Bear. "Didn't you noticed it wasn't making any noise?"
"Oh," I said feeling a little silly. "I thought that it was suppose to be quiet...I thought it was a special feature! That was the only thing I liked about it!"
Apparently I wasn't around the day God was handing it out, but I was in line when he was handing out the blond gene. I guess that's the Polish in me.
My most recent blond/Polish moment, as my family refers to these totally ridiculous junctures in my life, came last week. The Bear called me all excited at work and told me that he got me an early birthday present, "it's something that you've been wanting for a long time."
"Yes, finally diamond earrings!" I quietly thought to myself.
"Are you going to tell me or do I have to wait in suspense?" I asked.
"Well it's something that you can use when you get home if you want," the Bear replied trying to clue me in.
"Hmm, what am I going to cut glass?" I started to reason, I was grasping for straws.
"It's a beater bar for the central vac!" said the Bear almost squealing with excitement.
"Seriously?" I asked, you can imagine how hard it was for me to try and contain my excitement.
Later that night when I arrived home the Bear asked me if I wanted to try my new gift out.
Again, working hard to control my emotion, "that's ok. I'll wait until tomorrow, I don't want to wake the boys."
The next day the restless Bear called from work, "so did you try it yet?"
"Just getting ready to fire this baby up, I'll let you know how it works at lunch."
After we hung up the phone I took my new beater bar up the stairs and hooked the hose into the wall and went to town vacuuming my troops' barracks. As I'm swaying the beater bar back and forth, I noticed it's not really sucking much up. I thought to myself, "what a piece of junk...he should have went with the earrings."
At lunch time the hungry Bear bustled through the door all chipper, "so how did it work?"
"It's a peace of junk, return it. I was just up in the kids room and it barley sucked anything up," I retorted.
Deflated the Bear said he go check to see what was wrong with it.
As soon as he got to the top of the stairs the Bear growled for me to come up and show him how I was using the vacuum.
So, to oblige him, I attached the hose to the central vac, flipped the switch and started to vacuum. "Look it's barley sucking anything up," I whined.
"That's because you didn't plug the beater bar into the wall," roared the Bear. "Didn't you noticed it wasn't making any noise?"
"Oh," I said feeling a little silly. "I thought that it was suppose to be quiet...I thought it was a special feature! That was the only thing I liked about it!"
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Mom's Time for R&R...Do I Really NEED a Reason?
Why is it that moms so rarely get pampered or pamper ourselves?
Recently, after a very long and stressful week, a friend of mine gave me a calming candle and some sound advice. "Go home, light the candle and take a bubble bath," she said.
Ahh, sounds like dream! Or more like something that would only happen in my dreams.
That night when I came home from work, I showed my husband, the Bear, my new candle and I told him about my friend's advice.
"Sounds great, you should go take a bath and call it a night. The kids are already in bed" spoke the Bear in a melodic voice.
He can be so soft and cuddly sometimes! I was so excited I even asked if he wanted to join me!
"That's ok, why don't you just go up and relax, I'll clean up the kitchen from dinner," said Bear.
At this point I had to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming.
Nope! So without a second offer I flew up the stairs and drew a nice warm bubble bath. I turned down the lights, lit my candle and turned on some Enya. Total bliss!
As I was just drifting off into tranquility, I had this odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something just wasn't right.
I sat up and peered over towards my door and there stood the Tank, perched idly against the door jam.
"What are you doing?" asked the Tank.
"I'm taking a bath."
Baffled the Tank just stared at me then said, "but it's not Mother's Day."
"No, it's not," and I just put a hot cloth over my eyes and slipped away back into my sedation.
Recently, after a very long and stressful week, a friend of mine gave me a calming candle and some sound advice. "Go home, light the candle and take a bubble bath," she said.
Ahh, sounds like dream! Or more like something that would only happen in my dreams.
That night when I came home from work, I showed my husband, the Bear, my new candle and I told him about my friend's advice.
"Sounds great, you should go take a bath and call it a night. The kids are already in bed" spoke the Bear in a melodic voice.
He can be so soft and cuddly sometimes! I was so excited I even asked if he wanted to join me!
"That's ok, why don't you just go up and relax, I'll clean up the kitchen from dinner," said Bear.
At this point I had to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming.
Nope! So without a second offer I flew up the stairs and drew a nice warm bubble bath. I turned down the lights, lit my candle and turned on some Enya. Total bliss!
As I was just drifting off into tranquility, I had this odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something just wasn't right.
I sat up and peered over towards my door and there stood the Tank, perched idly against the door jam.
"What are you doing?" asked the Tank.
"I'm taking a bath."
Baffled the Tank just stared at me then said, "but it's not Mother's Day."
"No, it's not," and I just put a hot cloth over my eyes and slipped away back into my sedation.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
My Dirty Little Secret
I have a little secret....
Ok, I'm just going to say it out loud...
I LIKE daytime TV!
Not that I actually have time to watch it during the day, but I have my DVR ready to record all my favorites. Particulary, which I am some what embarrassed to admit, Days of Our Lives.
I am a Days junkie. Once all the kiddos are all snug in their bed, I sneak off down stairs, like a little kid trying to evade their folks so they can watch forbidden TV shows.
I can't reason why I am so committed to sub par acting and shoddy story lines. My husband is constantly trying to help me kick my daily dose of daytime, but I litteraly feel like I am going to explode with curiousity if I miss an episode.
You know what they say the first step in recovery is admitting that you have a problem.
Ok, I'm just going to say it out loud...
I LIKE daytime TV!
Not that I actually have time to watch it during the day, but I have my DVR ready to record all my favorites. Particulary, which I am some what embarrassed to admit, Days of Our Lives.
I am a Days junkie. Once all the kiddos are all snug in their bed, I sneak off down stairs, like a little kid trying to evade their folks so they can watch forbidden TV shows.
I can't reason why I am so committed to sub par acting and shoddy story lines. My husband is constantly trying to help me kick my daily dose of daytime, but I litteraly feel like I am going to explode with curiousity if I miss an episode.
You know what they say the first step in recovery is admitting that you have a problem.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Do Not Flush! TP only Please!
The Destroyer has been out creeping around in full destruction mode. His latest shenanigan had my hubby, the Bear, dismantling the kids' toilet to retrieve the Destroyer's toothbrush.
I was rounding up the troops getting them ready for school. Doing the whole routine, combing hair, brushing teeth etc, when I noticed the Destroyer loitering around the potty, toothbrush in hand, daunting around in nothing but a diaper and a deleterious grin.
I could sense trouble on the horizon so I told the Destroyer to get away from the potty. But before I could even finish my statement, the little warmonger had dropped his toothbrush in the toilet and flushed!
I peered in the toilet, no toothbrush in sight. "Holy Crap! The thing actually flushed!," I thought in disbelief. I did a follow flush just to check to make sure it wasn't caught in the drain pipe. All systems looked a go.
I reprimanded the Destroyer and off my troops went to carry on with their day.
It seemed like both the Destroyer and I were free from facing the wrath of the Bear. I had actually forgotten about the incident until a few days later screams of dismay emerged from the crime scene. "Mommy! The Destroyer flushed the toilet while I was going poopie and now it's exploding! Quick, there is water squirting all over the floor!" screamed the General.
"Shit!" (pun intended)
I rushed up the stairs and was greeted the by Destroyer, "Uh-Oh, I naughty." I head straight into the kids latrine. Sure enough there was water just pouring out of the toilet.
I called the Bear, who told me that there was nothing he could do while he was at work and that he would take care of it when he got home. Surrendering to the fact that there was nothing I could do, I threw towels on the floor and shut the door, not giving it another thought.
Later that night, I was at work when the Bear called me, (I feel I have to premise this next bit with the fact that my husband except for this case in point is more like a teddy bear than a grizzly) growling into the phone that if I ever bought another Clorox wipe again that he would shoot me.
Apparently Clorox wipes and toothbrushes don't flush well. We left it at that agreeing to discuss the matter when I got home from work.
When I walked into the house a few hours later, all was quite and the three boys were sitting on the hearth as still as statues. "Where Daddy?" I asked.
The General was quick to answer in excitement, "Oh, Daddy found the Destroyer's toothbrush when he was taking apart the toilet."
"Yea, and it was covered in our poopies!" giggled the Tank.
"So where's Daddy?" I asked again.
"He's in the shower, cleaning the poopies off his hands," answered the General.
I instructed the boys not to leave the hearth while I went up to check on the Bear. I tip-toed up the stairs where I was greeted by a fierce growl, "I don't know what you were thinking flushing those things down the toilet."
"What? I didn't flush the toothbrush!" I responded, trying to play innocent.
"The wipes! What were you thinking? They got all wrapped around the toothbrush and plugged everything up.!"
"Again, I didn't flush the toothbrush," I said rather coyly.
Finding no humor in my statement, the Bear roared, "What are you three? Toilet paper only!"
I was rounding up the troops getting them ready for school. Doing the whole routine, combing hair, brushing teeth etc, when I noticed the Destroyer loitering around the potty, toothbrush in hand, daunting around in nothing but a diaper and a deleterious grin.
I could sense trouble on the horizon so I told the Destroyer to get away from the potty. But before I could even finish my statement, the little warmonger had dropped his toothbrush in the toilet and flushed!
I peered in the toilet, no toothbrush in sight. "Holy Crap! The thing actually flushed!," I thought in disbelief. I did a follow flush just to check to make sure it wasn't caught in the drain pipe. All systems looked a go.
I reprimanded the Destroyer and off my troops went to carry on with their day.
It seemed like both the Destroyer and I were free from facing the wrath of the Bear. I had actually forgotten about the incident until a few days later screams of dismay emerged from the crime scene. "Mommy! The Destroyer flushed the toilet while I was going poopie and now it's exploding! Quick, there is water squirting all over the floor!" screamed the General.
"Shit!" (pun intended)
I rushed up the stairs and was greeted the by Destroyer, "Uh-Oh, I naughty." I head straight into the kids latrine. Sure enough there was water just pouring out of the toilet.
I called the Bear, who told me that there was nothing he could do while he was at work and that he would take care of it when he got home. Surrendering to the fact that there was nothing I could do, I threw towels on the floor and shut the door, not giving it another thought.
Later that night, I was at work when the Bear called me, (I feel I have to premise this next bit with the fact that my husband except for this case in point is more like a teddy bear than a grizzly) growling into the phone that if I ever bought another Clorox wipe again that he would shoot me.
Apparently Clorox wipes and toothbrushes don't flush well. We left it at that agreeing to discuss the matter when I got home from work.
When I walked into the house a few hours later, all was quite and the three boys were sitting on the hearth as still as statues. "Where Daddy?" I asked.
The General was quick to answer in excitement, "Oh, Daddy found the Destroyer's toothbrush when he was taking apart the toilet."
"Yea, and it was covered in our poopies!" giggled the Tank.
"So where's Daddy?" I asked again.
"He's in the shower, cleaning the poopies off his hands," answered the General.
I instructed the boys not to leave the hearth while I went up to check on the Bear. I tip-toed up the stairs where I was greeted by a fierce growl, "I don't know what you were thinking flushing those things down the toilet."
"What? I didn't flush the toothbrush!" I responded, trying to play innocent.
"The wipes! What were you thinking? They got all wrapped around the toothbrush and plugged everything up.!"
"Again, I didn't flush the toothbrush," I said rather coyly.
Finding no humor in my statement, the Bear roared, "What are you three? Toilet paper only!"
Monday, March 2, 2009
More Power!
I feel as if my life is turning into daily episodes straight out of Home Improvement. For those of you not familiar with the show, it's a comedy from the early 90's, that deals with the daily trials and tribulations of an over zealous handyman and his wife raising three mischievous boys. Sounds like my life right?
I get that it is in man's nature to feel the need for "more power," but seriously, how much "power" do four and five year old little boys need?
My husband's latest Tim Allen moment involved a foot of snow, a hose, sleds, and two eager boys who felt the need for speed.
I opened my front door and asked the Bear, "what are you doing?" I could clearly see that he had dug out a tunnel in the snow which he was icing up with water from our hose.
Now a deer caught in the head lights, the Bear turned and replied, "The boys wanted to go faster."
"So you decided to create a luge in the front yard? How fast does a five year old need to go?" I was completely dumbfounded.
Visons of our children rocketing into our neighbor's yard down the hill danced in my head. Have our children not had enough stitches and staples for one year?
I get that it is in man's nature to feel the need for "more power," but seriously, how much "power" do four and five year old little boys need?
My husband's latest Tim Allen moment involved a foot of snow, a hose, sleds, and two eager boys who felt the need for speed.
I opened my front door and asked the Bear, "what are you doing?" I could clearly see that he had dug out a tunnel in the snow which he was icing up with water from our hose.
Now a deer caught in the head lights, the Bear turned and replied, "The boys wanted to go faster."
"So you decided to create a luge in the front yard? How fast does a five year old need to go?" I was completely dumbfounded.
Visons of our children rocketing into our neighbor's yard down the hill danced in my head. Have our children not had enough stitches and staples for one year?
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