(If you want to make them yourself, you would just bake at 375 for 8-10 minutes. Easy AND delicious.)
Hair- A Love Story
I love to braid hair.
I can’t tell you how many other peoples children whose hair I’ve braided for dance recitals or school photos.
“You need to have a girl of your own!” The moms would say.
When I thought that I was finished having children after my sons were born, I would wonder what it would be like to have a daughter, if only to braid her beautiful, long hair.
As The Rhythm Method would have it, I found myself unexpectedly pregnant 7 years after having what I deemed “My Last Child!”
A girl.
A daughter.
And as nervous as I was about mothering a daughter (due to the complicated relationship I have with my own mother) I was THRILLED that I would be able to braid hair EVERY SINGLE DAY if I wanted to.
Of COURSE, MY daughter didn’t like for me to braid her hair.
“I WANT TO WEAR IT STRAIGHT DOWN!” she has said in dramatic fashion on more than one hair brushing session.
I thought about cutting her hair into a cute little bob because what’s the fun of having a daughter with long hair if I can’t braid it? My husband had to talk me out of chopping it all off on more than one occasion.
Eventually, she grew out of the “NO BRAIDS!” phase. Almost every morning, I put her hair into a braid of some kind. Sometimes a fancy braid. Sometimes a regular ol’ french braid.
It’s time consuming, for sure. Even if she wears it down, it takes what feels like FOREVER to blow dry. And every night I have to put it in a braid so it doesn’t wrap around her neck or get tangled while she sleeps.
Not to mention the fights we’ve had over her hair. Remember The Great Bangs Drama of 2008? OH DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, I DO.
I’ve thought about cutting it. She would look adorable with a bob!
But here’s the thing.
I have become attached to her long hair. It’s beautiful, with it’s soft, shiny, golden, highlights. I love the way that it smells after I dry it in the evenings. I love running my fingers through it when she’s reading her kindergarten books to me at night. I love watching her “style it” when she’s playing dress up.
I know the day will come when she’ll tell me she wants short hair. And I will agree and we’ll cut it off. Because “It’s only hair!” right? But I’ve come to realize why it means so much to me. That long, beautiful hair of hers reminds me every day of something that I never thought I’d have in my life.
A daughter.
Upper East Side(walk)
There is a Flickr group I belong to that I love more than any other.
It’s called “Bokeh Wednesday.”
Starting today, I’m going to be posting my Wednesday submissions here. Hoping that posting here will inspire me to be more creative.
If you’re not a part of the group (I believe they closed it to new members) you’re more than welcome to play along here and post links to your bokeh photos in the comments.
Imagine my fists pumped high in the air when you’re reading this.
One of the symptoms that led me to believe I had a thyroid problem was the fact that I had no endurance during workouts.
I’ve never been a Super Athlete, but workouts have always been a part of my life. When I was a teenager, I would workout for hours in my bedroom (with layers of clothing to “sweat out” the fat.) When I got married, I joined a women only gym. I would work out every morning before work. I left that gym when I got pregnant with my first child, I quit that gym, but joined another gym 2 months after my son was born.
And I went every single day.
Exercise has always been a part of my life.
Sure, I went through periods where I would be “too busy” to work out, but those periods never lasted long.
After I had my daughter, I got back into the gym right away. It took me longer to lose the weight than it had in the past, but I pushed myself hard at the gym and it paid off.
But after I had reached the 70 pounds lost mark, something began to happen.
Workouts became harder. I couldn’t push myself as hard. I’d get winded easily.
I started skipping days at the gym because I was physically unable to work out. “I’ll take a week off.” I told myself.
A week came and went. The thought of working out made me want to cry. I was exhausted, unmotivated.
I remember one time in particular. I had forced myself to get up off the couch and go to the gym. I was tired. This wasn’t a normal tired. This particular tired literally made my body ache.
I made it to the gym and stepped on the treadmill. I turned the treadmill on and begin to walk.
In less than 5 minutes, I was exhausted. I had a hard time catching my breath. My muscles ached.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I thought to myself. “Why am I being SO LAZY?”
Then, right there on the treadmill, I started to cry.
That workout was the last one I had for a long time.
Turns out, it wasn’t laziness.
It was hypothyroidism. (Hashimotos.)
Anyone who’s read her for a while knows that I went undiagnosed for over a year. When I was finally diagnosed and put on medication, I knew that I’d have to get back into the gym. I was naive in thinking that I’d feel back to myself after I started taking the medication.
It took months.
Getting back into the gym was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. My body was so out of shape, so unhealthy. Each workout felt like TORTURE. I cried more times than I care to admit. But I kept going, believing that one day it would be better. I would tell myself that one day my knees would stop buckling while I did the elliptical. I told myself that one day I’d be able to run on the treadmill for more than 30 seconds at a time. Even when I didn’t really believe it, I TOLD MYSELF it would happen. That was enough to get me through many workouts.
I started on a level 4 on the elliptical and a 3.0 on the treadmill. For free weights, I used 3 pound free weights.
Last night I ran (not walked) on the treadmill alternating between 5.1-5.5 and ran a mile (without stopping) in 11:52. Then, after I did 8 lb free weights, I did 30 minutes at a level 9 on the elliptical.
My knees didn’t buckle once.
Nor did I shed a single tear.
The speed at which the weight is coming off is frustrating at the moment. Still not under 200 pounds, although, AM CLOSER. 203.5 pounds as of this morning. (OMG!) I still have such a long way to go. However today I choose to focus on the progress I’ve made physically.
I am stronger.
I have more endurance.
And that’s pretty fucking awesome.
The One That Should Be Flagged For Excessive Use of the Word “Tagline.”
“How do you come up with the taglines for your blog?” A curious reader asked.
“Mostly from comments left here.” I replied.
I can’t express how much I love the comments that are left here. Some of my favorite things to say in my real life have been things people have said to me here.
And as much as I hate to say it, my favorite are almost always from Random Assholes (aka: TROLLS.)
(Or, like all the cool kids on the internet say “The Haters Who Are Just Jealous.”)
Don’t get me wrong– I don’t dwell on the mean, nasty, negative comments. As another blogger once told me “Ignore those people. Don’t feed into their negativity.” (Weird. That person now has an entire site dedicated to The Hate, but, I’M NOT JUDGING.)
(I’m just jealous.)
Err, what was I saying again? Oh, yes! While I don’t dwell on the negative comments, I most certainly do find humor in them. And some of them have been, as my husband’s Psycho-Ex once wrote in his yearbook, “permanently inscribed on my heart and soul.”
Like these:
“You deserve everything you have… AND LESS!!!!!!!!!”
“I’d slap that cookie out of your hand!!”
“There goes those damn RENTERS!”
“check your ass to see how many pounds you gain watching that Tv.”
“You are all addicted to those lakers and to that Kolbe”
Those are the few that I remember and that I will occasionally use in Real Life Conversations.
I’m not saying every troll comment is “hilarious.” Some have been cruel. Some have been hateful. Some have made me physically shake from anger. (Because, say what you want about me, I can take it. LEAVE MY KIDS OUT OF IT.)
But, for the most part, those types of comments are so absurd, you can’t help but laugh.
Here is The One that inspired my current tagline:
Losers cry and eat/waste money on bean dip/gameshowtryouts etc. , If you love your kids so much, go do something about it. Winners do the math , suck it up and think about what matters and take care of business. If you polled the people that have replied to your post, probably 60% own thier home, they didnt do anything special (like win the lottery or win on some gameshow), they just put thier home/kids above the me, me. $8a day on starbucks/beandip is $2920 a year x (times) how ever many years you have been wasting money on rent/beandip. Not to mention that it had to cost something out of pocket to travel around to meet people from the internet, and interview Elaine from Sienfield. Egocentricity should be thy middle name , if you only got paid $10.00 an hourfor every hour you have spent BLOGGING or reading BLOGS or met other renters who BLOG, I am willing to wager you would have quite the down payment.
The fact that someone actually took the time to write that, to DO THE BEAN DIP MATH, still blows my mind. And it still makes me laugh.
Which is why it’s my tagline, two years later.
I don’t think that turning those type of comments into taglines equals “feeding into the negativity.” I think it’s “turning a negative into a positive” or “making lemonade out of blog comment lemons” if you will.
Is there a point to this post? Because “trolls give good tagline?”
Yes. There is.
I did the math.
2 years+ same tagline= time for a new one.
What “Feeling Better” Looks Like.
It’s been a rough few days. The coughing. The crying. The sleepless nights.
I’m tired.
She’s tired.
But it seems as though she’s finally on the mend.
Oh, that precious smile. How I’ve missed it.
It’s good to see it again.
Get Well Soon, Sweet Girl
“I’m sorry you’re so sick.” I say, as I hold her close to my chest.
“I’m sorry I’m sick too.” She says, as she runs her little finger up and down my arm.
“I just want you to get better so I can kiss you and tickle you and play hide and seek with you again.”
“You can kiss me on my head. Just not on my mouth. Because you’ll get sick like me.”
So, I place my lips on her head and kiss her over and over again. Her hair smells like strawberries.
She begins to cough and is unable to stop. She buries her face into my chest and she starts to cry.
“It hurts right here when I cough, Mommy.” She says through the tears.
I can feel the lump forming in my throat, the tears welling in my eyes. I begin to cry with her. “I know and I wish I could make it stop hurting. I’m sorry, Chunky Head. I’m so sorry.”
Last night things took a turn for the worse. A fever of 104.7, pain in her chest, her tummy, her head. It was awful to watch, knowing there was very little I could do to make it better. A trip to urgent care was made. “It’s a cold.” the doctor said. “Give her these medications and bring her back if she gets worse.”
Out the door we went.
I did my best to help her.
Tylenol. Water. Baths. Chicken noodle soup. Foot rubs.
And while those things helped ease the pain temporarily, they couldn’t relieve her entirely from her suffering.
I don’t want to see her suffering anymore. I don’t want to hear her weep because the coughing hurts. I don’t want her to wake up in the middle of the night sobbing because “she’s burning hot.”
I just want to hear her laugh and sing and be bossy with her brothers again.
I just want her to be healthy and whole again.
Hopefully, she will be. And hopefully it will be very soon.
Trying to NOT Get Diabetes is HARD. Especially When Your Body Apparently WANTS to Get Diabetes. OR SOMETHING.
The last time that I wrote about my weight and the never ending battle to lose some was on August 20th.
When I wrote that, almost 2 months ago, I was 210, down from 237. I spoke of how I had began taking metf*ormin after being diagnosed as “insulin resistant.” I wrote about how wonderful it felt to finally see the results of my many hours at the gym. I wrote about how I was only 11 MOFO POUNDS AWAY from being under 200 pounds.
One would think that by now, I would have lost those 11 pounds and finally weigh less than 200 pounds.
But, no.
I am currently 206 pounds. Only down 4 pounds since August 20th.
That’s right. I said “only.”
I’m trying to focus on the positive– I’m stronger. I have more energy. I feel much more like myself. Every time I run a mile on the treadmill (without stopping! That’s important for you to know!) I have to fight back tears of joy because a year ago, I couldn’t walk on the treadmill without almost passing out. (More on THAT later.) There truly are positive things happening with my body.
But The Weight.
The God Bless It Weight.
Losing weight is no longer about feeling great in a pair of jeans. Losing weight is about not getting diabetes. It’s about not getting heart disease. (To go along with my thyroid disease and my metabolic syndrome.)
Last week I found myself in bed 5 of the emergency room at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Chest pains. Heart palpitations. Even though everything checked out fine (Chest wall muscle aches, PVS) it was a kick in the ass reminder of what could happen to me in the very near future if I don’t lose this weight.
I’m down 31. And that’s good. That’s better than no pounds, but it’s NOT!ENOUGH!
And I’m afraid it never will be, no matter how many medications I take or how many hours I spend in the gym. That’s what it’s starting to feel like. Like it’s just never going to happen.
Because that’s been my reality for the past 2 years of my life.
It’s frustrating beyond any words I could type here.
I keep telling myself to stay positive! To focus on the achievements, no matter how small they be. “YOU CAN AND YOU WILL DO THIS!” I say to myself as I do 100 butt crunches in the gym.
But right now? Right THIS VERY MOMENT. I feel like it’s a losing battle and it’s depressing the hell out of me.
If only I could get below the 200 mark. That would be such a huge mental breakthrough. Just doesn’t feel like it’s ever going to happen. I won’t give up, I can’t give up, but OH MY GOD I FEEL LIKE GIVING UP.
October 14
Someone asked me how I planned on honoring my Grandpa today (the one year anniversary of his death.) The question knocked the wind out of me. I hadn’t given any thought to how I’d honor him today. In fact, I hadn’t even realized a year had passed since he died. It feels like it just happened yesterday. Because it still hurts my heart that he’s gone. I don’t cry as much, but the pain is still there. I feel guilty that I didn’t plan a beautiful way in which to honor his memory today. I decided to post something I had written early this morning while thinking of him. These are not the beautiful words he deserves, but they come straight from my still broken heart.
I miss the sound of your voice.
I miss the way you smiled at me.
I miss the way your eyes lit up when you saw my children.
I miss the way you wrapped your arms around them.
I miss listening to your stories. Even the ones you told over and over again.
I miss the smell of your hair gel when I hugged you hello and goodbye.
I miss calling you in the middle of the day for no reason at all.
I miss the way you’d get angry when someone dared to wear a hat inside of your house.
I miss your sarcasm.
I miss the way you’d look at me when I talked with nothing but love and admiration in your eyes.
I miss the way you’d spend hours talking to my husband.
I miss the white hankies you carried in your shirt pocket.
I miss the candy drawer.
I miss seeing your comb on top of your sink when I’d go to visit.
I miss the way you’d go through at least 10 names before you get the name of the person you were talking to right.
I miss the way your tongue stuck out when you laughed.
I miss the way you’d say “I love you, Y.”
I miss worrying about you when you walked up the driveway because I was afraid you’d fall and hurt yourself.
I miss asking my Mom how you were when I hadn’t talked to you in a few days.
I miss kissing you goodbye whenever we’d part.
I miss seeing your can rest beside you while you sat on my sofa.
I miss your surprise visits.
I miss your generosity.
I miss hearing you talk about Hank.
I miss the way you’d talk about your mother and how wonderfully she took care of you.
I miss your hands.
I miss your awful jokes.
I miss your perverted comments about women.
I miss you eating the turkey neck at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I miss the way you sat in your chair.
I miss sending you pictures of my children in the mail because I knew it would make your day.
I miss watching you enjoy Gabby singing a song, or the boys telling you a story.
I miss the way you’d get upset with me when I waited too long in between visits.
A year later, I miss every little thing about you, Grandpa.
And I think I always will.
Things That Make Me Excited, Childhood Crush Edition
My daughter is in love with Keith Urban.
I know. She’s only 5! She doesn’t know what love is!
She’s in the kind of love that you fall in when you’re playing house with your friends and you need a pretend husband. She’ll be playing house and she’ll be like “Okay, Mommy. Keith Urban is my husband.” And I’ll go “No! He’s MY husband.” And she’ll go “no, Mommy! He’s my husband. You’re married to Daddy!” And I’ll go “But we’re playing house! I don’t want to be married to daddy when we’re playing house! I want to be married to Keith Urban!” And she’ll get all pissed and go “Mom! I said it first! He’s my husband! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”
You know what I’m talking about, right? We all had our Pretend Husbands when we were little girls. The Pretend Husband you’d fight your sister for. You’d be all “I AM MARRIED TO THE GOPHER YOU STUPID HEAD!” And then you’d rip her hair out. Or, maybe that was just me and MY sister.
I can remember 2 Pretend Husbands from my childhood. I’m sure I had more. But there were only 2 that I remember having ACTUAL PHYSICAL FIGHTS over.
Doc from The Love Boat and Ponch from CHiPs.
I can’t really explain Doc. I think I was in love with His Brains. But Ponch? I don’t think I HAVE to explain Ponch. He was dark. And sexy. And had Great Hair/Great Teeth. His smile made you want to “stand reaaaaally close to him” so you could have his babies. (Because THAT is how babies are made, you know. My Mom told me so. Don’t believe her? IT’S IN THE BIBLE.)
Even though I’ve grown up, my crush for Ponch has lasted all of these years. Even now, when I see him on cheesy reality shows, I feel a little tingle in my… um… “heart.” If I’m being honest, my mouth is watering right now thinking about that dark, delicious man.
There is a point to this post, I promise. In fact, let me just go ahead and get the the point now.
“The Point- in pictures”
I met my Childhood Pretend Husband, you guys. I can only hope I got close enough to be carrying his baby right about now. Fingers crossed!
(Details will be given on my review blog later today. Or tomorrow. Or by the end of this week. You know how I am.)