Archive for April, 2010

As I am convinced that this here little blog is a megaphone to the universe, and Murphy and his little Law in particular, I offer up a slew of apologies (but no sacrifices, I’m fresh out of goats) in hopes that they will reverse the multitude of SNAFUs, FUBARs, and  other situations that involve the words “f*cked” and “up.”

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Dear sons,
I’m sorry I totally broke down last night. There was no real reason for me to lose my shit, scream at you, and burst into tears. Yeah, Daddy is out of town until tomorrow night, but I usually hold it together better than that. Plus the stress is noticeably lower with him gone right now. I blame it on standing outside at the Cub Scout picnic for 2 1/2 hours, freezing my ass off and trying to crawl into the coals of the BBQ to stay warm. It was long past your bedtime and I just wanted you guys to get a bowl of cereal and go to bed. Farting around and being typical little boys wasn’t exactly the best plan. You were both so sweet hugging me and loving on me, but you didn’t deserve that from me.
I’ll do better in the future,
Mom

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Dear right wrist,
I’m sorry I wasn’t wearing asbestos gloves while making spaghetti sauce the other day. I’m sorry I grabbed a towel and pressed it into you when the oil popped and nailed ya good. I’m sorry that rubbed off the burnt skin. I’m sorry it’s gotten cold and now I have to wear long sleeves. I’m sorry you’re going to have scars from this:

I’ll do better in the future,
Me

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Dear Denise,
I’m sorry I haven’t been contributing to Colorado Bento as much as I should. I have pictures on my iPhone to upload and write about, but that’s as far as they’ve gotten. You’re carrying too much of the weight there.
I’ll do better in the future,
Jen

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Dear blog,
I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping up with you. I’m sorry that code has gotten all janky and the left sidebar is wonked. I’m sorry that more janky code is making linked text the same color as the rest of the text. I’m sorry that I haven’t been writing more. I’m sorry I haven’t developed the community here that I wanted to create (BlogFrog, I’m talking to you here). I’m sorry that I haven’t set up my blogroll. I’m sorry that I haven’t put together a page of gifted/twice-exceptional resources, like I had planned. I’m sorry I haven’t figured out how to do more with this little writing project, that I want to expand. I’m sorry that I feel guilty when I do work on you, because it means that something else is falling by the wayside.
I’ll do better in the future,
Me

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Dear house,
I’m sorry that I haven’t been keeping up with you, to the point that I now have 3 1/2 pages of repairs and improvements that need to be done. Some are more urgent than others, some are considerably more expensive than others, but they all need to be done. All require massive amounts of time. I’m also sorry about the dust bunnies having wild orgies in the middle of the floor. I’ve spoken to them about it, but they just laughed and went back to their crazy humping.
I’ll do better in the future,
Me

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Dear all the fantastic ideas and plans in my head,
I’m sorry I can’t keep up with all of you. Please be patient.
I’ll do better in the future,
Me

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Dear  body,
I’m sorry I am back and forth about taking good care of you. Exercise is up, but this week so is mayo/peanut butter M&Ms/wine consumption. And while I’ve been wanting to get off the anti-depressant, things have been so bad lately that instead I may want to consider mainlining Prozac something a little stronger. Bear with me.
I’ll do better in the future,
Me

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Dear anyone who has ever commented here and has his/her own blog,
I’m sorry I haven’t been by to read and comment. Special apologies go to Christina at Ends at 8741 (been going through hell and I haven’t been able to give her much blog love), Nancy at Away We Go (I love her writing), Missy at Loving Your Gifted Child and Much Much More (so much in common), the crew at So Over Everything (again, too much in common), and Big Mama Cass at The World Through My Eyes (love her writing too). You guys have come by here and left comments and have been wonderful and I haven’t reciprocated. I feel terrible about that. More apologies to Deborah Mersino; I haven’t been able to participate in the #gtchats that I love (THE happening place for gifted info) lately because life is giving me swirlies right now. Still more apologies to Eileen at Giving Her All She’s Got for passing along the Honest Scrap Award several weeks ago. Thank you, Eileen. I would show the picture here, but more code on the blog is janky and I can’t upload pictures. Sigh.
I’ll do better in the future,
Jen

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Dear life in general,
I’m sorry for whatever I did to piss you off. Please stop. I’m done. I’ll even search out a sacrificial goat if that would help. Enough with the ongoing little things that eventually become heavier until you can’t deal with it anymore. Enough with not wanting to get up in the morning. Enough with the guilt. Enough with hating life and wanting to run away. Just…enough.
I’ll do better in the future…if you will,
Me

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Be sure to visit 3 Bedroom Bungalow to see other participants, and have a great weekend!

This is the story of a dress. A blue dress. No, not the blue dress of infamy, but my blue dress. The one that, when anyone who saw me in it is asked about the blue dress, goes “oh yeah…that dress!” And smiles.

Coincidentally, Tom proposed not long after seeing me in the blue dress.

When I think of myself as thin and fit, I think of myself in the blue dress. When I imagine myself as smokin’ hot, I see myself in the blue dress. When I’m at the rec center, adding more weight and breathing hard, I remind myself of the blue dress.

The blue dress is long gone from my home, banished by two pregnancies and a completely janked metabolism.

I miss the blue dress. More than that, I miss the girl in the blue dress. The girl who worked hard, who knew where she was going and what she was going to do when she got there. The girl who thought she was overworked and stressed (actually, I just want to go back and bitch-slap that girl). The girl who had her whole life in front of her and nothing was going to stop her. The girl who was smokin’ hot and didn’t know it.

I want the blue dress back.

And if you can’t find me in this picture, I’m the one front and center with the slit all the way up.

It’s really been a craptastic three weeks. The fan got tired of being the target and started throwing shit back at us. Now I know how the fan feels. Poor fan. But, God willing, things will calm down in the next week or so. In the meantime, allow this little bit of primal screaming…

• Um, extended family member? I’ll take financial and budgetary advice from you…well, never. Medical advice, perhaps. But the chance of either me or my husband taking financial advice is zero. Zilch. Nada. Kinda like your portfolio.
• Boulder parking? Perhaps you should check the dashboard for the PAID receipt before issuing me a $15 parking ticket. Bet your sweet ass I’m going to contest it, but seriously, you made me cry. Frustration leaking all over the MomVan. Next time I go to the acupuncturist, I’m taping the receipt to the windshield with a big ol’ note “SEE? PAID. MOVE ALONG NOW. AND GET YOUR EYES CHECKED, YA IDJIT!”
• Dearest oldest son, if you leave chocolate in your room for the dog to eat one more effing time, you won’t live to see nine. I don’t care that your birthday is tomorrow, I will wring.your.neck.
• Rosie, stay out of the chocolate.
• Wind. I am not a fan. Go away. Bring warm temperatures.
• Murphy. Get the holy hell out of my house. You were gone for a long time, I didn’t miss you, didn’t answer your emails and let the machine get your calls. You were not invited here and it’s time for you to get out. Take the wind with you.
• School district, you will kindly give final approval to the charter school tomorrow night. The state told you to do it, and do it you must. Yes, you can deny again and the state will then mandate the school, but you’ll look like fools and we’ll have to postpone a year. It’s bad enough that I have to go to a school board meeting on my son’s birthday, let’s not give him bad news right at bedtime, m’kay?

<deep, cleansing breath>

I feel slightly better now. Not great, barely good, but slightly better. Baby steps.

As a general rule, I’m not a huge fan of running. I don’t run for shoe sales, I don’t run for wedding dresses, I might run if I’m being chased.

And yet I signed up for a 10k training class.

Tonight was the very first class, I’ve just returned, and shock of the year I survived. But I learned a few things. Learn from me, my children…

• Do not, under any circumstances, sign up for a 10k running class if the last time you ran was four years ago.
• Even if you think that dinner a full hour before class should be ok, you will be wrong. Terribly wrong.
• 2 1/2 miles on a day that you had to get up out of bed at 3:OMFG:45 am to take your son to the hospital for a minor surgical procedure (and he’s fine, BTW), is not exactly the smartest thing to do. See also the very first bullet point.
• Running on a track at a park that just put down fresh sod is…ahem…an odiferous experience.
• The promise of a shower, buttered popcorn, and red wine once this hell is over will get me through damned near anything.
• New running shoes might be a good idea.
• Ibuprofin before running or training is an even better idea.
• That I kinda sorta maybe might have agreed to run a half marathon with a friend this summer was effing stupid and I am reconsidering that decision.
• An investment in new sports bras is in my future. I may not have much, but I’d like to keep them from giving me a black eye.

Shower. Popcorn. Wine. Bed.

Things behind the scenes here at the House of Chaos are off the fucking charts a little more chaotic than usual. Nothing I can talk about (GAH! I hate it when people do that, hinting at a problem but refusing to elaborate…but I really can’t say anything), but everything will turn out the way it was meant to be. Unfortunately, this is where I vent to prevent spontaneous combustion of the self, and by not releasing it all I’m truly playing with fire here.

So, instead of writing about how I’m going to wring a couple of boy necks for ringing the doorbell to make the dog bark and how freaking annoying the basement doorbell is overandoverandover, I have an essay I wrote a few weeks ago. In January I started a Healthy Living Challenge class at our local rec center. It focused on lifestyle changes, both in diet and exercise, and how to live a healthy life at any size. Part of the class was a challenge to win a year membership to the rec center and writing an essay was strongly suggested. While I did get a lot out of the class, to the point that I’m lifting weights several times a week and tomorrow start a 10K training class, I didn’t win. And while I didn’t win, I did write an essay that people enjoyed and was entertaining. Not bragging, when I was introduced the lead trainer called me funny. Made my night.

Enjoy.

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I have never considered myself athletically inclined. Maybe when I was a kid. I played youth softball, basketball in middle school, and I do recall one time begging my parents to let me run in our town’s fun run. They turned me down, saying it would stunt my growth. Hm. Given that I’m nearly six feet tall, a wee bit of growth-stunting may not have been all bad.

Until recently, that height hid a multitude of physical fitness sins. With great height comes a great ability to pack on the pounds without scaring small children and animals. Unfortunately, that does eventually catch up to you. Sometime in the last couple of years my metabolism took a look around, surveyed the landscape, and left on an extended vacation without me. I miss my metabolism. I hope it’s having a good time, wherever it is.

Late last fall I got tired of being a slug and started going to a few classes here at the rec center. Nothing like taking a step class and realizing A) you’re as graceful as a cross-eyed elk and B) that’s an insult to the elk. I heard about the Healthy Living Challenge, and was intrigued. I’d learn a few things, get to try some of the classes I hadn’t been able to attend, get out of the house for a few hours. Win win.

Best decision I made.

Next best decision was taking the group weights class that was offered. Much to my surprise I discovered that I really like lifting weights. Over the last several weeks I have noticed that I’m getting stronger. This is awesome, because now when my almost 9 year old refuses to go to his room, I have no problem grabbing him and dumping him upstairs. Hardly even break a sweat. I know, I know, this won’t work in a few years, but for now I’ll take it.

Somehow, through this Healthy Living class, I have (gasp) learned to enjoy fitness. No one is more surprised than I. I’ve also signed up for the 10k training class, and am considering a half marathon later this summer. This is proof-positive that my long suffering Chicago Cubs will take it all this year, as hell has evidently frozen over.

I am nowhere near any of the goals I set in January. I know my weight has barely changed and I’m pretty sure my metabolism is still on its world tour. But I am comfortable coming here now, whereas before I truly felt like a fish out of water. I enjoy fitness and now see it as an ongoing part of my life, and not just a means to an end. I can shovel cement…erm…spring snow for two hours and not want to die, and show my sons that even mom can learn something new.

When my metabolism does return, I’ll have a little celebration and then drag its lazy butt here to see what I’ve been doing in its absence. It has some catching up to do.

If it’s Friday, it’s somewhat cranky letters from Jen to the universe in general, courtesy of 3bedroombungalow and Half-Past Kissin’ Time. Be sure to visit and play along. You’ll feel better, I promise.

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Dearest sons,
I am fully aware that you are playing well past your 30 minute screen time limit right now. And that A has been grounded off of screen for all eternity and he is sitting there watching. Please know that when I am done here, your time at the computer will be at an end and you will need to find something else to do that does not involve A) a screen B) whining at me for food/drink/entertainment C) riling up the dog so she barks loud enough to shake what few fillings I have and D) anything that requires wine at 4:00 for me to recover. You’re big boys, you can figure something out. Yesterday’s rousing game of CalvinBall had me rolling on the floor, go back outside and have a rematch.
With more love than you know,
Mom

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Dear spring break,
Thank you for taking it easy on me this week. With all the craziness and chaos here right now, it could have been a disaster. But the boys have been fantastic, the weather has been lovely, and this week has been, may I say, delightful. I have never called a school break delightful before, so that’s an indication of not only how good the boys have been this week, but how frakking out of control everything else has been. Please let your compadre, summer break, know that I’m not as afraid of it as I was, and that I expect much more of the same when the boys get out of school in oh my holy hell on a pogo stick eight weeks.
Need to go buy Easter candy now,
The woman in charge

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Dear clothing manufactures,
Really, would it kill you to add an extra inch or two on the bottoms of your shirts? And maybe to ensure that sleeves go all the way to the wrists? I know I’m freakishly tall, but I’m sick of my clothes not fitting. I have pushed two kids out my hoo-hah and have the (now shrinking) muffin top and stretch marks to prove it. I don’t care to show them off to the world. I know, I know, I could get all my clothes from Eddie Bauer, because they offer all of their clothes in tall, but I also like to feed my family. I prefer $8-12 shirts, not $24-30 shirts. Kohl’s I’m looking at you here, either make sure every single piece of clothing in your store will never shrink, or offer them in longs. You really don’t wanna see what peeps out from under this shirt.
Just protecting your eyes,
The Modest One

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Dearest sons again,
If you think I don’t know you’re getting food out of the pantry, you must not be as gifted as we think. My office is directly below the pantry. I can hear you drag the chair over so you can reach the forbidden shelves. I can hear you drop stuff; if not for the floor it would land directly on my head. The mere fact that J is not hanging on me right this very minute, whining about impending death by starvation, is indicative of the fact that you two are helping yourselves to whatever you see and that I should probably ascend and have you cease and desist. Then again, I’m really enjoying the silence right now.
Grateful she hasn’t yet bought any Easter candy,
The woman who only thinks she’s in charge

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Dear Great Recession,
You’re a stinky McPoopy Pants. Go away, no one likes you. Pretty soon someone is going to steal your milk money and beat you up. I can’t wait; I’ll sell tickets.
With a deep sigh,
Me

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Dear Stress,
Amazingly enough, you’re not here on the backs of my sons. Things are immensely better than last week, when I was damned near ready to walk out the door and call it quits, but you’re still here. I know things will improve in the upcoming weeks, but I hate you and your partner Uncertainty, and both of you seem to have moved in without my permission. I can only hope you two will be gone by the time school gets out next (holy shit, next?) month. I’ve done a good job this week hiding you guys from the boys, but I don’t know how much longer I can do so.
Breathing deeply,
She who needs to go back to yoga already

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Sigh. I guess I should go upstairs now and see what Riff and Raff are having for “lunch.” I am not optimistic.

Just a reminder that today is not really one of my favorite days. Dear universe, you’ve been dicking with us here at the House of Chaos lately. May I please remind you that I was the victim of a nutso April Fools’ prank eleven years ago and I’ve done my time? The boys are really looking forward to pulling pranks tomorrow, but please dear universe, don’t you start too. Not sure I could take it. Smootches to you, universe.