Date Night

Because of my severe Mother Hen instincts (Ash calls them "issues". Don't know what that's about), I haven't felt comfortable leaving our 2-year old son Ben with a sitter that wasn't related by blood. Because I sensationalize every thing, watch too much Tru TV, and am a product of Cultivation Theory, I just have this fear that whoever we let watch our kid isn't going to pay enough attention to him and he's going to end up ingesting bleach or pretending he's a superhero off the roof.

Ere go, since we moved to Florida 8 months ago, my husband and I have been out alone exactly three times, and all of those times were when family was in town visiting.

Thankfully, my "issues" are somewhat kept at bay by the Child Development Center. I feel more comfortable with Ben in that setting where all the employees have been trained in life saving techniques, he's in a childproof environment with kids he can interact with, and everyone who works there has a genuine love of kids.

As we enter the holiday season, the CDC is open weekend nights for childcare because of all the base Christmas parties. We are taking advantage of this lovely, lovely arrangement and going out THREE WEEKENDS IN A ROW!

We spent this past Friday night at Ichiban having a fantastic sushi dinner. Afterwards we went to a great little self-serve yogurt shop and then to pick up a few things at the bookstore.

As much as I love Child-O-Mine to death, it was incredibly nice not to have to fight him in the highchair or interrupt our conversation with phrases like, "I'm pretty sure there's poo running down his leg." I was able to focus on time with my husband instead of worrying that something bad was happening back home.

I also learned that Date Night time moves at warp speed. We dropped Ben off at the CDC at 6:30. It was almost 10 when I looked at my watch. Hand to God, I thought it was, like, 8.

Click to enlarge.

Next step: get over myself.

Bouncy Balls

It will forever amuse me how much my child dislikes peas. He will not eat them. Refuses to, in fact. Eschews the green monsters with a firm hand....

You expect me to eat this crap? No way, lady.

...but the second you let him pretend that his food is various types of sports equipment, he can't get enough of it. And, upon completion, will then promptly ask for more.

MUST EAT ALL THE PEAS!!!

A Special Thanksgiving Message

With the holiday tomorrow, I wanted to take the time to wish you all a very happy Thanksgiving, to remind everyone to cherish what you have, and to enjoy time spent with family and friends.

Plus, it couldn't hurt to put a smile on everyone's face due in part to my miserable age 7 Thanksgiving, right?

My Grandma Carol was in town for the holiday, visiting from Detroit. She and Mom were preparing yummy goodness befitting the Gods: turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberries, some sort of dish comprised mainly of cheese, the works. A feast was lain before us all. Of course, being a naive child, I had no idea that overindulging has its consequences. All I saw was the glorious Turkey Leg.

"IT. WILL. BE. MINE," I thought.

Even to this day, if you ask any of my friends, they would probably describe me as the type of person who is focused to the point of destruction. When I want something, nothing will stand in my way....

...Not my Mom's warning that an entire turkey leg is simply too much food for a tall, gangly 7 year old. Not my Dad's insistence that HE should get the turkey leg (read: BOTH turkey legs). Not my sister's whining that she wanted it toooooo and why does Emily get everything?

Let me tell you... I didn't listen to a darn thing anyone had to say and I ate that entire thing. Plus sides. Then dessert. I rolled around all afternoon like a King, my belly protruding in such an unnatural manner.

Come bed time, the tryptophan was hitting so hard that I could barely keep my eyes open. I was in no shape to be conscious at all. Grandma and I decided to go to bed. I took the top bunk, she took the bottom.

We talked for a few minutes about what we would do the next day, said our goodnights, and passed out.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning I woke up feeling... "funny."

".....Grandma? Could you turn on the light?"

".....mfngskdfuha. What? *grumble grumble*. Sure, honey," she said, barely awake.

If she had known what would befall her upon the turning on of the lights, she probably would've just stayed in Michigan.

It was not pretty. I spewed forth an ungodly amount of Thanksgiving dinner all over my poor, dear Grandmother. It was matted in her hair, dripping down her nightdress, squashing into the carpet.

Frantic calls for help brought my parents in to help clean us up.

Two showers, new bedding, and lots of teeth brushing later, we were able to crawl back into bed, both cuddled up on the bottom bunk. I promptly fell right back into a coma. I probably can't say as much for Grandma Carol. She probably slept with one eye open the rest of the trip.

Neither of us ate turkey for years.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Tornado Ben

     The problem with having an independent, creative child is that on any given day, he can decide that he does not need to listen to a flingin', flangin' word you have to say. Today just so happened to be one of those days.

     On our drive to the library today for storytime, Ben and I talked about listening, about cooperation, and how we were going into a quiet place where we would need to be polite, obedient, and sit still. "Okay, Mommy," Ben said. "I'll be a good boy."

     He held my hand as we walked in, took in all the sights and sounds, and behaved very well as we waited in the kid's section. I should've been suspicious because THIS is what I was in for:

     Well, maybe it wasn't THAT bad, but that's essentially how we were treated. Of the 8 or so kids in attendance, Ben was pretty much the only one who felt the need to be verbal in his responses to the reader.

     "Are you a horse?" asked the Librarian, as she read a story about ponies.
     "NOOOOOOO!" yelled Ben

     "Are you going to sit down now?"
     "I want to dance."

     "Who wants to hear another story?"
     "Hey, Mom! There's a crocodile!"

     No, really. There WAS a crocodile... it was a stuffed floor mat that all the other well behaved kids were sitting on. In the twenty minutes we were there, Ben changed seats no less than seventy four times, stood during the sitting time, sat during the standing time, clapped during the quiet part of the songs because he thought they were over, and made loud, verbose requests for cheese sticks.

     My whispered pleas for him to please just be quiet fell on deaf ears while we garnered what I consider to be the most intense look of disgust I have ever seen in my life.

     This lady's eyes cut me to my core and her judgement of me hit me square in the face. It hurt my feelings so much that Ben and I actually got up and left. While, yes, I may be exaggerating about the extent of Ben's actions (he wasn't really THAT bad), I'm not exaggerating about this. She was so mean with just a look, when B was only being a kid. He just turned 2 for crying out loud...

    We came home and read our own books. I let him ask as many questions as he wanted.

Terrible TWOS-day...

     My sweet, tiny terror is 2 years old. At this age, friends, family, and acquaintances are asking when he's going to get a little brother or little sister. After our day yesterday, my answer to this question is to laugh in their faces.

     The day started out like any other: Ben woke up at 6am and I coerced him into an hour more of sleep by convincing him that it wasn't time to get up yet because the sun was still asleep, too. After breakfast, we played blocks in his room and then watched an episode of the ever popular "Bubble Guppies".

     Play time resumed after this all-too brief respite, and at this point in the day, "play time" means running around like crazy in an attempt to expel all his energy. In his rush to get into some other kind of trouble, Ben decided he was done with his juice cup and threw it over his shoulder as he ran through the living room. Unfortunately, our *brand new* 51'' Plasma screen TV has a big, fat, target on it.

     B's juice cup cracked the TV in the lower left hand corner.

     In the beginning, it didn't look that bad. While I was screaming inside, "THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS!" my calmer side was rationalizing, "You can't even really see the crack when the TV is on."

     ....and then the plasma started to bleed. The center of the crack began to grow big, purple splotches that started to run down the cracks. Again I thought, "At least it's not in the major line of sight. I can live with a small blemish in the corner."

     By nightfall, the plasma had bled into several lines across the bottom of the screen.... and then the picture went totally black. I had to resign myself to the fact that we had an $800 paper weight sitting on our TV stand. Bad news bears all around.

    When all of this tragedy first took place, I had an incredibly firm, VERY serious discussion with Dear Bennett about NOT THROWING THINGS in the house. It took every fiber of my being not to beat the crap out of him because I know deep down that he's like a dog and just doesn't understand. After five LONG minutes with his nose in the corner, I decided that maybe a better "punishment" would be to be removed from the situation and to go directly to bed. And that's where he spent the next four hours.

     By bedtime, even though the state of the television had gone from bad to worse to dead, we remained in somewhat good spirits with Ben. As I went into his room to clean it up for bedtime, I made a discovery....

     While he was serving his naptime sentence, and even though there are NO art supplies kept in his room, THIS is what I found.

     "It's orange, Mommy," he said.

     I cried until I laughed. Thank the Lord for magic erasers and red wine.

Luuuuuuuuucy.....

Seems I have some 'splainin to do.

     The rumors are true. I'm off the wagon. I haven't done an Insanity workout in a week-- because I am stubborn and I believe that boycotting the system will hurt it's feelings enough to make me start losing weight. I've not totally stopped working out, however. Last Saturday, I opted to go for a run-- something I hadn't done outside in 6 months.

     Feeling my feet hit the pavement was such an amazingly good feeling. If I can say one thing about Insanity, it is that I have definitely become more conditioned. I made it to the end of our street without stopping (nearly a mile-- which I realize means nothing to you, but means the world to me). I have what you may call American Thighs, so running is essentially like dragging tree trunks across the asphalt. Keeping my fatass in motion for any extended period of time is something to celebrate. The fact that I also made it nearly the whole way back is also worth noting.

     The feeling of the sun on my skin had me hooked immediately. The thought of popping in a crummy old DVD in our sparse home office with the single covered window made me want to curl up in the corner and take a nap. If I was going to exert myself, let me commune with nature while doing it. Have I mentioned how terribly dramatic I am?

     I spent the next 5 days riding my bike in the mornings before Ash left for work -- a secret joy of mine since childhood. My bike is rusty, creaky, nearly 15 years old (I got it for Christmas when I was 10), but it pedals fast and gets the job done.

     We live about 3 miles from the beach, but we're somehow tucked in the sweetest country pocket, an enclave of golden sunlight, tree lined side streets, and orchards. Across the street from us are horse farms, large pastures home to fluffy baby chicks, and ponds the house turtles popping up to enjoy the sun. First, I would race the dragonflies flying next to me, then I would race the Blue Angels as they streaked across the sky.

     My legs would burn but it was a burn so good. "Take THAT, Insanity," I thought to myself. Stubborn or not, I love the way my body feels when it is DOING something. I need outdoor exertion to validate my existence. I'm transcendental that way.

     As I went shopping for pants tonight and zipped up that elusive size 12 (score!), I decided that maybe I'd give Insanity another chance.... although this time I'm not going to put so much pressure on it or myself. Scale? Be gone. I'm just going to love the feeling of movement in my bones and sweat on my brow... although deep down I'll only be thinking about the wind in my face as I cruise down a hill at full speed.

"My wrists are sweating!"

My dear friend Mary has joined me on the dark side. She started Insanity yesterday and I want you all to encourage her!

Hopefully she'll  be featured as a guest blogger soon-- as soon as she has enough energy to lift her fingers.

Send her your love, let her know that life is not over.