The Boys of Summer... or, in this case, the Boys of Fall Ball

George is playing Little League Fall Ball. Granted, it's T-Ball - but it's Little League, and he's picking up some pretty good skills. My lefty is, however, throwing with his right hand, so we are working on learning to catch with the left. He's getting better - he made the last "out" in yesterday's "game." And yes, those words are in quotes on purpose - the fall season started with enough kids to field two teams... we are down to one team on the field with one of the parents helping out, and one kid batting at a time.

So it's more or less glorified batting practice, with some running after the ball in the infield.

It is amazing watching G out there with two of his best friends. Their moms and I were all pregnant at the same time, the boys are growing up together, and it is just fun watching them play.

George is in the yellow shirt.

There is so little baby left in him, it breaks my heart in that bittersweet way. But he is turning into such a cool, funny little boy that it is exciting watching him grow up.

He'll pick up playing again in the spring, once this fall season ends in a few weeks. It will still be t-ball for another year or so, then coach pitch, then my little man will be in official Little League. 

And for some reason, this song got stuck in my head yesterday watching the kids scramble around for the ball when it was thrown to them, and it seems to sum up Fall T-Ball nicely.

Kenny Rogers - The Greatest

On your third birthday

Happy birthday baby girl. My sweet, feisty, strong, brave, tiny little bug. I can't believe you are three.

You are the baby I didn't know I needed until I had you, and now I can't imagine our family without you. And I do need you, baby girl. I need you and love you so much.  Some days it scares me, because I don't want to hurt you or damage you, and parenting a girl scares the ever living shit out of me. Girls are hard, and scary, and fearsome - I know, I am one... but you are so easy to love, and it all comes back to that.

I promise to always love you, my little one. Even when loving you means making you hate me. I want to wrap you up in bubble wrap and protect you from the world, but I can't and should not and won't. I will let you get hurt and make mistakes, and will hold you and rock you. I would take on any hurt you get if I could, be it a scraped knee or a broken heart. Hurting is part of it all, and it sucks, and it kills me to see your tears. May I always be able to kiss them away, may a "Hello Kitty" band-aid always make it better.

You are growing up so fast. I'll let you grow up, I promise. But you will always be my little buggy and I will always love you baby girl. Happy birthday, Clara. I can't wait to see what 3 brings to you.

Rewards

The kids are getting a little addicted to playing with my iPad and Tom's Samsung 10 tablet. And they think our laptops and desk tops are theirs. I try to work, they want to play Star Fall. Tom wants to read the news, they want Angry Birds. Add in some general bratty behavior (Clara flat out ignoring us, George saying "NO!" to every. damn. thing.) and we were done up.

So after chatting with their day care provider, talking to some mom friends, and Googling "bratty toddler behavior" (after having a couple glasses of wine - and I seriously suggest you do not Google that sober), I've come up with a strategy to attack this head on. And yes, I fully expect it to kick me in the ass later, but for now, let's go with it.

The kids now have to earn computer time. Yes, the 4.5-year-old and days-from-turning-3-year-old must now work for screen time. Good behavior, using manners, not throwing a shit fit when it is time for the evening clean-up, going to bed without a fight - all these things will earn tokens that can be traded for 10 minutes of computer time. I was going for 5 minutes, Tom thought 10 was more fair.

So while I do not believe in rewarding for being a member of the family and a good citizen, because that is just what is expected of a member of society, I do think that maybe the kids could use some kind of positive reinforcement... and I am tired of reading BOB books on my iPad when I really want to play Bubble Pop or browse Pinterest.

And I can already see their personalities coining out to the extreme in this - Clara is hoarding her tokens, George earns one and right away asks for the iPad and timer.

Song stuck in my head

This song has been playing in my head, off and on all day today. At least I think it was only in my head... although I know I was singing it for a bit, because I caught Clara humming it once or twice.

Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah


http://youtu.be/y8AWFf7EAc4

A Mother's Prayer for her Daughter

This has been floating around the Internet and attributed to Tina Fey. I can neither confirm nor disprove that, and it sounds like her voice, so I'll go with that. It made me laugh out loud, nod my head in agreement, and even tear up a bit. Enjoy!

First, Lord: 

No tattoos. 

May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the crystal meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half…and stick with beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from acting but not all the way to finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? 

Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? 

I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it too dammit.

May she play the drums to the fiery rhythm of her own heart with the sinewy strength of her own arms, so she need NOT lie with drummers.

Grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen. 

Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, for childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – and adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for “Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.”

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a BITCH in front of Hollister, give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for I will not have that shit.

I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” 

And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me. 

And she will forget. 

But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

-An excerpt from Tina Fey’s new book -Bossypants, 2011

Arachnophobia, or why I will never do laundry again

I telework on Wednesdays when a seminar or conference or important meeting doesn't require my presence in DC. Unfortunately, more weeks than not I am in the city, but this week turned out to be "normal" and I got to work from home. I "slept in" (YAY 6:30!), drank my pot of coffee, got the kids up and dressed, dropped them at daycare, ran to Trader Joe's and was home at the time I'm normally walking into my office.

One of the reasons I like teleworking so much is because I get caught up on my laundry - I take a break every hour or so to run downstairs and flip the laundry loads, and then fold it all in the evening (although I pair up our socks during conference calls. Better than playing Angry Birds. NOT that I do that at the office.). I got a ton of work done today and also manged to run most of the laundry through.

Stopped working at 5:00 and ran down to change the laundry one more time before getting the kids. While pulling socks out of the hamper and making sure they were turned the right side out (note to self: teach the kids to do this when they take their socks off) I saw a big black spider. I thought to myself "God I hate those plastic bugs, they are too real looking anymore" and picked the spider up. And it started to crawl in my hand.

Have I ever mentioned my extreme fear of spiders? I know it's irrational, but the little fuckers scare the piss out of me. Literally, in this case. I screamed like a girl, shook it off my hand, peed myself a bit, and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I went into the kitchen and scrubbed my hand and arm with very hot water and soap (to get rid of the spider cooties, of course), took a deep breath, and went back downstairs. You see, when I ran for safety, I left the washer lid open. I needed to close it because my OCD is almost as strong as my arachnophobia and the idea of leaving the house with the washer lid open had me on the verge of hives.

I peeked around the door, and there the bastard sat - in the middle of the floor, like it owned the house. I think it gave me the finger. There was a Tupperware bowl on the dryer (I have no idea why, please don't ask) so I ran in, grabbed the bowl, trapped the spider under it, slammed the washer shut, and ran back up the stairs. I may or may not have been screaming while I did this.

I called Tom while I drove to get the kids to tell him he needed to take care of the spider when he got home. Due to a clusterfuck of an evening (I'll tell you about it later) that didn't happen. So here I sit, two floors above the (hopefully still) trapped spider, nervous and on edge because THERE IS A BIG DAMN SPIDER IN MY HOUSE. What if it gets out from under the bowl? It looked pretty strong. If it gets out, that means it will be loose in my house or it will grab a butcher knife, come upstairs, and slit my throat while I sleep. Or worse, it may sit on me. I could wake up and IT WOULD BE ON ME.

I don't think I'll be getting much sleep tonight. I certainly won't be finishing the laundry.

UPDATE: Tom went downstairs to check out the situation. The spider was still under the Tupperware bowl (thank God!). He said when he lifted the bowl off, the spider reared back in spider attack mode (oh dear God!) but he caught it up (OH DEAR GOD!) and released it in the back yard. So now I'll be able to sleep tonight. Although I swear I can hear it scratching at the patio door...

Five years ago

Five years ago today, Tom and I were married.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, warmer than usual for mid-March. I spent the morning hanging out with Julee, Lindsee and Gretchen - Lin got her hair done while Julee and I went to Starbucks in the plaza the hair place was in, and then we all popped into the grocery store to get flowers for my bouquet and Tom's boutonniere.

Back to Gretchen's to put together the flowers and get dressed - Julee patiently did up all the buttons on the back of my dress - and a few pictures, then off to St. Mary's for the ceremony. I wasn't really nervous, but wanted to get the show on the road.

Evan and Sam walked their respective grandmothers up the aisle, then Lin and Mary walked. Madilyn brought up the rear with Gretchen, but half way up decided she was done and ran to her father. Finally, Andy gave me his arm and we walked up to where Tom and his dad were standing. The whole way up the aisle, Andy whispered things to me to make me smile and laugh, taking the edge of any tenseness I had. The smile on Tom's face when we stood beside him melted away any last bits of worry or fear I may have had.

I don't remember much about the ceremony itself. Mike Paris was there, serving on our wedding (and a few years later he stood up as Clara's Godfather). I played with my rosary and kept looking at Tom and everyone in the pews. I remember liking the sermon at the time but can't for the life of me tell you what Fr. Mike said.
I do remember tearing up a bit during our vows, but when the ring was put on my finger and we kissed, I also knew it was the best decision I had ever made, to marry this man.

Our reception was fun, just a really good time. When I arrived, Nick G, who was president of the association I worked at, was behind the bar mixing cocktails. People ignored the seating chart and just kind of flowed into the room, mixing our friends and family together in a way I couldn't have gotten right but that worked out for the best.

We had an awesome band, the food was good - Lisa and Laura made me a plate, took me by the hand, and made me sit down to eat, one on each side of me so they could chat with anyone who came by. At one point, Andy handed me a beer and said I needed to stay true to my PA roots. We didn't do any of the "traditional" reception things, the dances and toasts, because those things just weren't "us." Instead, it was more like a big cocktail party. My cousins and Tom's cousins got together to toast us with shots of tequila. Tom did a better job than I at making sure all of the guests were greeted and spoken to.

When it was over, a few friends and family remained and we relaxed around a table, chatting and laughing, while Patty took her turn with the tiny buttons on the back of that dress. I wrapped my shawl around me so I wouldn't flash everyone, and holding hands we headed home. In the parking lot of the hotel, a couple hockey teams were loading up onto buses; they stopped to "applaud" us by banging their sticks on the ground and the bus windows.

We went out to lunch today since Tom couldn't get off work, and we talked about about making it this far. And I told Tom honestly that at the heart of it is the fact that I like him, I like being with him and spending time with him. Yes I love him, but you can love people you don't really like, and we are lucky to have the like, the friendship, on top of the love. Don't get me wrong, there are days I would happily stick a fork in his head (and I am sure he would say the same about me) but in the end, when push comes to shove, when we are fed up with each other and work and life and everything... we like each other. And we love each other.

I can't believe 5 years have gone by. In some ways it seems like yesterday, in others it feels like we have been together forever. We got married fast - 9 months to the day of our first date, and we only dated 5 or 6 weeks when marriage was brought up. The past 5 years have not been easy, and parts have been downright hard. But we've stuck through it, and stuck together. And I don't regret a minute of it, and can't wait to see what the future brings.

Happy anniversary, Tom. I love you. With all my heart and soul.

My eBay dress, grocery store flowers, and H&M Headband

 

 

The wedding party. The "bridesmaids" are now teenagers, the "ushers" are turning into young men, and our flower girl is in kindergarten.

We did dance once at the reception, when Tom's cousin Michael stepped in for a song while the band was on break. Is it wrong that I look at this picture and see not only how happy we were but how awesome my arms were from karate?

One of my favorite pictures from the reception. Just relaxing and enjoying being together.

(All of these pictures were taken by a very talented young photographer named Maggie Winters. She was in high school when she photographed our wedding, and has since taken pictures of our kids - those awesome ones on the side of the blog... she took them. I can't recommend her enough. You can reach her on Facebook or through www.maggiewinters.com)

Weigh-in Wednesday

Yeah, I know. I'm sucking out at this blogging thing. Again. Sue me.

Anyway, I didn't want to get on the scale this morning because it was another less-than-banner week. I mean, I had beer and cookie dough for dinner one night. I swear I feed the kids real, nutritious food. They eat much better than I do, in fact. And of course they are both underweight. Hhhhhmmmmm...

So I woke up early to go into DC for a meeting and figured f'ck it, put on my big girl panties (well... actually, I took them off. Weigh nekkid and all that).

And lo and behold, I'm down again. A whole half a pound. As in .5. Whatevs, I'll take it.

And I'll try to take better care of myself this week. I'm exhausted. I'm having a hard time focusing and staying on task, and considering some of the projects on my desk right now I need to get that under control. So this week, I'm going to try to sleep better. As in go to bed earlier, not hit the snooze alarm five times - when it goes off, get up. We'll see how that goes, I've never been an early to bed kind of girl.

Weigh-in Wendesday

Yeah, I know. I skipped this the past week (or two. three?).

In all honesty, it's because I knew I wasn't doing well. I was eating whole, clean food... and junk. I was limiting my wine intake to the weekend... and drinking beer during the week. And I wasn't going to the gym. Throw in a bunch of work travel (and yeah, I packed my work-out clothes... then sat around the hotel room watching crap TV)... well. Yeah.

On top of it all, I have been pretty blue lately. I hate to say depressed because I know people who struggle with depression, and saying I am depressed seems... I don't know... not right. I'm worried. And tense. And stressed. And work hasn't been easy.Not depressed, right?

But this morning I figured f'ck it, it's not like seeing that number is going to make me feel worse, you know? So I got on the scale.

And the number was smaller.

So I got off, moved the scale and got on again. Same number. Repeat. Same number. Huh.

Mind, it isn't a big loss. But it isn't a gain. So that's something. And add it to the other incremental movements downward, and it totals 3.5 pounds since January. So at this rate I should reach my healthy weight goal when I'm like 47. Ok, not really, and slow and steady wins the race, right? Especially those races where everyone gets a medal for finishing. Which are the only kind I do because let's be real here - I am not a rabbit. I'm a turtle. Slowly making my way to the finish.

You're motoring

So I've just been down and out of sorts all day, in a total funk. Shortly before it was time to pick the kids up from day care, I went outside and shoveled the snow and slush and put down a good coat of ice melt. Then I hopped in the car and slowly started driving with my mind churning.

The roads were horrible, they hadn't been treated or plowed and were getting packed down into ice. I saw an accident a little bit in front of me - 3 cars, people walking around them - so I slowed down even more... and the asswipe behind me in their big 4-wheel drive SUV gunned their engine and sped around me, in the oncoming traffic lane and right at the accident they could not see because of the snow and sleet coming down. Thankfully it turned out ok, they didn't hit anyone or anything, but it just made me burst into tears.

I turned on the radio to listen to the road reports and a song came on that brought back memories of my 17 year old self tangled up in a back seat with the first boy who really made me all tingly, and who *really* taught me how to kiss. The boy everyone couldn't believe I was going out with, because what would a guy like him want with an overweight geek from a low-rent family. And no, the answer wasn't sex, because we never did. But the kissing, necking, making out... oh my. Chapstick's value went up that glorious summer.

I started laughing through the tears, and things were a bit better.

Night Ranger: Sister Christian

(sorry for the ad at the beginning)

Weight(y) Matters

I'm sitting here watching "The Biggest Loser" and resisting the urge to get a snack. What is it about this show that gives me the munchies? Some people look at the contestants and wonder how the hell they got that big... I look at them and think how easy it would be to get that big.

I have been heavy for most of my life. In the 5th grade, the pediatrician told me it was bad enough I wore glasses, but I'd never get a boyfriend if I was fat. I weighed 96 pounds. By my senior year in high school, I had another 100 pounds on my 5' 6" frame. At age 30, another 30 to 40 (or 50) were piled on. I had lots of excuses - I come from an overweight family, I worked two (or three) jobs and had no time, I wasn't athletic... I spent a lot of time and money on diets, and would lose 20 or 30 pounds and then gain it (and another 5) back within a year. But I was happy (if not healthy) and I always had boyfriends and a big group of friends that I went out with, so I accepted that I was always going to be the chubby girl.

Something changed around my 30th birthday. I looked at the women in my family and their health issues that were related to being overweight, and I didn't want that. I was tired of buying my clothes in the "big girl" stores. I was tired of being tired. I started looking at my diet and eating more whole foods, I stopped eating meat (I was never a big carnivore) and I started walking. Then one day I ran a few steps, and then a few more, and then a mile... I started getting fit, and feeling better. I joined a dojo and began studying tang soo do. I signed up for, trained for, and ran a half marathon. I enjoyed being fit and healthy.

Then came love, marriage and the baby carriage. Two carriages, in fact, in two years, with one baby who didn't sleep through the night for her first year, and not consistently until she was almost 16 months old. Add in a stressful job that involves a lot of travel and long hours, and it was oh so easy to fall back into old habits and patterns. To make excuses. I'm not as heavy as I was 10 years ago, but I need to get back to a healthy, active weight.

I want to be a good example for my kids, especially my daughter. I want them to enjoy physical activity and good food. I don't want them to know the embarrassment of being picked last, or not being able to wear the cute clothes. But most of all I want them to be healthy. And to help make sure that happens, I need to take care of myself.

This was a crap week for me as far as eating and exercising. It's harder to get back on the bandwagon than I thought it would be. The spirit is willing, the body... is tired. And hungry. And stressed. Which makes me more tired and "hungry..."

But I am worth it. And so are those kids. My goal this week: be mindful of what I am eating. And work out at least 3 times - be it on my elliptical, going for a walk outside, or getting my ass down to the gym.

Phobias

I am afraid of bugs. Not lady bugs or house flies (although those are gross) and not even the stink bugs that have taken over parts of Maryland (because those are kind of cool looking). I'm talking BUGS.

Spiders. Centipedes. Millipedes. Creepy crawly things. Bugs. My heart beats faster, I get nervous, and, when coming upon one unexpectedly, I may or may not scream. Like a girl.

After breakfast this morning, the kids and I headed back upstairs so they could play and I could do some work. George was in the lead, followed by Clara, with be bringing up the rear to make sure my klutzy little girl didn't fall back down the stairs. Suddenly she stopped and said, "Ew mama. Buggity bug. Big bug." I look, and sure enough... centipede. Big one. Mean looking, too.

I hustled her up the stairs, grabbed the hose on the vacuum, and sucked the centipede up, proud of myself for actually addressing the bug on the stairs rather than making the kids remain on the third floor all day until Tom comes home to dispatch the bug.

A couple minutes later, I hear the kids shrieking gleefully. Turns out sucking a bug up doesn't kill it, and the centipede was scrabbling around inside the vacuum canister. Lovely. I put the vacuum in the main bathroom and shut the door. Tom will have to empty the canister when he gets home, and if the damn bug isn't in it he'll have to at least pretend to hunt it down for me.

Meanwhile, I'm laying here imagining I can hear its hundreds of little legs scritching around inside the vacuum, plotting its revenge for being sucked up. Perhaps it is sending telepathic messages to all its centipede friends... and I am not kidding when I say I will not sleep well tonight if I do not have definitive proof the damn thing is out of my house.

Aren't phobias fun?

Weigh-in Wednesday #2

My first official week on the healthy eating/taking care of myself plan is over and... it's a zero. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Null. Nothing.

ZERO. 0.

Better than a gain, but ZERO. I wasn't expecting a "Biggest Loser" first week or anything, but geez... zero.

I know I could have eaten a bit better. And let's be honest, the wine could go... especially during the week. And I need to start exercising regularly.

This week's plan: no wine during the week (except for tonight, because... well, because I'm annoyed and tired and pissed off and stressed and I want a damn glass of chardonnay). And Saturday and Sunday are not free-for-alls. The 80-20 thing isn't working at this point. I need to be accountable and on track and conscious at all times at this point in the game. AFTER I hit my goal, then I can relax. Now, not so much.

So, onward and upward, which will hopefully lead to the weight going downward.

Happy Birthday, Tom!

Happy birthday to my wonderful husband! I love you baby!

Time flies

How do the weekends go by so quickly? I feels like 5 minutes ago I was closing down my computer and heading to the Metro, thinking about everything I needed to get done over the weekend. And now I'm getting everything put together to head to work in the morning.

I did manage to take down the Christmas tree and pack up all the decorations. While I was boxing everything up, the kids asked if we could leave out one decoration so we could remember Christmas all year. I said sure, thinking they'd pick one of the bells we hang on the doorknobs or the "Santa Stop Here" sign on the back deck. Nope. They chose a big stuffed snowman my mom gave us a couple years ago that, honestly, isn't so much my style. But it makes them happy, and you know what? Come July, I think we could use a little of the Christmas spirit. So the snowman will stay, And probably annoy me. Until I remember why it's there.

Happiest Penguin Ever - This just cracked me up.

Snow delay

This caused a 2 hour delay for Howard County schools. In Erie, growing up, we wouldn't have put on winter coats for this.

Treading water

We woke up late this morning. My damn clock has an AM and PM designation on the alarm, and I had it set for 5:30 PM somehow. Of course this is the day Tom's insomnia and early rising didn't wake me up, and the kids slept in. Even the damn cats were quiet. Nothing like waking up leisurely from a good dream, all warm and comfy, stretching and yawning and looking towards the window and HOLY HELL THERE IS LIGHT OUT THERE!!!!

Got the kids ready (it is more awesome than I can say that the boy will pick out his own clothes and dress himself) and Tom took them to day care while I threw on clothes and hit the road. Get to the Greenbelt station and Metro has once again screwed the pooch. Seriously, I think announcements should be made only when things are running well and on-time, it would be easier.

Got to the office late for a 10:00 meeting which then ran long, finally sat down at my desk to return email and phone calls... looked at my clock when I could finally come up for air and it was 1:30. Ate lunch at my desk while reading the news, then back to the regular grind. The good thing is I accomplished a lot today and crossed off most of my to-do list for the week.

Coming home, Metro was Metro. Walked in the door at 7:00, reheated leftovers for my dinner while calling a couple people on the west coast that I didn't have time to from the office, collected the girl to get her into bed and intended to fold laundry and clean the upstairs bathrooms after she was down.

Only she wanted to cuddle. "Read, Mama. Read to me." So I did. She picked a new book, one Santa brought for her: If Animals Kissed Good Night And every time a baby animal got a kiss good-night, she would lean back and kiss me, wrapping those tiny arms around my neck to kiss my nose or lifting my hand to kiss my palm. When it was over she asked me to read it again. And then again.

Damn the laundry, it's already wrinkled. And the bathrooms can wait. I managed to tread water today without going under, and got extra snuggles to boot. I call today a win.

Weigh-in Wendesday

Ok folks, I'm *trying* to get back on the fitness bandwagon. And while I would love to fit into the pair of designer jeans that have been shoved in the back of my closet since finding out I was pregnant the first time, more than that I want to be fit and healthy. And I want to be a good example for my kids (especially my daughter).

So. I've lost weight before, and actually was successful in keeping it off. Then came marriage and two babies in two years (and a year of sleep deprivation courtesy of the beautiful baby girl) and The Work Year From Hell (aka neg reg and two massive proposed rule packages and me traveling about one week a month). And with all those things came laziness about eating and exercising. And lots of excuses.

But guess what? Life is always going to be busy. I'm always going to be tired, cookies are always going to be more appealing than edamame crisps. It's about choices, and I choose to make better choices and take care of myself, because in the long run it will mean taking better care of my family.

And it's not just about diet and exercise. I need to go to a sports ortho and get another opinion about my knee. I want to run, but I can't go out the first day and try to pound out 4 or 5 miles. I need to approach it like I've never run before, and start with a walk-run program and build a base. I need to go to a dermatologist before the end of 2011 and get a couple moles anf freckles checked out. And I need to get a baseline mammogram. It's about those jeans, but it's more about being healthy and fit and living to see some grandchildren some day.

Today I hopped on the scale for my official starting weight in this project. Monday as a weigh-in day is just so... Monday. So Wednesday it is for the official day. I'm not going to tell you the number that was on that scale. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but it is just that - a number. I'd like to lose about 40 to 50 pounds to be where I feel best, where I don't have to work out two times a day and seriously restrict what I eat to maintain, but where I am comfortable and feel good (and those damn jeans will fit), so let's say 45 to give a little + and - wiggle room.

The little step I'm going to take in January to build good habits: say no thank you. We have cake at work all. the. time. to celebrate something or other. It's ok to pass on the cake or take one bite, and just sit and chat. And why is it I throw away produce and fresh food almost every week, but when my well-meaning husband comes home with lo mein or french fries I eat them because I don't want to waste the food and money? That needs to end. And the "mommy munching" - finishing the last 3 or 4 bites of food on the kids' plates because I don't want to waste it. They didn't eat it because they are good about self-regulating and stopping when they are full... I need to do that to, and be ok with scraping it in the trash. So that is the healthy habit plan eating-wise for January. For exercise, I am going to block the gym time on my calendar at work and GO. No more excuses, the work will always be there, and I am less stressed and feel better when I can get on the pool treadmill or take a spin class.

So. Here we go...

The commute is wearing me down

Yesterday was my first day back in the office after more than a week off. How is it in that week I forgot how much the commute sucks? It sucks and it is sucking the life out of me.

I drive to the Greenbelt Metro station, take the green line to Gallery Place and then red to Farragut North. On a good day this takes an hour and a half (maybe once a week), on a bad one two hours (twice a week usually) and the norm is about an hour and forty-five minutes. I telecommute on Wednesdays but end up going into DC anyhow maybe twice a month.

So for arguments sake, lets say I commute four days a week, 105 minutes each direction (so 8 times a week or 840 minutes total each week), 4 weeks a month. That's 3,360 minutes a month spent commuting. 40,320 minutes a year. That's 672 hours, or 28 days. TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS! Almost a month. I spend almost a month every year between my car and the Metro doing nothing other than getting to and from work and trying not to give in to commuter rage.

Yeah, that's a productive use of my time.

New Year, New Beginning

New years are always full of big ideas, new beginnings, things that will change and be better. Or not. Resolutions are made and broken in weeks (or days... or hours). But the idea that we can change ourselves and that we have a marked start time is hard to resist.

One of the big changes in the new year involved the boy. Yesterday we took down George's crib and put up his Big Boy Bed. I couldn't help but think of how different it was putting together the bed than when the crib was assembled almost 4 years ago. Then, we had no clue what we were in for, we had only been married a little while, the house was quiet and full of anticipation. This time, George kept yelling "What is taking so long?" and Clara was "helping" me, it was loud and busy in the house, and like all old married couple we alternately sniped at each other and cracked up at how "easy" the assembly was.

I may have cried a little bit, too. I can't believe how big my boy is, my first baby. He climbed up into that bed, adjusted his Moon in My Room, said good-night and rolled over. Before I went to sleep, I snuck into his room to check on him like I did every night for the first two years of his life (before the slightest noise outside their rooms would wake the girl and lead to another sleepless night). He had turned off the moon and was laying there all stretched out, hands over his head and toes pointed, snoring away. But his stuffed kitty was still by his side. My big boy.