Mom to the Screaming Masses

Road trip

So, yesterday, I took a road trip to Trader Joes.  It's about 40 miles away, so, after the one million miles that we spent in the van this past weekend, it was totally a doable trip.  I LOVE Trader Joes.  (Except for the fact that the supplier for the pot stickers is no longer supplying them.  Big sigh - I really like those things.  Until they find a new supplier, no more potstickers will be sold.)

While I was driving down the road, Riley began to cry.  I ignored her for a while, but she really cranked it up after a minute or two and I called back to her.  "What's going on?"  She sniffed and mumbled and sobbed, but I finally understood the gist of it to be that Emma had hit her.  Because I'm stupid, I asked Emma, and she denied it.  Duh - who actually admits to these types of things? Riley screamed as loudly as possible, "YES, you DID!!"  with the moral outrage that only a 3 year old can muster.  I asked Emma again, and with a big sigh, she said, "Well, if you really want to ask me, I did it.  Now, just stop asking me. I won't tell you again that I did it."  Um, hello, four year old?   When did you become a teenager?

Obesity

I had many things to write about today.  My new job, my car trip with the girls today and the funny things that happened, and the huge fire that I saw.  I received an email, though, that demanded that I devote some space to it.  In it, ItsJustMe commented on my prior blog post that stated:

I thought seriously about eating as I used to, and the sight of the biggest woman I've ever seen pretty much cured me of that desire.  It's not hard to stay on a diet with a great visual stimulus like that".

(S)He had this to say:   While I understand that that obese people are not pleasant to look at, your statement above was very offensive. What makes you so damn perfect that you can degrade others in such a way? I am sure that no one is bouncing quarters off your ass!

My response:

Hmm, good questions.

I wonder, though, if you actually know who I am and have bothered to read me in the past year?

What makes me allowed to say that is that I have been almost exactly where that lady was.  What I neglected to write in my post, in my haste to get it all out before I lost my internet access again, was that the woman was unable to walk, and her dining companions kept bringing her plate after plate of food.  She had more than six plates of food.  Nothing that you can say to me, including insulting me, can convince me that she was eating in a healthy manner, good for her body.  And yes, it is wrong of me to count how much food she ate.  She was unable to breathe and had an oxygen cannula in her nose, with a spare container at the ready.  She was so heavy that it took two men to push her over sized wheelchair out the door. 

No one is bouncing quarters off my ass.  In fact, I think I've been pretty clear about my figure flaws and the areas that I have that still need much work.  I have, though, made huge strides in my eating in the past year, as I used to eat just like that woman.  That's what got me pushing into a size 18/20 before I hit 35. 

I thank you for your recommendations that I write less offensively.  I will try to remember that in my future posts.  I'd like to think that, having some fairly large people in both sides of my family as well as good friends of mine makes me a bit sensitive to the size issue, but perhaps not. 

I'm definitely not thin, and have much work to do in that area.  Sometimes, though, a visual, though tough to see, is necessary.  You can't tell me that you've never seen an episode of The Biggest Loser and thought the same type thoughts to yourself.

If you find me offensive, no one is forcing you to read.

I have yet to receive a reply.  I doubt that I will, although I have a feeling I know who this poster was.  I thought, though, that I'd take a minute to explain myself a little bit further, since it seems that I hit a raw nerve with SOMEONE every couple of months or so.  First it was with male babysitters, and my comments about my family, and the amount of medication that I give my kids, and the fact that I must have a prejudice against girls, and I don't know what all else.

Employment

Since I've been pretty all the way unsuccessful at getting a paid writing gig - like a paid blogging position, or selling some of my magazine submissions, or whatever(which in and of itself is so depressing I can't even tell you) - I've decided that I should see if something is available at my kids school.  After all, I'd be in the same place as my kids, off on those days that they are off, yadda yadda.

There is a position open, but it doesn't pay much.  It's not a perfect position by any stretch of the imagination. 

I'd be washing lunch trays. All together now, euuww, and, more importantly, why?

Mission Monday: Young thugs

Saturday I was a ball of stress.  The wedding went beautifully, though, and when the women who were supposed to serve at the reception didn't show, I jumped in and worked. I served cake, made and ladeled punch, cleaned up after people and generally tried to make myself useful.  I also (mostly) tried to stay out of the wedding.  I was still feeling pretty weird about the whole situation, and I also had developed a migraine the size of the Grand Canyon.  Finally, about 45 minutes into the reception, after I almost couldn't see due to the pain in my head, I pulled out my trusty Imitrex nasal crud and went to town.  I'd already tried 800 mgs of Ibuprofen and it wasn't touching the pain, so I felt that the Imitrex was my last hope.

And it worked, mostly.  When we left my head still hurt, but it was tolerable.  The Hubster, however, was not.  He didn't understand why I'd helped out and was grumpy.  We needed to make a stop on the way back to the hotel to get swim diapers for another member of the family who was coming over to swim, and we stopped at Wal-mart.  He said he'd just run inside and I could wait in the van for him.  With the kids.  45 minutes later, he still wasn't out.  55 minutes later, he STILL wasn't out.  56 minutes later, here he came.  With no swim diapers, because, as he said, they don't sell Swim diapers in Wal-mart in Florida in January.  I was steamed.  I'd been sitting in the van with people who needed to potty and a headache, with no drinks and no phone and no nothing, waiting for him. 

I let him have it, which wasn't the nicest way to be, but I was beyond caring.  We went back to the hotel and I made him drop me at the grocery store next to the hotel, and I found the swim diapers in 30 seconds.  When I walked back to the hotel, there were two boys, probably about 13 or 14, standing in the doorway trying to catch the automatic doors as they closed.  They were big boys, maybe 140 each, and they filled the doorway.  I said, "Excuse me," and they didn't move.  I walked past anyway, and one of them said, in a snooty voice, "Excuse ME, beyootch."

Oh, no

Thursday night, we left at about 5.  We ate dinner at Golden Corral - a buffet place, good for kids.  I thought seriously about eating as I used to, and the sight of the biggest woman I've ever seen pretty much cured me of that desire.  It's not hard to stay on a diet with a great visual stimulus like that.  We got on the road at about 6.  We congratulated ourselves on the foresight we had to eat dinner as we left - that way, we could just drive. Riley the crabby could sleep.  And so she did, after an hour or so. 

About 150 miles into the trip, the car developed a high pitched whine.  We could hear it over all the noise in the car.  The faster we drove, the higher it squealed.  We pulled off, checked the engine, found nothing and continued.  The noise got louder and louder, and at about 220 miles, we stopped and called my dad, the Stellar Auto Mechanic.  The time was now about 11:00.  In the night.  Most of the kids were still awake, and we'd picked a super place to stop - a truck stop - no offense to truckers at all, Shan - in the middle of absolutely no flippin' where.  The Hubster and my father chatted and tried to diagnose the van, and it was the conclusion about thirty minutes later that it was either a) the alternator b) the belt tensioner or c) a bad pulley.

Personally, to me, it was all a baaaaaadddd dream.  And I wanted to wake up fast.  On the side of the road, in the middle of absolutely nothing, with a broken down van and 6 kids who were in need of a bed and a bathroom. 

On the road

Have you ever been stretched so tightly that you feel as if you will hum if someone merely touches you?  And you can't really talk about it, and so it makes it worse for a very chatty person?

I'm on the road right now.  As in, probably while you read this, we are screaming past your door at 70 miles an hour, tossing juice boxes back left and right and changing the dvd AGAIN.

I'm stressed because of xxxxxxxxx and xxxxxxxxxx, xxxxxxxxxxxx, xxxxxxxxxx and most especially because of xxxxxxxxxxxx.  Oh, and let's not forget xxxxxx, xxxxxxxx, xxxxxxxx, xxxxxxxx and the ever frickin' stupid xxxxxx situation.  I didnt buy a new dress or shoes, because of a wise comment left here.  In it, she stated that her step mother overdressed for the weddings in her family and it was quite the conversation piece for a long time.  I don't want to do that - I look good, but not that good and I don't need to make a prickly situation even more defensive.  I don't have anything to prove and there is no way that I could anyway.  There's no good way out of this situation.  I've already had a wedding and certainly don't want to make a scene that will be remembered by all for years to come. It's not all about me, contrary to what I write here. There's alot that I wish I could say, but most of it would be like this anyway, so why bother?  Have to protect feelings and be the grown up, doncha know.  SO tiring.

When you are stressed, and you no longer eat for comfort, what do you do?  Do you have a good memory that you retreat to, or a quiet, happy place?  Can you share them with me? 

I seem to have misplaced all of mine, which is why I'm up writing this at 4:13 Thursday morning with a stomachache........

And so it begins

Wow.  POP.

107 comments?  You guys are amazing.  Thank you so much - that's the most fun I've had all week.  Sad isn't it?  I'm so pleased that you are here, even though you rarely comment  And, I'm uber guilty of not commenting on other blogs myself - maybe I'll make THAT a resolution!  I know what you all mean about too many blogs and not enough time.  Maybe I'll figure out a way to make a 27 hour day, with those 3 hours devoted to blogging.  Wouldn't that be grand?

So, we are packed.  I've done errands for three solid days - buying new clothes, taking dress clothing for alteration, buying shoes, discovering that no one has dress socks.  Three trips to the mall meant three trips to the pet store.  I've looked at more labradoodles, schnauzers, bunnies, and collies than I care to ever see again.  I've bought food, drinks, coolers, books, toys, medications, and more batteries. 

You all had some amazing suggestions for books.  I ended up buying myself 6 books, which I think is a total PIPE DREAM that I'll even be able to glance at the COVERS, let alone crack them during the trip, but I can always read them later.  I think I'll be set for books for life, though - some of those titles and authors sounded amazing.

Blockbuster will love me as well - I've already got lots of the movies suggested, but there are about a dozen that I think will either be added to my Netflix queue or rented tomorrow.  The stack to go in the van is high, but whatever.  Better too many than not enough, eh?

Many, MANY thanks.  You guys ROCK, and I mean that most earnestly.  I love all of you.  (Well, almost all, anyway.  Definitely not the guy in the back in the plaid shirt who got here by googling MILF - NOT.  He is off the Christmas card list for certain.)

National Delurking Week kicks off!

It's National Delurking week, January 8-12.  Oh, won't you please, please, delurk for me?  I'd love to bust my comment cherry - I've never broken 50. 

If you need a reason to delurk, I'm looking for movie nominations for my kids.  We are going on this trip, 12 hours in the van - I'm getting sweaty palms just thinking about it.  I'm looking for movies that I can pick up at the blockbuster that are appropriate for the age range of my kids -14-3 - that will keep everyone entertained.  What movies do you or your kids really like?  Is there a snowballs chance in hell of keeping them quiet for a mile or fifty?

For me, I'm looking for the best book ever. If you could only take one book on a trip, what would it be?  It can't be the Outlander series, as I just finished the last book in the series last night.  I feel such a loss in my life now, sigh.  I'd like something to bring on the trip, although I don't think I'll get much reading done. 

So, COMMENT already!  I know you are here! 

And, guess what?  For my post below, where my little girls talk about smells in the bathroom, Izzy nominated me for a ROFL award!  Thank you so much Izzy!  It's my first award ever!

(now, if anyone could show me how to add the image to my sidebar, I'd be all set!)

Mission Monday : let's get going, already

Ahem.

I know, I'm late to the game.  I'm swamped by details and to do lists and car troubles and asthma and medications and insurance companies (grrr) and ordering passports (double grr) and filing our tax forms and mailing bills and packing for a trip and buying books to read and renting dvd's to watch and balancing the checkbook (eek!)  and generally having multiple panic attacks, fits and struggling with despair.

But, I have not forgotten!  I know it's Mission Monday and I've got a task for you!

In which I am publicly embarrassed by my children

I opened the door to the restroom and walked through with Riley and Emma.  We walked past mostly empty stalls and I opened the door to the largest, on the end.  I walked through the door and they clambered behind me.  Riley turned around and peered inquisitively.   "What's that smell, Mama?" 

Great. 

I tried to ignore her.  And then, as if from far away, I heard it.  (In reality, it was just two short stalls over.)  "Unnhh, unnhhh, grunt grunt."

Their eyes wide, my girls whispered to me, "What is dat?"  And then, louder, "Who's making all dat noise?  I think you should be quiet over there, lady.  Are you the one making this place smell?" I shushed them and tried to distract them, but they were not to be swayed.  The occupant continued with her labor, growing more and more verbal.  She was really struggling in there.  "Man, she's loud.  Why she so loud?"  "And stinky. Can you be quiet?  Let's get out of here!"  "Hey, you, lady, be quiet!"

I hustled them out of the stall, rushed through the handwashing and shooed them out as quickly as I could.  I was petrified that the other lady would appear.  How could I look her in the eyes, when all I wanted to do was collapse into hysterics?

Have you ever been really embarrassed by your kids?  Did you ever humiliate your parents with similar antics?