Mom to the Screaming Masses

Trying to be all things for all kids never works

Many, many thanks for the kind compliments regarding my weight loss.  I appreciate your words more than you will ever know.  Especially after today.  (Warning, much griping ahead.  Long, detailed, convuluted story here.  Trouble "finding the pony" in this one.)

Saturdays are always hard.  We've got three soccer games, usually at opposite ends of the sports complex.  The entire day is a balancing act.  Last night Allegra spent the night at a friend's house, so we were minus her and plus Nik, who doesn't always go with us.  He had a meeting at church to go over the Holy Week schedule.  So today looked like this.  Mackenzie - game, 9.  Allegra - game, 9 on the other side of the complex.  Nikolas, meeting ten minutes away, 9:30. A meeting he really didn't want to attend. Gabe - game, 10 - field close to Allegra's. 

Sixty

S-I-X-T-Y.  Six zero.  60.  SIXTY.

It's official.  I have lost sixty pounds. It's a number that I am having trouble fathoming.

I am immensely proud of myself. 

And, now, I have no idea what to do with myself.  Maintenance is key, and I've been chugging along with that for a while now, experimenting with my food intake.  I've been at this weight now for three weeks.  I'm still exercising almost daily, and avoiding high fructose corn syrup/trans fats/hydrogenated oils/white flour.  I've been adding in some treats now and then, though.

Sixty pounds. 

Whoa.

Finding your pony

I was given a dirty pot at work today.  A really, really burnt pan.  One that, just by looking at it, I knew would require elbow grease and scrubbing and, well, yuck.  Scrubbing a nasty pot was SO not my idea of a good time.

But that's my job, and so I got to work. I soaked and scrubbed, and rinsed.  The pot looked *no* better.  I applied the presoak that we use at work, let it sit for ten minutes, and tried again.  I made a bit of progress, but not enough.  Again with the presoak, again with the scraping - a bit more.  I broke a fingernail and my finger throbbed from burning it yesterday.  (Apparently, it's not a good idea, when holding a pan FRESH out of the oven - with a potholder - and you lose your grip, to grab said pan with your bare hand.)  Try again.

I was making some headway after I switched to a brillo pad, and then I looked up to see dishes piled every which way.  There were dishes on the back cart, trays stacked up on the counter, and the silverware bucket was overflowing.  I thought to myself, "Man, there must be a pony in here somewhere."

Allow me to explain.

Human Sexuality 101

Tonight we had a meeting at the High School, to discuss the ongoing unit study that the kids are doing - Human Sexuality.  It was not really a well attended meeting, maybe 8 couples and about 10 moms alone.  The freshman class has 100 students, but I think that the amount of people in attendance was pretty par for the course on a Wednesday night.

One of the questions we were asked was, "How did you find out about sex?'

The responses were varied, but almost all had a school background.  Either from friends at school, a class at school, or books read.  Many people spoke of the dreaded "talk" occurring during PE class, usually with the boys and girls separate.  I remember seeing "the movie", with my girlfriends.  When the boys came back in the room, I was so embarrassed that I couldn't even look at them. 

How did you find out?  Did your parents have a big talk with you, or was it more of a casual, everyday, ongoing discussion?  Did you read a book, maybe one that you weren't supposed to - remember how we all devoured Judy Blume's Forever?  (Or, wait, maybe that was just me.)  Did your friends tell you, and you were so grossed out by the thought of your PARENTS actually going THERE that you decided it was just a fable?  Were you happy with the method that your parents chose to give you the information?  Will you do things differently if and when you have to tell your kids?

Courtesy in the bathroom

So I was reading in an online paper, and came to the editorial section.  Man, do I love me some editorials.  Occasionally, it's interesting to see people who get whacked about the dumbest stuff. A letter to the editor about litter, or movie times, or the color of the byline used. Sometimes there is a letter that just makes you go hmmmm.   Today's entry was really quite interesting and eye opening, and I'd love to get your viewpoint.

There was a compelling letter written by a disabled lady, who went into the restroom and found the handicapped stall occupied.  She was in some distress, needing to use the facilities most urgently, and was upset when the door opened and a woman left the stall with her children, none of whom were visibly disabled.  When confronted as to her use of the handicapped stall when she was not handicapped, the mother replied something along the lines of "having children in the bathroom with you is a disability." 

Well.  And hmmmm.  And, well, yes, both sides of the coin.

Let's face it- going to the bathroom with kids IS tough.  I'd hardly equate it to being wheelchair bound or unable to use my arms, legs or eyes, but it is still a bit of a tricky situation.  I'm usually in the stall with two little ones, so I can appreciate the mother in her desire for more room.  Some of the stalls I've been in - I'm talking to you, Wal -Mart - are so tight that it's difficult to shut the door without straddling the commode.  Slide two little inquisitive beings in there with you, touching everything and looking everywhere, and it's enough to make one want to wet themselves to avoid the situation.  Most of the time, if I have to take the littles, I do take the handicapped stall, if it's not in use and no one is waiting.  It just gives me more room to move.  I always tell my bigger kids not to use it, unless they have a sibling with them.  I really don't want a little one going into a stall by herself, and the other option would be for her to leave the door open. 

But, yet. 

I wouldn't say that the disabled woman was out of line for wanting to have the stall available for her use.  It is reserved - although, maybe not reserved, but appropriated - for those who struggle with the regular stall.  BUT.  I just said that up above, I struggle with the regular stall.  And, then, why should the disabled woman expect that she would never have to wait in a bathroom?  Everyone waits at one point in time or another.  Should she have to wait, just because I need more room?  Or should everyone avoid those stalls, much as we do the parking spots?  I'm conflicted.  Surprise!  I don't know WHAT to think! 

Discuss amongst yourselves, as I ponder how I found my lost wallet in the recycle bin and really meditate and learn to appreciate the comment left to me by the peachy Melissa, in the post where I confessed to misplacing my debit card:

Perhaps if you didn't spend time writing this blog, you wouldn't have to rush around and maybe you wouldn't have forgotten your debit card, and this whole pathetic situation could have been avoided. And shame on you for not getting in the back of the line to begin with, do you blame the Surly Girlie? Just because you have kids in tow and forgot your money, doesn't mean the world stops for you. Come on, set a good example for your kids!

Amen.  Pretty much, though, I'd have to rush around everywhere if I didn't spend my time writing this blog, since I'd undoubtedly be drinking heavily and I'd be late any place that I went.  The blog is my sanity.  Thanks for reading, though - I appreciate your input, Melissa!  I promise to reflect on your position the next time I forget my debit card, and I won't look for special treatment just because I have kids!

Mission Monday: Family

I went to a talk at church recently, with an extremely excellent priest. If you EVER get an opportunity to hear a man by the name of Father Scott, cancel whatever plans you may have and GO.  I promise - he's amazing.

Anyway, today my daughter Emma woke up complaining that she didn't feel well.  We had to get to Mass and I wanted to get my coffee, so I pretty much ignored it - after all, if it's not one thing, it's another and someone is ALWAYS complaining that they don't feel well.  Every.single.morning.  I recalled thinking at about 4 this morning that her hands felt hot to me, so I took her temperature.  Normal.  Maybe I was hallucinating from being tired.  I gave her some tylenol and decided to hit the road.

We arrived at church, went through the first half of the service, and she climbed on my lap.  Hmm, maybe she's not well; she doesn't typically snuggle.  I held her for a minute, and she coughed.  Hmm, maybe she's getting a cold.  She coughed again,

and puked down my front.  And again.  Because The Hubster sings at the 7 a.m. and my big kids altar serve with him, I typically attend with just three kids.  I ran to the bathroom carrying the little puke machine, dragging Riley behind, and asked a woman in the hall if she could help. I called home, and then waited fifteen very long, wet, stinky minutes for some new clothes.

Back at home, Emma whined and cried and my other kids misbehaved.  I had work to do, dinner to make, laundry to fold and I wanted to get this post done early.  NO ONE was cooperating with me, and I became more and more frustrated.  Nothing was working out FOR ME, no one was listening TO ME, no one was doing what I WANTED them to do.  I had to pick up one of my daughters and we argued all the way home.  NO, you may not wear a sleeveless dress from a store that I won't even name, in order to avoid advertising for them.  I don't CARE if you cover with a sweater, you still aren't getting the dress.  And don't THREATEN ME that you won't come out of your room on Easter.  Who do YOU think you are, little girl?  When I got home, it was to discover that my mother had arrived, Nik had gone to bed at 3 in the afternoon, the laundry had been tossed from room to room, there were dishes everywhere, and Emma was still puking.  I went to get a bowl of cereal and The Hubster had given away my cereal.  Riley was sleeping, which broke EVERY rule in the house - no naps for her, as that makes her bedtime later than mine.  I can't find my wallet, which has my id and checkbook - I know, I just went through this, which doubly annoys me! Emma was calling, "Hold me, mommy.  Rock me and hold me."

I was grumpy, no, wait, I was GRUMPY and CRANKY and didn't want to hold a kid that was sick.  I had stuff to do and no time.  Then I remembered how Father Scott had defined f-a-m-i-l-y.

Forget

About

Me

I

Love

You

Man, I wasn't doing a very good job at this, now, was I?  Talk about a way to need an ATTITUDE adjustment.  A big cosmic SLAP upside the head. 

Your Mission for this Monday is to tell someone in your family that you are thankful for them, that you love them, and why.  Don't make it about you and how they treat you, but all about the other person and why you love who they are.  Tell me who it is and why.

And then drop and give me 20 pushups and 50 crunches.  You can do it.  I have faith in you.

Real moms...

Elizabeth tagged me for the Real Mom meme a while ago.  I really didn't have much to offer, since some of the other posts have covered it so well.  I mean, brilliantly.  A few of them made me laugh, and a few made me cry. But here's my take on it, for what it's worth.

A Real Mom is one who has kids that get hurt.  All the time.  A Real Mom takes her kids out in public looking like this:  (That's actually a week later - I can't tell you how many people asked me about her black eye.)  Injuries are common 'round these parts, and I've had to let some of my "perfectionist" side go, when I go out in public with kids who look like abuse victims.

We've had:

• a broken leg - spiral fracture in three places from running at the pool
• two horrifying allergic reactions - complete with swelling, hives and wheezing
• a son who sliced open his neck about four inches long while crossing his bike across the street and had to have it glued back together
• a daughter who rode on the bottom of the shopping cart, grabbed her glove and had her hand pulled under the wheel, which resulted in her fingernail being pulled out from the bed - did you know that your fingernail goes alllll the way back to the first knuckle?  Me neither, until she had to have it reimplanted.  All together now, EUWWW!  This was six months after she broke her leg.
• That SAME daughter fell down the stairs and cut open her forehead last year in the shape of a cross.  The weekend before she made First Communion.  The scar, in the same shape, is still there. On the other hand, I may not live through her childhood. She is very accident prone.  She was also my only child to be hospitalized - for two days and nights for dehydration.
• Broken fingers, dislocated joints, bruised ribs - all from soccer.  Chipped front teeth from foothball.
• Multiple fingers slammed in doors, teeth knocked out, and the regular, various injuries that come with life with kids.  Ambulance trips due to vagal reactions, where the child stops breathing and passes out.  An ER trip with a week old baby who had to be deep suctioned, and had a vagal at the hospital.  THAT was fun.

Real Moms deal with all of this.  And, since we all deal with this junk, we are ALL Real Moms. 

What injuries have you lived through?  Or, if you don't have kids, what was your worst injury, the one that your mom likes to talk about at Thanksgiving dinner?

Mom to mom, day to day: A book review

When Danielle Bean asked me to review her new book, Mom to Mom, Day to Day: Advice and Support for Catholic Living, I was a bit, um, reluctant.  I AM Catholic, AND a mom, so why not review it, right?  I mean, really, who better to review a book BY a Catholic mom, a book that is geared as support FOR a Cathlic mom, than me?  I've read her blog for a while now, and knew that I liked her.  She's got eight kids, and a great down to earth manner.  But I don't read books written for Catholic mothers.  I just don't, since I find the vast majority of them to be preachy and in my face.  In fact, I was kicked out of my Catholic women's book club because I didn't read the books.  I despise women who have it all together and proceed to tell me, in minute detail, exactly how I am failing. Most books written for Catholic moms seem to fall in this category.  Most days I am hardly the poster child for how to live a Catholic life.

The book arrived, and I set it to the side for a couple of days.  Monday, I had a tough day with Riley and needed a book to read while I rocked her to calm her after a tantrum.  I grabbed Danielle's book, and sat down to read it, mostly out of a sense of obligation. Then I read my own feelings in Danielle's words.  She says:

Who does this woman think she is? I find myself furiously thinking as I flip to the back cover to read the author’s bio. Is her family really so perfect? Doesn’t her husband ever leave his balled-up, smelly socks on the bedroom floor and she snaps at him about it? Don’t her kids ever argue about who’s looking at whom and who got the last cookie last time and who got it the time before that and who got it the time before that and who obviously should not get it this time because he behaved so poorly when the babysitter was here last night?  Doesn't she ever get just plain sick and tired of everyone in the world expecting her to have it all together all of the time?  Doesn't she ever roll her eyes and hold back a sudden urge of nausea when someone suggests that the solution to all of her personal problems is simply finding more time in her life for daily prayer?

If you aren't Catholic, stick with me - I promise, it's worth it.

That *@#^% tooth fairy!

Gabriel's top tooth has been loose for a long time.  He's PETRIFIED of losing his teeth - although, perversely, he loves it once the tooth is gone.  It's the idea of losing a tooth and the actual act of it falling out that scares him pantsless.

He was wrestling with Nikolas and there was an elbow that connected with a loose tooth and a lot of blood fell and it made for a great story at soccer.  "Hey, Coach, guess what?  My brother punched my tooth out!"  There's never anything dull around here, that's for certain.

That night, he put the tooth under his pillow and went to sleep.  Allegra came downstairs at 10:30 to remind me of the necessity of a visit from the winged lady, and I wasn't too kind.  "I KNOW!  I won't forget - it's late, now GO TO BED!" I think was my answer.  I'm apparently not at my best late at night.

Or early in the morning. 

The next morning, Gabe stumbled into my room at oh dark thirty.  He walked into the wall and found his way to the bathroom and as he shut the bathroom door, my eyes popped OPEN and I thought to myself, "Oh, no way.  I FORGOT the stupid tooth."  I flew out of bed as I heard him making noise in the bathroom.  I grabbed for my glasses, dropped them on the bed and decided that I couldn't be bothered to find them. No time - at the most, I had 45 seconds.  Frantically, I ripped open a drawer in my dresser and grabbed for the spare change container that I have.  I had no paper money, but $2 in quarters spends just the same, right?

Now, to understand this story, you have to know that I am b-l-i-n-d as can be.  Literally vision-less.  It was dark in my room and I had no glasses on.  Ripping open the lid, I grabbed a handful of change.  There went the flusher, and I heard the water faucet crank on.  Five, six quarters, seven, eight - great, $2 - let's go.  I ran into his room, sat on the bed and shoved my hand under his pillow.  I deposited the money just in time, as he came through the door.  With a look of panic, he said, "What are you doing in my room?  Are you taking my tooth fairy money?"  "No, no, I just came in to see you.  Whaddja get?"

He flipped up the pillow and started counting his money.  "HEY!  Wait a minute!  That stupid tooth fairy, does she think I'm dumb or something?"  My belly clenched - I knew I'd counted correctly, what was he upset about?  "What do you mean, Gabriel?  Didn't you get $2?" 

"That dummy.  She gave me 7 quarters and a Chuck E Cheese token!"

In my defense, they are the SAME size and weight.   Weakly, I said, "Well, she knows you like Chuck E Cheese, maybe she thought you'd want to go there?"  The black look on his face spoke volumes as he spit out, "No.  I do NOT want to go there.  I want my eight quarters." 

"Well, I like Chuck E Cheese.  I've got a quarter.  I'll switch with you."  And just like that, he was happy.

How many times have you screwed up this type of stuff? 

Chantal's music meme

Chantal, with one of the best blog names that I've ever seen, (Bread Crumbs in the Butter) has a great meme up.  She just bought an iPod, and is having tons of fun downloading music.  You all know how much I LOVE my iPod.  It's truly the best thing that I've ever owned.  Music, only $1 a song - and I can take the music with me everywhere?  What's not to like?  I love making playlists for different events, and take it with me pretty much anywhere I go.  My only problem is keeping it charged.

Instructions: List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what they are. They must be songs you are presently enjoying.  Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.

So here are the tunes I've been enjoying lately:

1. Yeah - A tribute to Usher - Various Artists
2. Sing, Sing, Sing - Benny Goodman Orchestra
3. Rio - Duran Duran
4. Train in Vain - The Clash
5. Total Eclipse of the Heart - Bonnie Tyler
6. Boston - Augustana
7. Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol
8. (I know, only 7, but I never follow the rules!)  Thunder - Nuttin but Stringz

Obviously, no rhyme or reason there.

Who am I tagging?  Um, everyone.  Consider yourself tagged!  Tell me your favorite songs!  What would you recommend a newbie put in their iPod?