All I'm Saying there's a joke in here somewhere

The LA Times just ran an article with the following encouraging frustrating news:

A recent study found that overweight and obese women needed to exercise about an hour a day, five days a week to sustain weight loss. The findings bolster what some health experts — and those who have lost weight and kept it off — have been saying for years: copious amounts of exercise and adherence to a strict diet are necessary to take off the pounds and keep them at bay.

I mean, no one is saying I'm obese or pudgy or anything. I'm not happy with my stomach, but I've felt like it is nothing that my current level of exercise (which I can maintain) and a 20% reduction in caloric intake (which I probably won't have the willpower to even try) couldn't take care of. But this information...well, it doesn't make me super optimistic. I don't know how I could possibly carve another two hours out of my week to exercise.

Maybe someday...

I have Jessica to thank for turning us on to Peep and the Big Wide World. It is the sweetest, funniest kids show around. It airs every weekday morning on PBS, and we record each episode and Freya tunes in while we bustle around getting ready for work and school.

You all know I have TV/Toddler Guilt, but I just can't feel guilty about Peep. It is sponsored by (I believe) the Canadian National Science Foundation, and kids learn a very basic biology or physics or earth sciences lesson in each episode. Joan Cusack is the narrator, and the theme song is by Taj Mahal.

It doesn't get much cooler than that, even for a grown-up. Thanks, Jess!

Time to clean the house to get ready for her. It seems counter-intuitive, but it's hard for her to vacuum with all this toddler junk laying around. She doesn't have a vacuum with a mulching attachment, I am afraid.

Of course, I could pay her 2 extra hours to do that tidying for me (when Matt and I can usually do it in a half-hour total), but that's just more than I can handle.

Sigh...a woman's work never ends.

The local paper ran a marriage announcement for a gay couple this weekend. A gay couple in Boise is fairly rare; a marriage announcement for one is pretty near unheard of.

I was kind of excited and happy for them. In fact, I thought, "Hey, let's see if they have a registry and I'll get them a present." Not that I know them--but they could probably use a little pro-gay marriage support. And then I saw where they were registered.

WalMart.

I totally, totally support gay marriage. But not at the expense of breaking my WalMart boycott, which has been about a six-year streak.

Sorry, Mr. and Mr. Newlywed. I just can't do it. Still, I send you all the best.

I watched a couple of them...whaddayacallits?...talking picture shows movies this weekend. I can hardly believe it. I used to watch a lot of movies, and then I had a child. Said child at least took predictable enough naps and bedtimes this weekend that Matt and I were able to sit down with a couple of videos.

We watched "10,000 BC," which was exactly what I expected it to be: cheesy, but with lots of pretty people running around with slightly icky hair and loincloths. So that was just fine. And then we watched "Vantage Point," and I thought that was excellent. It was complex and so freaking full of surprises. I only found one plot hole, and it taught me a valuable lesson: you can get into multiple high-speed collisions in a Mazda 3 station wagon and not get hurt. Just don't expect the air bag to deploy at any point.

Thanks, Hollywood!

Remember how we washed our cars this weekend? Well, it rained a little yesterday. And then it rained a bunch today. Me being the wingnut that I often am had realized for at least an hour or more that it was going to rain, and I realized that my moon roof was cracked a little. But did I do anything about it? Noooooo.

So the rain started and I stood at the window of the office looking out and thinking that no matter how wet the inside of the car was when I eventually got it, it wouldn't be near as wet as if I tried to run out to the car in the storm and close the moon roof. So I didn't. And my coworkers started referring to my car as "The Mobile Aquarium."

I'm glad to say it wasn't even really damp inside. Whew!

And hey, further proof that washing your car makes it rain!

As I was sitting at work this afternoon, it flashed through my head that the only people I knew who went by the name "Pete" weren't really named Pete. One was actually named Guadalupe, which got shortened to Lupita, which got shortened to Pete. The other one was named Kevin, and his nickname was Peat Moss, which came about in a really stupid way that is not worth bothering you with at all. In fact, I once insisted on the full explanation and I regret losing those 10 seconds of my life because it really is that stupid.

I do know one Peter, but he's not a Pete. He's Peter.

Aren't I fascinating sometimes?

I've been a bit of a laggard the last couple of weeks when it comes to posting here on the blog. Why? Because Freya has had swim lessons 4 nights a week. I'm very glad it is over, though she did great and really got comfortable in the water. But two weeks of that schedule can really leave not any time at all for much else.

To clarify, Freya got really comfortable in the water. In fact, I was wishing I had someone who'd pull me around the pool in a floatie. No one volunteered.

And then we got busy today what with washing our cars and all.

I have to admit, I only wash my car maybe twice a year. It's usually driven on the pavement and it just doesn't get that dirty. But I like to tell myself it's for environmental reasons; I'm conserving water and keeping the run-off out of the storm drains. The truth? I just don't see the point. It's just going to get dirty again. But it was getting to the point where Matt suggested my mileage might improve from the reduced drag...

All the usual warnings apply: if your testicles shrink at the very mention of menstruation or anything of that ilk, do not read the extended entry.

Continue reading "The Graduate"

I haven't got a lot I care to blog about here lately. Sorry about that. To make it up to you, how about some lame jokes? I recently conducted training on a new type of software we're using at work, and I had some down time to fill with lame jokes as the pages loaded. So hey, here's a few for you.

Why don't they play poker in Africa?

Too many cheetahs

Why does a chicken coop only have two doors?

Because otherwise it would be a sedan.

A horse walks into a bar. The bartender says, "Why the long face?"

Okey-doke. That's enough. Do you have any really lame jokes to share?

I went and got a pedicure at the beauty college last Thursday. I'm the Queen of the Last Minute Appointment and couldn't remember the name of the girl I saw last time, so I just went with whoever was available. It turned out to be Thuy, a Vietnamese immigrant just a few years older than me. (Maybe more, but if so she had damned good skin. Which is entirely possible.)

Thuy had a really thick accent. I'm not sure whether she said how long she'd been living in the states, but she got to telling me about growing up in Vietnam, and it was fascinating. She was applying an exfoliating scrub and said it would feel like walking on the beach. Then she did a mud mask on my feet and said it would feel like walking through mud with it squishing in my toes. And then she launched into telling me about growing up near rice paddies where she and a childhood friend would spend all day. First, they'd lay in the mud and rub it all over their arms and legs and faces, and then they'd relax that way for a long time. And then they'd get up and splash the mud off and explore the paddy. Sometimes they'd go down to the river and swim there.

Thuy started talking about how the paddies have changed since she was a girl; she said that now you can't put the mud on your body because it causes bad itching and sometimes creates boils on the skin. She said it is because of all the chemical fertilizers and insecticides used on the paddies these days. She told me about how, when she was growing up, there were fish all over in the paddies and the fish would eat the bugs. There were ducks too, and the ducks kept the weeds down. But chemical fertilizer started getting used to increase the yields, and the fish and the ducks went away, and now no one wants to work in the paddies because they don't want the skin boils. And so young people leave the villages because they're no longer happy there. Isn't that interesting?

Thuy was so well-spoken, and she admitted that she'd been an elementary teacher in Vietnam for twenty years. (I guess that automatically makes her a fair bit older than me.) I could hear it in how she spoke--you could tell she had a good education and was a very smart woman. It made me wonder what circumstances caused her to leave her family and move here with her husband. I hope to ask her some day when I go back.

It re-emphasized something I really try to keep in the front of my mind when issues of immigration come up: each of these people have a story. Many of the immigrants are at least as educated as you or I, they are usually very good people who have moved away from their native lands in the hopes of making a better future for themselves and their families, and that they deserve our respect.

You already knew Freya was incredibly brilliant, right? Of course you did. I have to tell you, the last couple of days have been AWESOME for potty training. We stuck with it over the weekend and through Monday (our work-at-home day), and got her back to school on Tuesday loaded down with extra panties and changes of clothes in case of accidents. Well, I think she had four accidents at school. But then she came home and it was like she'd been going in that little potty ever since ever.

She only had one accident today, and came home and pooped and peed both. Freya rocks.

Also, swim lessons started out just awful. She was scared the first night, and we just kind of endured our way through it. And I am sorry to admit that I made a parenting error that first night: the instructor (who I didn't like last year and don't like this year either) wanted us to duck our kids under water to the tune of "Ring Around the Rosey." I knew, I KNEW that Freya would hate it and that little voice inside me said to not do it. I didn't listen--instead, I caved in to peer pressure. Freya was so, so upset. I can't believe I didn't tell her what was about to happen. While she would have understood what I was saying, she wouldn't have liked it. But at least she'd have know what was going to happen.

But last night was a whole 'nother deal. She was a little tense for the first 60 seconds, but then relaxed and had a blast. I told the instructor that I was going to let Freya decide whether she wanted to go underwater or not. I don't think she appreciated me asserting myself, but tough luck, sister. That's my daughter and I do what's best for her. And a lot of the time I want Freya to decide what that is, within reason.

So Freya never got scared, and she instead just got happier with every facet of the lesson that we did. She gained confidence, she stretched her envelope, and she had a great deal of fun. And so did I, with no Mommy Guilt!

Yay for Freya!

So how do you know when it is time to quit potty learning and try again later? I'm so lost.

Freya scarcely urinated at all yesterday, at least not until we put a diaper on her for her nap. Although...she went commando for quite a while, and I don't know for sure that she didn't do a number in the corner and just neglect to tell anyone. Sunday was similar. It took absolutely forever to get her to do anything.

We ask her if she has to go potty and she says she doesn't. I asked her if she wanted to wear her big girl underwear to school to show her friends and she says no. A few days ago she was all over telling her friends about her underwear. And this morning I don't know whether to put her in a diaper for school or into big girl undies.

Arrrgh! Help. Me.

Author's Note: Due to bad math on my part, I think I duplicated F's 27-month letter, skipped 28, and here we are at 29. Woopsie. I sure hope she's better at math than I am.

Dear Freya,

This last weekend? It was HUGE for you. On Friday the 4th of July, we took you to Target and bought you your first Big Girl Underpants. We ramped them up, as the potty-learning articles all told us to do, and you came home and sat on your potty, peed very matter of factly, and put on a pair of Curious George panties. It was very big doings.

And then I spent most of the rest of the weekend incredibly frustrated with the fact that potty training doesn't happen instantly and there will be accidents. Part of my trouble was that I asked you every 10 minutes if you had to go pee on the potty. You usually didn't, and so I got tired of asking and forgot until you said, "Uh-oh." And then I'd get all frustrated. It was my fault, not yours. I'm starting to figure out the timing a little better. The articles also say that it is easier to PT for pee than it is for poop, and I think that's going to be backwards for you. You like making poop in the potty. The pee doesn't seem to interst you that much. Still, progress is being made.

The other big thing is that our neighbors across the street gave you a hand-me-down Fisher Price tricycle last night, and we took you for a spin around the block. You LOVED it. Except for the fact that your little Keen sandal kept getting caught between the pedal and the wheel fork. But you handled it and never got upset once. It was great, and another step on your journey to being grown up.

Every day you tell us, "I'm getting bigger," or "I'm bigger now." It's true. You are. And I'm learning that you are going to get bigger and you'll grow both inside and out, and you'll need me a tiny bit less every day. That's a little sad, but the wonderful part is that I can see that while you don't need me as much, you still want me. You run to me, you have me come play, you bring books to read in my lap, and you give me a thousand hugs a day. Let's keep that up, shall we?

All my love,
Mama

I'm not feeling too festive about the weekend ahead. Springing the holiday on Friday doesn't give you much time to get all ramped up. I'd rather it was Monday. It's probably too late to petition the federal government to change the holiday to the 7th this year, isn't it?

Not that I'm a fan of the 4th anyway. I think fireworks should be banned to the degree that municipalities are the only ones allowed to purchase or posess them. Aren't I a buzz kill? It's just that I spent 10 straight years trying to keep them off of public lands (where they're illegal) and I don't believe your average Joe is responsible enough to use them safely and appropriately. And what's with the state of Idaho allowing sale of illegal fireworks, as long as the purchaser signs a form saying they won't ignite them within the state? Every person who signs that form lies. And then the taxpayer gets to see their money wasted as the police try to chase down illegal fireworks reports. It's damned ludicrous.

So Matt is going to be out working and Freya and I will mainly be at home for the bulk of the weekend. If any of you would like to come sit in the darkened house and harp with us about the daggone nitwits out there, you're welcome. Bring some lemonade to share.

And have a happy 4th, if I haven't sucked all the fun out of it for you.

After a long day at the hospital yesterday, the nurse came out of surgery with really tremendous news for us about my friend: the cancer was not in her lymph nodes, which meant that all she has to have is the double mastectomy. (I say "all" with a certain perspective, at this point.) They call it "a surgical cure," in that she does not need to have chemotherapy or radiation at all. Whoo! She's now cancer free, and you really can't ask for better than that. I went and saw her today and she said she was doing good except for when she took a shower. I said, "Did it hurt? I'd think it would have felt pretty good overall." And she replied, "It did. But then I looked down." "Oh," I said.

Obviously that makes sense, but it hasn't really occurred to me that, yeah, it would be a shock to the system to look down and not see anything there anymore. But...in spite of that...I sure can't get over being ecstatic that she's going to be okay. Thanks to all of you that sent your good thoughts.

In other news, I totally weaned Freya when I went to Alaska...and I'm still working out three times a week...and I'm getting chubby. That is so not cool. I didn't think that with the little bit of nursing she was doing that I was really going to notice that much difference metabolically. But if my workouts haven't changed and I'm actually making an effort to reduce my high-sugar/calorie snacks...it's gotta be the nursing, right? I'm just hoping it peaks out here immediately really soon and I can start whittling it away. 'Cause this is just silly.