May 13, 2006
The Ultimate Work Out Recipe
Ingredients:
- One afternoon of shopping
- One 7-month old who hates her stroller with a passion
- One 5-year old who loves the stroller with a passion
- One baby wrap to hold non-conforming-to-stroller baby
Instructions:
Place 17 lb. baby in wrap. Allow persistent 5-year old to sit in the stroller that is now unoccupied. Proceed to push stroller containing 43 lb. 5-year old around the mall for about three hours. Only allow her out to try on clothing. When trying on clothing commences, do deep squats with baby still attached snugly in wrap. Hold out arms parallel to the ground as you hold up shorts that 5-year old is taking her good ole time getting in. Feel arms start to burn, similar to the feeling obtained when hanging a new shower curtain. Practice resistance training as 5-year old balances all of her weight with her hands on your shoulders while you’re still in the process of squatting and holding arms parallel to the ground. . . still waiting for the child to put her feet in the HOLES ALREADY MOMMY’S ARMS ARE KILLING HER. Pull shorts up as child squirms and complains. Repeat try on process three more times. Proceed to cashier; continue holding arms straight out in an attempt to keep 7-month old from obtaining money which would be prompty devoured. Deep squat to put new purchase in the cargo bag of stroller. Proceed to walk down the mall corridor, occasionally doing the deep squat to obtain baby sock that has been removed, sucked on, and thrown in an attempt to free her feet and also make sure that Mommy gets her exercise.
At completion of shopping excursion, load both children into car. Because your back wasn’t completely thrown out after carrying 17 lb. baby for three hours on your stomach/chest, fold the SUV of strollers and lift into trunk. While driving, reach for baby toys that are being flung onto the car floor at regular intervals and return them to baby in a futile effort to keep her entertained (this also serves as post work out stretching).
I’d write more. . . but I need to hit the showers.
May 11, 2006
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times
I think I’m a bad person. The guy who has been doing my hair for the past four years told me that he is moving far, far away. They are moving there because his wife’s family is there and they’ve always wanted to live there. My first thought was, "MY GOD! What am I going to DO?" My second thought was, "How can I sabotage their plans to move?" He is a damn good stylist. I LOVE the way he does my hair. I started imagining myself picketing on his front lawn as prospective buyers drive by. "This house has rats," my sign could say, or "Termite infestation: Don’t be fooled!"
I seriously asked him if he’d come back up to visit and cut my hair. He said I could come down and visit and he’d cut my hair there. It is a LONG drive away. I don’t think I can justify a 10 hour drive to get my hair cut to my husband. $100 for a cut and highlights is already pushing it. I seriously think I am going to have a good cry over this when he actually goes. He said that as long as appointments are scheduled, he’ll honor those appointments. I think I’m going to ask if I can schedule through 2010.
The reason why I’m so upset is because I highly prefer going to male stylists, and there aren’t that many of them around. My reasoning is this: why would a woman want another attractive woman in the world? It’s competition for them. Men like to see beautiful women, whether they are married or not. Male stylists literally want to make the world a more beautiful place. There is a serious shortage of male stylists in this area; and I am afriad to subject my head of hair to someone I don’t know. I honestly feel like someone just dumped me. I know it’s silly, but I REALLY like the way he cuts and highlights my hair. Let me reiterate. . . I really, really like the way he does my hair. And don’t even get me started on how well he does my eyebrows. . .
I know most of you probably think this is stupid, but ladies, you’ll understand why. When this man cuts my hair, no curling irons are necessary. The cut dries so nicely and lays so nicely that it cuts my hair primping time by about 90%. It’s incredible and I know of not another person who can accomplish such a feat. He must have sold his soul to have such skills.
The other reason it’s a bad day? (I swore to myself I would NOT discuss American Idol on this blog, but with what happened this week, how can I NOT?) Who are the crazy lunatics out there who didn’t give Chris Daughtry enough votes to make it through? I am seriously in shock. I had picked him as the winner from the very beginning; and I am floored that he is done. Of course, I watched American Idol on Tivo and got occupied with other things and forgot to vote. It’s probably all my fault. I feel terrible about it. What’s the point of even watching the rest of the season? I’m done.
Another reason it’s a bad day? (Oh, you thought I was going to get to the good thing, didn’t you? Not yet. I like to get my complaining out of the way first.) If you’ve ever been to a funeral, you know how it emotionally drains you for days. It feels exhausting just to think or even deal with life after such an emotional ordeal. I honestly had that feeling after Kindergarten orientation. It is only now starting to diminish from the beginning of the week. It has been slowed in it’s regression by the fact that Big I asks me every single night if she has to go to school tomorrow. I told her tonight that I will give her some warning. I won’t just wake her up one day and make her go. I told her she’ll probably love it once she’s there. Tonight she said to me, "I’ll go to school Mommy, but maybe just one or two days a week, o.k.? o.k.? o.k.?" I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think I’ll cry considering the week I’ve been having.
Talking about enough to make you want to cry. My lovely sister sent not one, but two, "I’m not a chain letter" chain letters: one to me and one to Big I. It’s this flip-flop one. The very same flip-flop one that when asked if I’d like to participate by a good friend, I told her I’d rather not. I always get screwed by these not-a-chain-letter chain letters. I sent out a book and was supposed to get like 30 back. I didn’t see one. I won’t even bring up the other crazy requests I got in the mail. I’ll only say that Victoria’s Secret is probably behind at least one of them. People have flip-flop fever apparently, but I don’t even like wearing them that much. My husband told me I should close the loop, so to speak, and send out the not-a-chain-letter chain letter back to my sister and the other girl listed on the letter, six letters for each. I mean seriously, what do people need 36 pairs of flip-flops for anyway? Actually, the whole letter is bogus because even if everyone fulfills their flip-flop obligation, you can only receive a maximum of 6 pairs. And, how are Big I and I supposed to come up with 12 people to send these letters out to? 12 people who won’t hate us for it? Talk about a Mission Impossible.
So, onto the good things before the flood gates open up and wash me away. At karate, I feel I’m making great progress on my kata. I feel like it’s really coming together and I’m getting the rhythm of it down. I am feeling like I have my karate flow back again and that is a good thing. After my summer vacation, I’m going to up the number of times I go each week, which should make a huge difference. I wanted to do this before, but with Lil C it’s been too hard. I’m looking forward to learning by leaps and bounds. And onto the last good thing. . .
I’ve been awarded a Mix-Pix award.
This lovely lady reviewed my site and wrote up a little something about me and my blog; and I am just thrilled. You’ll notice the little Eeyore on my side bar and I am quite proud of it. So, in honor of this award and my horrible week, I’d like to invite any lurkers to come forward, show yourselves, leave a comment and say "hello," or something. I know you’re out there. I see my visitor stats. I see my little map on the side bar so I know where you’re coming from, but who the heck are you? Won’t you come out and say hello? (And be nice, I’m feeling fragile this week.)
May 10, 2006
McNuggets equals Motivation?
Big I is much more interested in her acting class than her karate class lately. In fact, she’s so interested in her acting class, that her karate class is paling in comparison, as in "NOOOOO! I don’t want to go to karate today." My husband made a deal with her; one that I wasn’t particularly crazy about. In fact, I’m still kind of wondering what we should do about this whole anti-karate attitude she’s got going lately. His deal is simple: quit karate-no more McDonald’s. Continue with karate-go to McDonald’s. For the child that walks around this house singing "Ba, Ba, Ba, Ba Bah. . . I’m lovin’ it," this has been quite a conundrum.
Today she asked me about the details of this little arrangement, as in "What do I have to do so I can quit karate and still go to McDonald’s?" I told her the solution is simple: become a black belt, Sensei Big I, and then you can do whatever you want. If you want to quit, quit. You can still go to McDonald’s. Her eyes lit up. She said, "REALLY, MOMMY???? REALLY? You mean IT?" I said, "Yep, all you have to do is get a black belt. The fastest way to do that is to go to class and learn as much as you can, and practice." She was so excited about the idea of not going to karate and still being able to go to McDonald’s that she kissed me, hugged me and squealed "THANK YOU MOMMY!"
Does she think they just hand out black belts; or does she not realize the work involved? I think it’s definitely the latter. Once she does realize what she’s agreed to, I can just see her taking a black permanent marker to that milky white belt of hers. She is quite the little artist.
I know that Big I doesn’t get the big picture yet. I know that she doesn’t understand or appreciate the Martial Arts the way that I do. She started when she was 3.5 years old though and she’s only now 5. Right now, all I want is for her to go and let it sink in slowly. I’m hoping the appreciation part will follow.
For me, I’ve had a respect for it from the beginning. I like the challenge of a new kata and feel empowered when I learn new self defense techniques. Learning karate and kobudo has done wonders for my confidence. I’m in it for the long haul and see the black belt as the first of many promotions I hope to one day attain. I want that black belt, not for the color or for the bragging rights. I want that black belt because I want the knowledge and confidence that (I think) comes along with it. I enjoy going to class when there are students who outrank me. I feel that I really learn from them. Most students are more than happy to help you out regardless of age or rank.
The annoying part about the Martial Arts is that there are definitely people who are only at the dojo for the bragging rights. They are there, not for a personal journey and accomplishment, but for the belt itself. These are the students who memorize the moves but have no power behind their punches, no purpose in their learning. These are the students who get frustrated when going over the first kata for a new student who has joined the class, or for someone who needs or wants to review. They don’t see the value in review. They want to learn their kata, their material. Just like students who cram for tests and quickly forget the material afterwards, these martial arts students are the same. They don’t take each kata and make it their own. They don’t see the bunkai (application) in the kata or care to learn it. They only want to do the bare minimum that it takes to move on, get the next stripe, get the next belt.
Kindergarten orientation proved that karate has had some benefits for Big I. A child who lacked self-confidence would not have dealt so well with a little adversity. My husband and I agree that she should stick it out, at least for now. I sincerely hope that our little McDonald’s deal with Big I doesn’t backfire and make her into one of the types of students that annoy me. I am hoping that she’ll see the meaning in it, that eventually she’ll be intrinsically motivated to learn and want to continue to learn. But for right now, it’s all about the Happy Meals.
May 8, 2006
A Challenge for Mommy
One would think that a "tough" Mommy who takes karate would be able to handle a little Kindergarten orientation without being reduced to tears. For a stay at home Mom who has been with her daughter almost every single day since the day she arrived on this Earth, orientation is rough. In fact, I know it was harder on me than it was on Big I.
Orientation started out just fine. Big I sat with me in the auditorium and we listened to the principal talk for a while. I happened to take a look at the schedule for the morning and noticed that the kids would be going off to meet the other kids and teachers. I whispered to Big I what the plan was and she looked at me with apprehensive eyes. I told her it would be o.k. and that I wasn’t leaving the building and would be there to get her in just a little while. She settled in beside me again. I thought she’d be with me for a bit longer, but all of a sudden they called for the kids.
Most kids willingly ran off to line up for the trek to the classroom. There were a few stragglers who seemed to suddenly develop a gravitational pull to their mothers legs. There were a few tears and some whining. None of that came from Big I. When it was time, she stood up, took a deep breath, and then killed me. She leaned towards me, gave me a hug, kissed me on the cheek and said simply, "Bye Mommy." I instantly teared up and found myself choking back the tears. My eyes were flooded and I sat there swallowing profusely to keep them at bay. My mantra became, "She can NOT see ME cry." I repeated it at least 20 times. My eyes welled, but they did not spill. As the kids finished lining up, most of them faced forward. But Big I turned around, smiled at me and waved.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of Big I and of myself. Since the day I brought this little girl into the world, there were people who judged the way I was raising her. Family bed? Bad idea. Guess what? It worked for us and she’s a fabulous sleeper. "No pre-school? Is she crazy? Her child will be socially behind." My Big I is one of the most socially mature 5-year olds I know. Today proved that. Today was like an affirmation that I’ve done a good job with her.
Back in the classroom, Big I approached a little girl who was playing with some blocks. She started to play with her. The little girl said something about how she was playing with them. Instead of getting upset with the girl who was lacking sharing skills, Big I ignored her and instead took the high road. She introduced herself and asked the girl what her name was. She then started playing with her.
At another point during the orientation, the kids were listening to a story. Two little boys were moving around and getting in her way. So, she moved away from them, but into the space of two little girls who didn’t feel like sharing their space. They told her so. She explained to them that she was moving over because she didn’t have any room. Had it been me? At her age? I would have been sobbing in a corner.
At this age? I spent most of the refreshment time fidgeting and counting the minutes until I could go get my daughter. I felt like an outcast, not knowing any of the other parents who were already pretty familiar with each other. I counted minutes, and hoped that she was having a better experience than I was.
When I went to the classroom to pick her up after 45 minutes (that felt like an absolute eternity), she was sitting at a desk coloring and writing her name by herself. She was thrilled with her drawing, and I was thrilled to see that she wasn’t crying. She then told me about the two little girls who told her to "go away." "WHERE ARE THEY?" I whispered to her as I scanned the room for the little brats. She didn’t even remember what they looked like.
As we were leaving she said, "I think it was kind of fun." She quickly made sure after that statement that she didn’t have to go back for a while. I assured her. She then said, "I don’t think the kids liked me." Can I just tell you the million ways my heart broke when she said that?
People can spit on me. They can call me names. They can throw things at me or tell me to "go away." They can even send me hate mail or write rude comments meant to hurt my feelings. I learned today, that nothing anyone can do to me can even begin to compare to the physical pain that I experienced when I saw that my daughter’s feelings were hurt. It was so visceral, so deep and sharp that it made me feel physically sick. I felt emotionally spent the entire day.
After we got home and Lil C was napping, I held Big I on my lap, rocked her, and told her that everyone deals with new situations differently. Not everyone can walk up to someone they don’t know and introduce themselves the way that she did. I told her that some kids will put up a wall, so to speak, and act mean before they act nice. I told her that some of the kids will already know each other and therefore think they only need that one friend. I told her that anyone who chooses not to be friends with her is missing out BIG TIME on spending time with a great, sweet, bright, fun, wonderful person that she has become.
Tonight my husband asked her if the girls hurt her feelings, and do you know what she said? "Actually Daddy, it made me a little mad. They weren’t very nice." When my husband asked her why she didn’t tell the boys to move, she said "I didn’t want to hurt their feelings."
I think that Big I is going to be just fine at school. For me, it’s going to take some serious time to get used to it (and a whole boat load of tissues).
May 6, 2006
Habits: Start one, Break one (or something)
I’ve told you about my work out motivated husband. Often, he’ll head off towards the basement and ask Big I if she’d like to go "work out" with him. Their work out consists of sit-ups (or in Big I’s case "lay downs" which look like she’s been glued to the floor as she tries to sort of lift the back of her head maybe a half inch off the mat), push-ups (also known as stationary horsey ride on Daddy’s back), a nice game of leap frog (or squats according to my husband), and pull ups for my husband (hang from the beams for Big I). My husband defends this "work out" as a good one for both of them.
Today, my husband when to the gym. Lil C was sleeping and after reading all of your comments and emails saying how motivating I am. . . I figured I better fit the part and go work out or something. So, I told Big I that she was welcome to join me and she did. She suggested warming up with some jumping jacks. We did some spirited jumping jacks, followed by punches and double punches in Nai Hanchi, followed by snap kicks: obi level (belt or stomach area) and to the head on my heavy bag of course (Big I used her Scooby Doo punching bag.) That was just the warm up.
We then moved on to Kata one and push-ups. At this point, Big I decided to quit and requested we play a nice game of Memory instead. She even volunteered to get the game from the closet herself. I told her that I was working out, and that I wanted her to work out with me. Her response? "No Mommy. You’re work out is way harder than Daddy’s."
Can I tell you how many ways she made my day by saying that? My warm up is a harder work out than Daddy’s? Oh yeah, you hear that darling husband? That was all the motivation I needed to continue with my work out. I’m an extremely competitive person; and there’s no one I’m more competitive with than my husband. I sailed through the rest of my kata’s and waza’s. I churned out my push-ups and pushed past the pain that is still haunting my arms and chest. I did the sit-ups and even did the pilates 100 instead of plain sit-ups. I did the squats and got to 10 without even a thought about which treat I would reward myself with afterwards.
After I was finished, I was sweating. I hadn’t showered yet so it wasn’t a problem. Big I and I decided our post work out cool down would be a nice game of Scrabble Junior. No cookie today.
Despite the fact that Big I told me mine is the harder work out, deep down I know that it’s because mine involves karate. She saw me doing kata and mentally shut down. When I was talking about her coordination the other day, I stated that I really think it’s more of a paying attention issue. Tonight, my theory proved true.
We went to visit some college friends at their house. These are the type of friends who make you wish arranged marriages were an option for the common folks (and I’m not just saying that because I know they read my blog religiously). They have two awesome kids who are so incredibly sweet and fun. Their son, a year younger than Big I, is a doll. Our kids have never had a disagreement. They always get along. They usually cry or complain profusely when our little visits are over. Their son calls Big I his "girlfriend," and we can only hope that it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Back in college, we used to party with our mutual friends and shoot the you-know-what. About what, I’m not really sure. It was college after all. These days, we have dinner and the conversation at the "adult table" usually revolves around poop and other various bodily functions and mishaps involving our kids and pets. After all, that is what parents talk about. We’re thinking that a wedding reception would bring back the college days if only for one glorious night.
Our friends have a large yard and enough animal friends to fill a small zoo. Big I immediately went off with her "boyfriend" to play in the yard, visit their pet horses, and play on the new swing set. Within five minutes, the child was screaming that she hurt herself. I checked out the latest injury (yet another knee boo-boo) and asked her how it happened. "Were you running?" She says, "No, just walking." So, I cleaned up her knee and sent her on her way.
Fifteen minutes later, she enters the kitchen sniffling. She’d been hit in the nose with a wiffle ball. That issue was resolved and off she went again. So, it was time to eat dinner and she came inside to get her plate. My husband told her to go wash her hands in the bathroom. Big I walks over to the pantry closet door and grabs the handle. We all start telling her she’s at the wrong door, but she continues to open the door, staring out in our direction. We continue telling her she’s at the wrong door, and she actually backs into the pantry closet and starts to close the door. Had she not had an encounter with some instant tea and canned soups, I fully believe she would have shut the door and stood in there wondering where she’d gone wrong.
She is a smart little girl. She knows everything there is to know about fossils, dinosaurs, and the rotation of the Earth. She just does not pay attention to her surroundings at all. I’m going to continue to ask her to work out with me, in the hopes that she’ll become more focused on the task at hand. And maybe, just maybe that will translate to other things in life like avoiding close encounters with canned goods when all she’s looking for is a sink and some soap.
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