Saturday, November 8, 2008

Bravery in a glass.....

It's 7 p.m. and a Saturday.
The kiddo is asleep.
Hubby is at sea.
The house is a mess.

So what am I doing?

Drinking a glass of wine.

I never drink. I think aside from a few sips of wine while visiting my parents in July this is my first glass in a long time. I'm maybe only a third in and wow am I feeling all warm and fuzzy.

I also consider it liquid bravery with a shot of reality.

Given that I've been having baby fever lately, a ton of people I know including several friends are pregnant and the fact that my mom dropped the "I want another granddaughter card" tonight, I feel it's time to get my arse in gear.

Realistically I know I need to lose around 20-30 pounds to have a safer and healthier "baking" time. And given that baby-planning also depends on the hubby's sub schedule, that means I don't have a whole lot of leeway in terms of turning my blubber butt into something resembling Beyonce's backside.
And considering the fact that my toddler son can outrun me better than Al Roker chasing a spare rib, getting pregnant now is just asking for trouble.

So as a way to motivate myself I"m posting these pics I took just after the first of the year. I've since gained four pounds since this oh-so-chubtastic photo shoot.

Granted I won't be drinking after tonight so don't expect progress pics in the same state of undress, but I figure gym clothes will have to do for future sessions.

What was your rock-bottom moment in terms of getting it together?

Friday, November 7, 2008

Moose Musings......Again

Coordinating a group of adults is like trying to herd a group of Rollie Pollie's. There are those that cooperate, those that fail to pay attention - thus getting stepped on or over, and then those that curl into a protective ball with the hopes that noone will notice them.

It's amazing how much grown adults revert to the behavoir of their children when it comes to living up to their responsibilites. To me, ignoring e-mails and phone calls is akin to covering your ears and shouting "LA LALALALALALALLA" at the top of your lungs. It only makes you looks stupid and it sure doesn't take the focus off of you.

After many headaches, heartaches and just plain drama I have determined that belonging to a group of women is like attempting to shove 20 cats into a pickle jar. The claws come out, hissing insues and it just gets plain ugly. And besides, some are already so full of piss and vinegar that a pickle jar would just seem like a trip to the spa.

I am officially changing my name to Murphy.
It never fails that every patrol period crazy things happen to me in three's. After the teeth incident I was just waiting for the other two to mozy on through. And of course they arrived this past Wednesday.

No. 2 was my discovery that somewhere during my errands in my husband's brand new truck another car decided it couldn't resist it's lust for my ruby-red hunk of a man-mobile and "hugged and kissed" it.
The drivers side wheel well is scratched up, the headlight scraped and dinged and of course dented. And would you know it..... the estimates were $936.... and our deductable (set by my lovely husband) is 1K.
Finding that out was like taking the bandages off after a boob job to discover you now have pieces of pepperoni instead of nipples.

No. 3 was just a few hours later on Wednesday when my million-dollar kitty decided to get off her cute butt and earn her name.
Ms. Zsa Zsa Gabor starting tossing her cookies all over the house (namely the kiddo's bedroom) Along with said cookies she also produced pieces of vinyl as well as plastic bags.
Off to the vet we went where my little darling racked up a $700 bill complete with near surgery and lots of x-rays from the load of plastic and other junk she's eaten. She also required an overnight stay, where they pumped her full of fluids to move this junk through her system. All the while her sister Magda tried to smother me in my sleep from neediness.
How do I get it through her furry brain that she's a cat NOT a garbage disposal.
All I can say it she's lucky she's cute and she's lucky she can cuddle better than the rest of them.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Moose Musings

Why is it when you want to sleep in the kiddos wake up at the butt crack of dawn?

Binkies aren't just meant for chewing or sucking on, they are in fact the latest in James Bond-esque technology. A binkie can be used as a baseball, shotput, to knock an unattainable object off the top of a shelf, to blind your opponent with a poke in the eye and if strategically placed on a stair step - cause your foes to take a tumble.

Why is is that trying to go pee at 3 a.m is harder to do alone than going pee during regular daylight hours? I walk into the bathroom in the afternoon, no one in my household cares. I make the same trip in the wee - no pun intended - hours of the morning and it's like performing for a pair of acrobatic groupies at an AC/DC concert.
Being the curious kitties they are, ZZ and Maggie feel the need to jump on my lap, climb on my shoulders, stick their noses in my ears, or just play a game of flying monkey grab ass while attacking the toilet paper. All while I'm trying to do my business.
Then after being such an attentive audience they will then proceed to race me up or down the stairs, attack my ankles or meow worse than Jessica Simpson during a suppossed love song.
Why? - because good kitties deserve good rewards .........canned food with a side of treats.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

The secrets of a stress eater

How I reached 200 pounds.

Growing up I never really had a weight problem that I could remember. I fluctuated but I was always pretty athletic and lean. I was a competitive swimmer who dabbled in other sports. And loved anything that involved activity or exercise.

Basically I liked showing up my male friends/athletes.

I was a size 10 at my largest. A 4 at my slimmest - depending on my activities and schedule. My relationship with food was a healthy one. I stopped when I was full. I never deprived myself or thought I was fat.

Life was good.

But then things went very very wrong. What you will read has taken me a LONG time to come to terms with. And I must say that for those that urged me to go to therapy, I thank you.

When I graduated college in 2001. I was at a point where I was happy, I was self-confident and I felt the most beautiful than I ever had in my life. I had friends in all social circles - athletes, geeks, jocks, etc. There was never a place on campus I didn't feel I fit in. I even had dated a few well-known guys on campus who always treated with me respect and one in particular who never let me doubt my self-confidence or ability to achieve my dreams.

I had a degree in communications witih a focus on sports journalism. I wasn't afraid to tackle a "man's world." I was excited about life.

But then I moved to start my first job - as a copy editor at a newspaper near another college town that was halfway between my alama mater and my parents home.

Perfect I thought. Only an hour drive either way to see family or friends and a foot in the door for my industry.

But then I moved and started working.

Within a few weeks of working at the paper, I got a bit homesick, but some coworkers my age befriended me and started to introduce me to some other local journalist types.

I became fast friends with one, a sports writer for a dinky publication in the area. He was funny and reminded me of a few of my best guy friends from college.

I felt a bit better knowing some people in the area.

But the more we started to hang out - always in groups, the more I started to be around this guy the more I started to get the feeling that something wasn't quite the same.

My comfort level was starting to mimic that of Shaquille O'Neil in stripper heels and a tutu.

You're not a fan of it, but you can't look away either.

He first started by putting my writing skills down. He would look at my articles from college and pick then to pieces, telling me it was crappy writing and that I was kidding myself.

Then he would poke fun at my body, offering to go jogging with me to get the chub I guess I was developing off.....

And did I mention we WERE'NT dating. But for some odd reason I didn't stop hanging out with him either.

Then it happened. Me being the idiot who always lives by a three-strikes and your out rule - went over to his house one night to hang out and watch movies.

I was under the impression his roomates would be there as well - only they weren't

When I walked in he seemed "off" His eyes were dialted and he seemed like he was on something. I was sitting next to him on the couch, when he basically jumped on me and started groping and trying to kiss me. He called me a tease and knowing I was a virgin tried attacking my values as well. He was determined.

I still have a hard time acknowloding it happened.

Thankfully I managed to get out of the situation before anything worse happened, though when I think back, I'm not sure how I did.

All I remember is getting home and calling my best friend Paul. A friend I've had since we were 13, who was a groomsmen in my eventual wedding to my husband, and someone I knew who would listen to me. I was hysterical.

He immediatly drove up to stay with me, because the guy kept calling me and knew where I lived. T his went on for a week.

It was then that I stopped exercising,I was afraid to leave the house, I started eating for comfort and from stress and the pounds just kept on coming. I withdrew from friends and stopped going out. I eventually decided to get a new job and move back home -though no one new it wasn't so I could write sports, but to just get away.

In my mind I thought I had brought this on myself. That I wasn't smart enough to listen to my gut instincts. And when I discovered he was bad-mouthing me to the small college community where we lived and to my coworkers all I wanted to do was get away.

I didn't think to defend myself. I didn't think to tell anyone what he did. All I knew was I didn't want to be attatcked again - even verbally.

My self-confidence was gone and I started sinking into a depression that until a few months ago, I had become an expert at covering up from those around me. I lost value in myself and found myself in either dating relationships or friendships where I was a giver and never a taker.

I have found that since that incident I turn to food in times of high stress. I tend to hole up in my house and just eat crap. I don't crave it, I don't want it but for some reason I think it will make me feel better.

Today I ate cereal, homemade pizza, chicken nuggets... and it's not even 3 p.m. yet. I'm not hungry but I'm typing here in an effort to acknowledge my problem and keep my from shoving food into my mouth.

I hate myself and the way I look for eating like this, but then I eat like this because I hate myself and the way I look.

I'm like a goldfish swimming in circles, everytime I think I have it figured out I'm back at where I started.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Toddlers, Teeth and Me.....

Having a toddler is like playing Russion Roulette. It's riskier than a blind man trimming his nether regions.

The hubby has offically been gone a month "playing in the water" as I sometimes tell our two-year-old. Of course being an Electrician's Mate aka Nuke, us Navy gals know that explanation is about as far-off as saying Ashlee Simpson is the next Virgin Mary.

It never fails that as soon as patrol starts the drama begins. My friend Christine says that the stuff that happens to me during patrols is so crazy that I can't make this stuff up.

Here are a few examples of patrols past:

* 1 week before they are slated to leave, the hubby flies home and sees his grandma just 15 minutes before she passes. Five days later, my grandfather passes. The next day the hubby leave on a 90-day patrol.
* While driving down for the funerals, the splash guard of my car comes off. We 9brother and I) proceed to drive with it crammed in the back through two states with an overloaded car and screming toddler
* The kiddo develops a double ear and eye infection the day before the funerals. He has such a bad reaction to the meds that I miss both funerals.....

Yeah, I know..... there's more.....

The house repairs we started before the hubby left, overlaps into the patrol. 7K worth of work turns into nearly 16K due to uncovered rot and other damage.

That's just ONE patrol folks.

This is now patrol No. 5 and just three-weeks into it the drama began.

I've come to the conclusion that the U.S. military should start using toddlers as secret weapons. If anyone has ever seen a toddler in full on tantrum mode then you know what I mean.


There is nothing more scary or dangerous than a hungry, tired, pissed off toddler. And trying to gain control of one during this state is like trying to put a diaper on a doberman.... you just don't do it.

After three hours of wonderful bliss spent at a local pumpkin farm, some friends and I decided to push our luck and go eat. My son's eyes were a bit droopy, his face a bit pouty, but I was hungry darnit.

And nothing comes between a PMSing mom than a burger and fries....nothing but a tantruming toddler that is.

Right outside the restaurant my son starts having a fit. He throws himself on the ground, he arches his back. He kicks his legs. He was giving the best performance of this short little life.

And by short little life, I mean short..... he's lucky I didn't decide right then and there to sell him on the black market.

I bent down to pick him up and BAM! His huge noggin connected with my chin. There was a moment of shock, then a moment of.....WHAT THE.....

Yep, in one second my son managed to turn my smile from pretty and pearly to gnarly and gapped.

My front top teeth were chipped, a premolar was half gone and two of my eye teeth were dinged. He sure doesn't do anything halfway.

This was a Sunday afternoon.

A few phone calls later and I found myself making three differnt trips to the dentist over the next few days. Thank god the hubby got his bonus. I know he wanted to marry a women like his mother... but I'm not sure he was referring to her dentures.

I love you Georgia!

*If it wasn't for my mother-in-law's uncanny wit and ability to make me laugh at such a situation (heck she raised my husband after all) I would be in in a dark closet rocking back and forth harder than a cat doing a calculus problem.

Did I mention we were only a MONTH into patrol.......

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Moose Musings

Why is it that when it comes to volunteering I have this horrible habit of saying yes, faster than Angelina Jolie collects children.

Whoever said that "it's all worth it in the end" is the person who does about as much work as a babboon scratching his butt.

Why is it that a basket of folded laundry is much more appealing to a toddler than a basket of unfolded laundry?
Leave the kid alone for two seconds and he can unfold, scatter and destroy four loads of neatly folded clothing while somehow managing to turn the basket into a a device used to obtain the one dangerous object in the room. 007 ain't got nothing on the Moose.

Ignore your dirty couch and nothing happens to it. Wash your couch cushions and within the hour they will be either peed on, become the next Picasso painting in highlighter hues, or torn apart for the sole purpose of toddler couch surfing.
(picture crowd surfing, only with a toddler teetering on the edge of the couch, launching him self up and out several feet with the hopes that the pile of cushions he has assembled will break his fall ---- without breaking his arm)

He's only 2 1/2 folks..... come the teenaged years I'll be in a nice padded room with CLEAN white walls.....

Why is it that when you need to get a hold of a person they don't respond. But the minute you give up and do the project yourself they call right in the middle of it?

Binkies are harder to get rid of than cockroaches. My son has this uncannny ability to pull a binky out of thin air better than a dog can lick his own beans. You don't know how they do it, but they do.

Why is it when you get a spark of creative genius (aka come up with a great new pattern for Moose Threads) all your free time gets tied up worse than a dominatrix in a duct tape dibacle.