Always busy, always excuses...

It has been a while since I have sat down to post. I'm just too busy. I've been organizing the house (and cleaning--a lot), working on other projects, and exceedingly busy at work (let's just say I finished a fun 'dog and pony show' for a very intimidating suit from the state. Yech!).

Here's a brief (or as brief as I'm capable of) synopsis of the last 3 weeks:

Mission New Lifestyle:

Week 1: Struggled like crazy to keep my caloric intake within approximately 1,500 calories per day. I was constantly starving (though, it never looked like it), and wanted to eat everything in sight. Especially around my bad time of day (3-5pm).

Weight lost: 5.5lbs. Yay!

Week 2: Still struggling to keep my calories to about 1,500. Discovered I have to have a sweet treat in the evenings. If I don't have this treat I think I will die. Skinny Cow makes good treats that are reasonable calorically speaking and yummy enough to 'do.' Healthy Choice fudge bars also fill the bill, and, they're sold in super-mega-bulk packaging at Costco. Oh, how I love Costco.

Weight lost: 0. Zilch. Nada. I felt pretty bummed, but I figured, " Hey! It could have been worse, you could have gained. " Isn't it the second week on 'Biggest Loser' that they always have small numbers? Hmm...

Week 3: Getting easier to keep my calories in the 1,500 range. Also getting easier to plan. I find I am obsessing a little less about food. Weighing every morning is very motivating. I have also started trying to do a long walk a few times a week. Saturday, B. and I walked 5+ miles. It kicked my butt, and I hobbled around like an old lady because my hips ached. Ugh. But, hey, I got moving. Funny, how after a fairly sedentary 15 or so years, your body protests when you actually decide to move. I have discovered if I drink a lot of water and make sure that I have a small (+/- 100 calories) snack every morning around 10 am I do much better. I still feel like one of Dan Akroyd's cone head characters from the movie THE CONE HEADS "...must consume mass quantities." But, it is getting better.

Weight lost: 2.5 lbs.

Overall, I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. I'm beginning to create some new habits (good ones, for a change), and my new lifestyle is feeling less restrictive. I'm getting the fat addiction out of my system, and even as I type, I am anticipating taking an hour long walk in the sunshine (while we have it!). I find that it is becoming rewarding to move and see some small results. Already, with only 8 pounds lost, I feel my clothing fitting a bit more loosely, and I'm looking forward to when I will be able to donate it to a charitable organization--because I'm never going back.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. I am going to do it this time, but a little extra help never hurt.

Feeling lazy, feeling blue

I have really been lacking the desire to post lately. So, obviously, I haven't posted much. Duh. I know.

Good news: With my renewed efforts toward a healthier lifestyle I have almost made my first 10% weight loss goal. In my first week (which included quite a few flub-ups, and an unplanned trip to Izzy's to celebrate a birthday--yikes!) I managed to lose...drum roll please...a whopping 5.5 lbs.

Whoo-hoo!

I'm .5 lbs away from my first 10% goal: 6lbs.

I have a lot of weight to lose. If I look at the WHOLE-Bigger-than-life picture I'd just give up and sit down with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and mope while watching some sort of ultimately brain numbing chick-flick. So, to keep me from 'relapse' (as in succumbing to the FTW attitude, and fatalistic thinking that gets me stuck on the fast-track to increased fat cells and binging on whatever high-fructose, sodium laden, deep-fried concoction sure to make my serotonin levels even with those of a meth addict...) I'm looking at my first goal as losing a 'total' of 60 pounds.

Much more doable than the other number that I really am striving for.

5.5 lbs. isn't a whole lot. It wouldn't keep me above the yellow line on "BIGGEST LOSER" but it is a firm start. I'm also managing to maintain the attitude of 'get back on the horse' when I 'fall off' rather than subscribing to fallacious all-or-nothing thinking.

Chalk one up to me.

Now, on to the darker side of life.

Mentally, I'm struggling with Seasonal Affective Disorder. I've not received an official diagnosis of S.A.D., however, I suffer many of its symptoms. The peak of my 'blahs' coincides with the winter solstice--the shortest day of the year. I feel like a plant deprived of sunshine: I've withered (emotionally) into this lifeless, shapeless (figurative and literal--unless you count round for my shape. Ha!), blob who is lacking motivation most days to do anything. I want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. I don't want to do anything with anyone. I am just hoping to hit the 'fast forward' button a la Adam Sandler's movie CLICK. I go through this ever year. I have since I was a child...just my mother and I always chalked it up to missing Florida and the winter sunshine and flowers. Sigh. I can hardly wait for May sunshine and more daylight.

On the Autism spectrum: We've definitely been having our fair share (dare I say, more than fair share....as in the Lion's Share) of 'Autistic moments.'

Peanut has been irritable, defiant, tantruming, and tormenting her brother (and me) without end. I know it isn't her fault, and her psychiatrist concurs, the hoopla and lack of structure over the holidays put her over the edge. Heck, it puts typical kids (and most adults) over the edge. So, how could I expect anything different from someone with cognitive and sensory processing difficulties? Still, it doesn't make it any easier to deal with her. Even though I have a 'special needs child' it doesn't give me super-human strength, the ability to see through walls, or any more patience than having a typical child gives to any other parent. My patience still wears thin, and the decibel level of my voice soars ever heavenward. In truth, I've been ready to murder her. (only in thought---the same way we all say 'I'm going to kill you if you eat the last cookie, candy, chip, etc." ). One of the mentor moms at a MOPs meeting I once went to said something to the effect of:

"You're completely normal if you have the feeling that you'd like to
huck your child out the window. Every one of us feels like we would love to
just toss them out to escape the tantrums and difficult times. You're
normal. You're only abnormal if you never get frustrated with your child
or you actually do toss you kid out the window. Don't do that.
(all while smiling)."

This simple statement has saved me much guilt and shame. I'm normal. Lord, I'm so utterly normal, I'm the poster-child for normal. Ugh.

Chublet has been two. He acts two. He IS two. I don't really need to say much more. I remind myself, often, 'this too shall pass.'

Some introspection:

Going back to the lifestyle change, I have realized I am completely and totally obsessed with food. I figure I think about food approximately the same number of times a day as a red-blooded teenage-boy thinks about sex. Really. I think I am obsessing. Maybe that's one of the reasons why my weight has soared so high. I wonder what Freud would say (I'm glad he's dead...Dr.Phil is bad, I can only imagine how wonderful Freud would be...).

Things I'm looking forward to:

The return of normalcy to our daily schedule, and with it the return of a more sane and less psychotic little girl.

Continuing to renew my commitment (daily, hourly, minute-by-minute if need be) to my new healthier lifestyle.

Chublet eventually aging three-years-old (and my survival through his 'terrible two's').

Spring is coming. It is a long way out, but eventually the crocus will pop their periwinkle and opalescent heads though the snow and frost and herald the coming of new life and the return of sunshine.

Le Pièce de Résistance

Okie-dokie. I made it. I am a card wielding member of the elite group of folks who've completed the 'Wilton Cake Decorating Course 1'.

Ain't I somethin' special? (she says while grinning her best Clampet smile)

Here's the cake I did for class 3 (two weeks ago):

This is my first 'attempt' at roses. Notice how they're a lovely shade of orange...and that they appear to have had, perhaps, a bad LSD trip.

What can I say? Roses are a heck of a lot harder to do than they look. Now, every time I go into Safeway (or some store with a bakery) and I cruise past the 'ready to go' birthday cakes that are loaded with roses, I have a whole new appreciation for just what a pain it is to do them (and at the point this picture was taken I could only do roses very badly).

See, I learned (besides technique) that to properly create roses out of sugar and hydrogenated fat (or, if you must, butter creme icing) you need two separate consistencies of icing: Stiff (for the foundation of the rose) and medium/stiff (for the petals). You also (clearly?) need two different icing tips, and as a result, two different bags of icing with their respective consistencies. Furthermore, you need to have a 'flower nail' to build your rose upon. If you're me, this is approximately 3 too many separate objects to manipulate at nearly the same time.

Creating roses, beautiful roses that is, is a true art form. I am utterly a novice.

This Wednesday I completed my final Course 1 class. Sadly, J., my friend whom I was taking the course with, couldn't make it due to a non-life threatening illness (she just felt like crud). I was bummed that she wasn't able to make it (and thus is not a certified Wilton Course 1 card carrying member...oh the division of the classes, will it never end?). But, I carried on and completed the last class, with J. in my mind, and I did my Girl-scout best in her place. Here is the artsy view of my pièce de résistance:

The cool thing about my cake is that while I was making it I really had no idea what direction I wanted to head as far as decorating it. I just started making roses and plopping them onto the cake. I was so thrilled that I was finally starting to get the rudimentary elements of forming the flowers down, I forgot to plan what they were going to ultimately 'do' on my cake. So, due to copyright laws I can't show you the picture of the Wilton cake in the course book, but trust me this one looks pretty dang similar (in the book the roses and sweet peas (on the base) are lavender whereas mine are sort of a pink-ish color). Unfortunately, when I took the photo I had the white balance on my camera set for 'incandescent' lighting, when I truly should have had it set for 'fluorescent' lighting, so the picture is a bit dark, but I think you can still get the main idea.

For your viewing approval (or not):

In the end, I'm glad I took the class. I had a great time, and felt a myriad of emotions that ran the gamut from frustrated and grossed out to a sense of accomplishment and renewal.

It is true what 'they' say (whomever they happen to be): when you run yourself ragged and have given everything you have away and you don't stop and spend some time renewing your own spirit, your reserves do run dry. After taking this class just for something fun for myself, I feel renewed, and I learned a few new skills.

I'm looking forward to being able to improve on what I've learned, and to use the skills to buoy the spirits of others. I need to get back into the habit of giving to others and this might just be one small way I can do that. Who wouldn't be pleasantly surprised (diets not withstanding) with an out-of-the-blue cake or confection?

Seeking Absolution...

I normally try to make my posts more up-beat and cheerful--we all have enough drama in our own lives without anyone elses', but today I'm in a bad space. So, here it goes:

My kids are acting terribly, I'm tired and cranky, and I'm feeling pretty useless as a human being right now (can you hear the violins playing yet?).

When I'm in this space I think about social movements in history. The women's liberation movement is something that I think about quite often. Strange, but true. I often think that what my grandmother and mother have done for my generation is both good and very, very bad. The Women's Movement created the possibility of independence, a voice, and choices for women; yet it also took away that which we already had. I am grateful for what it accomplished in that I can go into most businesses, doctors' offices, or any other public place and be treated (mostly) in a fair and upright manner. I can complain and have my complaints heard, addressed, and changes made as a result of them. I can drive a car, vote, have a career, a family; I can have it all, thanks to the Women's Liberation Movement.

Or can I?

Today, I feel the crushing pressure closing in on me from all directions. Dolce et decorum est...said Wilfred Owen (one of my favorite poets, whose works were not discovered for the gems they are until well after his death). It is an old lie. You cannot possibly have it all. I cannot have it all, though try I may.

I had the luxury of being a Stay At Home Mother (S.A.H.M) for a year, after my son was born. I about went crazy the first few months--what the heck do you actually do with a toddler and a newborn all day long, with no help? I had never had the experience of being a REAL mother; I went back to work before my daughter turned 4 months old. I have felt extreme guilt over going to work so soon after Peanut was born because of the relief that I felt to be 'free' again. See, I couldn't wait to return to work. Working was so much easier than being a MOM. I got to love on my girl for an hour or so in the morning, and then whisk her off to my daycare provider (whom I absolutely adore--she is a fabulous human being who truly loves what she does) go to work and then pick her up at about 3:30pm. That left me with about 3 hours of being a MOM before Peanut went to bed. Truly, I was only a parent for 4ish hours a day.

That is not parenting.

Then, along came my Chubbers and I flat out told B.J. I would stay home for the year and be a mom. It was hard, but by the time my year was up, I was loathe to go back to work. I wanted to stay home with my babies. I wanted to be a MOM. I loved seeing all their changes and watching Chub-chub make all his milestones (Chubbers is a Typical child, v.s. Peanut having multiple developmental delays, not the leas of which is ASD). It was such a pure joy. It nearly crushed me to drop my babies off at the daycare and head to work.

Well, here it is, summer, and I am 'off' work for a couple of months. My children and I have to get used to each other again. Learn each others rhythms and needs. We're getting there. Slowly. Peanut is having a tough time adjusting. Her attitude just keeps getting worse. She is mean and nasty to her brother; she screams at me and and her brother, and her behavior is just 'ugly' overall. This makes me feel like crap. No, it make me feel like dog crap. Peanut tells me she wants her teacher. I'm glad, because it means she's having a good time at school. I'm also distraught because, she behaves nicely for the teacher and plays well with the kiddos, but for me she is a terror. I feel so ineffectual. I feel like she would prefer to be at the daycare and at school rather than be home. She has told me she doesn't want to 'go home' after school or other outings. How should I take this? What does it mean? Does she hate me? Is being home so terrible? I take it as she would rather be anywhere than with me. It probably isn't true, but on a day like today, that is how it feels.

Which brings me back to the fact that I can't have it all and that the Women's Movement had a dark side to it.

In the past women were at home, to keep house and to tend the children. Men went to work, and made a decent living wage. The roles were sex-stereotyped, but likely worked in most families (yes, I am aware of abuse, limitations, etc.). Today, women are expected to do all of the same jobs that they did before, just they're also expected to pull in a substantial paycheck to go along with it. The Second Shift details the ins and outs of a modern 'liberated' woman. I fall into that category. Men today make less money than they did 30 years ago (adjusted for inflation) and finding a decent job for them is more and more difficult. Women have bridged the gap far enough to make $.70 to every $1.00 a man makes. Men cannot support their families today as they were able to in the 1950's working a single (non college-degree) job. It is so unfair. Are we really further ahead than our great-grandmothers? It seems, to me, men and women are more depressed, more angry, and their quality of life is much lower than it was in my grandmother's day. Is this supposed to be called progress?

I work. Part-time (really my hours total up to between 35-40 per week). My children go to daycare. Daycare dissolves the majority of my paycheck; once my student loan and some of the smaller household bills are taken care of I have virtually no money left. I see my children after work (between 3:30pm and bedtime) during the crabbiest time of day for them and for me. I am in charge of upkeep of the house, groceries, landscaping, laundry, and other miscellanea. I am not complaining about my husband. He does a good job of being a husband, father, and provider. He does share in the tasks of the household. I just wind up doing more, after all, I work part-time.

Why am I working? I keep rationalizing that my children won't necessarily remember me being home while they were infants/toddlers. They grow up so fast. I'll be able to be there for them after school during their school-age years--where it really counts (I can go to all their activities, be active in their lives and know who their friends are, and supervise them when many other people leave their kids to 'fend for themselves' after a certain age--opening the door to pre-marital sex, drugs, and all sort of other fun things). But, WHY? Why do I work? My paycheck is too small to really make much of a difference. I still do everything I did when I was home for that year. I'll tell you why: So I don't lose my license. I cannot afford to stay home with my kids and lose my license. I worked so hard for it (I got a master's degree after it!!). I can't afford to take the exorbitantly priced graduate school classes that would maintain my license (at $500+ per class/term). Someday my children will fly from the nest. If my licensure is kaput, where do I go? I went to school so I wouldn't have to wait tables the rest of my life. My mother insisted I get a degree so that I could take care of myself should the need arise. As one of my collegues has shown me the need arises all too often (her husband is no longer able to support their family). Had she not maintained her license, they would be homeless. What do I do?

I am stuck.

I feel like I can't go back, and I cannot move forward. The proverbial 'rock and a hard place.' What do I do? What do I do?

I need someone to give me their benediction and tell me that I'm doing o.k. That my kids will turn out just fine. That this season in my life won't go on forever. That I'm doing the right thing.

I need to know that it isn't all for nothing. I need to know that I'm not a bad mother.

Life is hard when you're teetering on the razor's edge in a pair of stilettos while trying to be everything to everyone. Again, I think of the Women's Liberation Movement. Was it all worth it? Am I a happier person because of all the work the mothers of yesterday did? Again, I don't know.

Bliss on a pink two-wheeler

I sparkled. Yes. I absolutely sparkled in my joy of watching the Peanut's accomplishments.

Yesterday afternoon, after we had our highly-nutritious dinner (fresh from Costco's deli) of chicken and penne Alfredo, I took Peanut outside to burn off some energy and enjoy the day. It was a perfectly beautiful day: clear blue sky, cool gentle breeze blowing, and lots of golden vitamin-D rich sunshine, all in a package 70 degree deal.

In a word: perfect.

After a long winter of steel gray days and endless drizzle (a.k.a. Northwest sunshine) that has enough humidity to chill you to the bone, a day like yesterday is a gift from Above. We must (or rather I have to...) cherish such days--we need squirrel away the acorns of memory to pull out and nibble on during our dreary, gray winters. Sometimes, it is all that sustains us when the weather report has been "cloudy, with ongoing showers, followed by more overcast days and a possible low front and more rain....".

Anyhow, I decided to take full advantage of our day and I made the executive decision that Peanut needed to practice riding her new pink bicycle.

Yikes.

The last two times we'd taken her out on her bicycle went like this: get to the end of the driveway, park the bike on the sidewalk, plop the Peanut on her seat and....she becomes belligerent, whiny, and cries and has a fit until we finally let her quit (after having put on a great show for the neighbors of cajoling, wheedling, pleading with her to "Just try it sweetie, it is so much fun. You'll love it!" to have her blood-curdling reply of "NOOO!!!!! I DON'T WANT TO!!!!!!!!!!" Very fun, you know, working toward that 'worst-parent-in-the-world award.).

Well, I had decided that we would muster all of our 'little-engine-that-could' energy and 'whip' the riding the bike thing. Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

Actually, much to my delight that is exactly what we did. Peanut climbed on her bicycle (by herself) and pedaled slowly down the sidewalk with me sauntering behind. As we got to the street corner I asked her "Do you want to go to the park?"

"Sure. I go fast!" she cheerfully informed me.

So off to the park (about 2 blocks from our house, on our same street) we go. Once we get there, as usual there's multiple little league games going on, surrounded by parents cheering on their little sluggers, and younger ( sometimes older) siblings playing on the grass, entertaining themselves.

And "BIG" kids riding bikes.

Peanut wants to be a "BIG" kid. And ride a bike like a "BIG" kid. This is good for us, because it spurs her on to emulate her peers.

As we get to the track the surrounds the fields, Peanut's confidence begins to build. It is the most magical thing to observe-- confidence building, that is. She begins to pedal a little faster, and gain a little more distance. She's now pedaling 5-10 feet ahead of me. This is fantastic. Especially, because the last time, once we got past the screaming-Mimi fit, she pedaled so slow that even at my slowest gait, she trailed me by about 15 feet. Let's put it this way: If I had sat down every 20 steps I could have enjoyed a tea by the time she caught up with me.

I'm beginning to have to walk a bit faster. Perhaps, you could even describe it as walking briskly. (A bonus: I get a little much needed exercise.)

Peanut is gaining even more speed and confidence as she goes along. I periodically call out to her "Don't crash into people! Say 'Excuse me'. Go around them..." all the while mentally panicking: What if she falls down? She'll never get back on her bike. She'll lose her confidence. Oh jeez, don't hit that little kid...Oh, please, dear Lord, don't let her fall down.

She's cruising along at a good beginner speed--at about 50 feet ahead of me! If I decided to hoof it at a jog, I doubt I could have kept pace with her. I am completely in awe at this point. Less than 24 hours earlier she pitched such a fit I thought for sure Child Protective Services would be called, and now, here she was, doing it. Actually doing it, and enjoying herself.

Then it happens: she falls down.

While trying to go around a couple with a baby in a stroller, she loses her balance, over compensates and crashes. (insert bomb exploding noise: here) I do run to her at this point--boobs swinging embarrassingly, like to give myself a black-eye--and scoop her into my arms. My poor baby is sobbing and has received a trophy of some 'road-rash' on her knee. Luckily, the fall didn't really even break the skin, just 'skinned' her knee a bit. I cuddle my girl on my shoulder and assure her she's o.k. Talking to her about how proud of her I am that she tried to go around the people and not crash into them. Talking to her about how she's a big girl. That she is four. And that because she is four, she's a big girl and will be all right.

That does the trick. She calms down, climbs back onto her bicycle and tentatively pedals forward. "Mommy, hold me." She commands.

"No, sweetie. I can't. I'm right her for you. You're safe." I reply. Again, it works. I don't want her to quit now, and forever associate falling down with her bicycle--if she does, she'll never get back on it. That is just the way the Peanut works. And, if I hold her as she rides, she'll never feel safe if I let go. What do I do? I swallow the lump of pain, grief, fear, and anxiety in my throat and say to her what I did. And, it worked. She pedaled slowly (very, very, slowly) and her confidence sprouted up again and began to grow. Then, she saw another little girl, about 7 years-old going 'fast' and off Peanut went. Lickety-split, she's going again. Pedaling quickly, sitting up straight and proud. And riding her pink bicycle.

Watching my beautiful little peanut ride her little pink two-wheeler was one of the most beautiful sights I've seen. I thought to myself: here is my beautiful little girl, 4 years old, riding a bicycle. And, this is the same beautiful little girl who I used to have to drive 45 minutes to a bigger metropolitan area to do physical therapy. The same little girl who did not roll over, sit up, push up, crawl, walk...without direct and intense pediatric physical therapy.

The same beautiful little girl.

It took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. My beautiful little girl had just passed another huge childhood milestone: riding a bicycle.

We, who are naturally disposed to do things, often take for granted those things we do without effort. There are so many different neurological 'hurdles' that take place to do the most basic physical things. Most of us do them without trying; Peanut does them with great effort. I marvel when I think of the gross motor skills needed to pedal a bicycle, the synaptic relays that happen in a fraction of a second in order for all the muscles, bones, and nerves to 'fire' correctly and produce the desired result. It is truly amazing. The Great Engineer knew what he was doing.

Somewhere, someone said that the human body is the greatest engineering feat ever completed. After watching my Peanut ride her little pink two-wheeled bicycle I'm inclined to think whomever said it was right.

I am so proud of my little girl. Verbose as I am, words fail to capture the emotion I feel toward Peanut and her accomplishment. She's the most amazing little being and never ceases to surprise me with all that she CAN do.