Amy Chua recently came out with the much talked about memoir "The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother". In it, she talks about such lovely stories as forcing her seven year old daughter to practice a piano piece for hours on end, through dinner and not allowing bathroom breaks. She talks about calling her other daughter "garbage" when she was disappointed in her. There is a story about rejecting a homemade birthday card from her young child because it wasn't "good enough". Her children were not allowed to bring home anything other than A's on report cards and couldn't have playdates or sleepovers. No television or computer, either. I'll go on the record to say I think this broad is off her nut. I get that memoirs squish and redistribute information to collectively narrate the over all story. I have no doubt this woman believed, as she was raising her daughters, that she was doing what was best for them. Her children are now almost adults and seem to be strong, intelligent and well adjusted people. I'm sure there are lots of people following her model and trying to apply some of what they learned in her book to their own parenting style. For the others, I would like to offer a slightly different view of parenting styles.
How to Not be a Tiger Mother
Music
Convince yourself that because he liked classical music as an infant, your son is a musical prodigy. Begin piano lessons at five years old and continue for three years. Never force child to practice. Pay through the nose. Never get piano tuned. When piano teacher ask why he hasn't done piano homework, throw kid under the bus and talk about how you have tried to encourage piano practice to no avail. On the ride home, lecture him about practicing piano. Once home, feel guilty about the lecture and agree he can practice tomorrow. Forget all about this deal until the next time piano teacher inquires about his progress. Again, blame the kid.
When he decides to give up piano, let him. Agree trombone is the way to go. Go to music store where you ask the guy to tell you all about things "tromboner". Don't realize you've made a giant ass out of yourself until every trombone accessory is on the counter. Buy it all because you are sure the salesman thinks you are interested in his "tromboner" and you seem to have lost ability to speak. Again, be sure to not force him to practice. Ever. Agree it is safer to leave thousand dollar rental unattended in school hallway because he has a sister and you're pretty sure one of them would end up with their head stuck in the big end of this thing or one of them would fuck with it in some un-fixable way and then you'd be out $1K.
Redeem yourself by acquiring a Wii and letting both children play Rockband on it. They may not know Beethoven, but they sure as hell know Bon Jovi and that's what matters.
Homework
Fourth grade math is the spawn of evil and you don't blame your kid for not wanting to do it. Sit with him and try to explain this stupid shit that you don't even remotely understand. Tell kid the best thing to do is to stay in from recess and do it then because his teacher will be there to help. Feel huge sense of relief on the days there is no homework because it sucks and takes away from quality farting around time with your kids.
When conferences happen, don't be afraid to use such excuses as lost backpacks or misunderstood assignments...this works like a charm.
Homemade Crafts
Unlike the Tiger Mother, us non tigers save everything. Boxes and boxes of scraps of paper with crayon smudges are held as sacred documents in giant storage bins. Dig these out occasionally and force children to listen to your stories about the little cute reindeer they made in preschool. Know that even though their rolling eyes say they hate this trip down memory lane, their hearts are loving it.
Television
Have it on. Non stop. Figure it's a crazy world and you are doing them a service by watching Paula Deen because it is forcing them to REALLY concentrate on their homework. Know that when they ask you to turn it down, they don't really mean it, they're just jealous you don't have to practice your letters and with the exception of your nine's you have your multiplication tables DOWN.
Computer
This is the prize. Use it when you need to punish, bribe or otherwise control your children. Otherwise, prop door to computer room open with a boot so you can half assed hear what websites they are going on because you're nothing if not responsible about computer use. Start an Office marathon. Watch four episodes. Realize kids have been on youtube for two hours and will most likely need to be de-programmed. Wonder if Jim and Pam are going to have another baby.
Playdates
Have them. Have kids come to your home where you will let them do pretty much whatever they want. Five cookies before dinner? Sure. Run around in the backyard without a jacket in the rain? Why not. If both children have friends over, shoo them all outside with a stern warning not to kill each other and to let you know if anyone loses an eye.
Meals
Eat in front of the TV more often than not...Spongebob is a favorite dinner time companion, especially if cheeseburgers are involved. Then you can all pretend to be eating Krabbie Patties at the Krusty Krab.
Bedtime
This requires several bellows and 'no more computer' threats. After what seems to be an eternity, they WILL eventually wear out and crash.
Love
Give them all you have and accept them for who they are. Not who you want them to be. Huge difference. I have a son who will be at least 6'3" and built like a brick shithouse. I had to accept a long time ago that he will not be doing the "Hi Mom" thing in the camera when he wins the Super Bowl. More than likely, he will do something that requires tremendous empathy and compassion, for those are his strengths. I have a daughter who thinks most dresses are stupid...so again, no "Hi Mom" as she's crowned Miss America. However, I've no doubt her intelligence will take her amazing places.
So, Ms. Chua, you parent your way, I'll parent mine. We both have reasons for how and why we do what we do. You method seems to be geared toward creating children that represent who you are. My method is geared toward letting my kids figure out for themselves who they are...and that would never, ever, involve depriving them of food, water or bathroom breaks so that they could memorize a piano piece to make ME happy. Don't misunderstand me. I would take a bullet for my kids. I am their strongest advocate. I also have zero problem with laying down the law when necessary and both kids can discern between the "I'm starting to get annoyed, knock it off" tone and the "You little shits have gotten on my last nerve, that's it!" tone. Maybe the difference is you are pruning your children like a bonsai and I'm letting mine grow the way nature intended. Sure, yours is more uniform and contained...but mine are free. Free to excel, free to love, free to fuck up, free to change their mind, free to be angry, free to live the life they want. Oh, and ten bucks says your kids end up on a shrinks couch with mother issues way before mine do.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Weight Watchers
As many of you know, I took a big leap of faith and jumped into the weight loss abyss a few months ago. I had a fabulous idea about collecting pledges for pounds lost and donating the the money to a food bank. This was such a good idea. It still is. I am still working toward the goal, however it is clear my 41 year old metabolism has a very different idea about how long it will take....but that's ok, because after a few months and 11 pounds, I decided to join Weight Watchers. If Jennifer Hudson can do it, so can I! What about Jenny McCarthy? I will be the next success story....maybe WW will feature me on their website...there I will be, smiling and happy with a caption "Andrea lost 50 pounds with Weight Watchers...You can, too! Get Started Today!" These are the kinds of thoughts that run in and out of my brain...random, inane and based on nothing even close to reality...however, to those of you who may be considering Weight Watchers, I'd like to share with you my experience thus far in an effort to spread my vast knowledge and idiocy....
My Guide to Weight Watchers and the Subsequent Fall out of Doing it All Wrong.
The night before you start, bake a ton of cookies. Chocolate chip AND peanut butter. Excuse this because both kids have friends over and you love being the mom who cooks the good stuff....add some sliders and you are golden....these kids will never want to leave your house...bask in the glory when you hear child's friend tell daughter how lucky she is. Do a head waggle - self back pat combo when no one's looking....
The next day, take daughter and her little friend to cheerleading camp. Admire / smirk at the teen age girls in super short shorts with UNBELIEVABLE bodies. Wonder if ANY of them realize how amazing their bodies are because you see a few gals who had figures similar to yours in high school, when you thought you were gargantuan. At 138 pounds. Vow that your daughter will appreciate her figure but not obsess about it. Promise self you will throw away scale so she doesn't think the number has any significance. Again, head-waggle. You are heading in the right direction with both your diet and mentality.
After dropping them off, head to Weight Watchers meeting. See someone you know pulling in. Haul ass as fast as you can away from parking lot. She doesn't need to know what you're up to. Circle block. Talk yourself off the ledge and remind yourself you are a grown up who can face running into someone you barely know at a WW meeting. Notice she is leaving! Feel exhilarated because you're a chickenshit who didn't want to do the whole "oh, yeah, time to take off a few pounds...heh heh" conversation with her because she's skinny and you aren't and that equals only one of you talking about losing weight and it's you and that is a big ball of suck.
Park directly in front of meeting. Keeping head forward, scan eyes from left to right, sort of like a spy. Make sure no one is looking. Take a HUGE slurp off your mocha. Wish you had gone pee before because you are about to weigh. Register. Step on scale. Step off. Get little booklet that shows your starting weight. Really wish you had gone pee and downed a box of laxatives the night before instead of three cookies. Have light bulb moment about COMBINING LAXATIVES WITH COOKIE DOUGH. Decide you are having a flashback to those two days you were bulimic in high school and shake off this brilliant idea as possibly not brilliant. Although it has all the makings of brilliance. And stomach cramps.
Meeting has already started. Find seat in the back. Listen as woman talks about how she hasn't had a piece of chocolate since April. Start to wonder what kind of cult you have just joined. When meeting ends, meet with leader to receive additional booklets and information. Mind starts to wander. Listen to him babble about his weight loss and how great he feels. Tell him about your fundraising plan....watch his eyes glaze over...know he isn't listening to you because when you are done talking he simply says "hey! did you get a sample of the cinnamon breakfast bar? they are REALLY good and you can buy them out front!"
Sit facing each other as he goes over the plan...start daydreaming about your mocha. Hear words like "so, you have 30 points to work with...but you also get 49 allowance points so you aren't deprived"...try to refocus....hear him talk about "power foods" and the "little green pyramids"...mind still wandering although you are putting on a good show...hear him explain about fruit being "free" and also a "power food". Thank him for his time, waltz out, drink remainder of mocha and look up points values for chocolate chip cookies (2). Oh, mocha? 11. Realize we all have our crosses to bear and yours comes in the form of chocolate, milk and decaf espresso. With extra whip cream. And light ice. But it's nonfat, because you are all about slimming down.
Give this your full 60% effort. Skim over reading materials, determine how many activity points you earn by walking for an hour on the treadmill (5)...shove booklets in drawer.
Think about what you've learned from your half-assed reading and the short conversation with the WW guy. Start to realize WW is the way to go...with your free green pyramid foods and your 30 points and you 49 allowance points AND the extra five activity points you can add, you will be eating until the cows come home. The next day, order a caramel drizzle on your whip cream, because if there is one thing you accurately remember Steve or Mel or John or whatever the hell his name was said, was that you shouldn't starve yourself and that the WW wizards want you to make sure you consume your points value every day...You are KILLING this new way of eating...your fingers start to feel a little puffier in the morning but you tell yourself it's because you have abandoned the low carb way of eating and since you have all these points to eat, a huge plate of spaghetti at 10:00 pm really doesn't matter, because it's clearly all scientific and you just need to power through the puffy fingers.
Go to next meeting. Get on the scale. You have lost one half of a pound. You have exercised for over an hour every day and you've lost one half of a pound. Explain your exercise routine to weight checker who has a name badge announcing she lost 117 pounds in 18 months on WW. Wonder if she has weird stomach skin. Start darting eyes to her mid-section to sneak a peek. Realize she is trying to give you tips but you are kind of obsessed about stomach skin. Wonder if you ever got a tummy tuck what your belly button would look like, because you have a really good belly button and wouldn't want it messed with. She's still talking. You're still in plastic surgery la-la land.
Head home, annoyed. Dig booklets out of bedside table. Jennifer Hudson is scream singing her new skinny anthem in that white dress and now she's just bugging the shit out of you, not inspiring you AT ALL. Re-read information. Realize your mistake. You had a choice. You could eat as many of the free green pyramid foods OR foods totalling your point value. Not both. Go on the internet for more research...turns out, it's NOT mandatory to add your activity points to your daily gluttony. Realize you are an idiot. But now you're an idiot who knows what she's doing. Which is ALWAYS important.
My Guide to Weight Watchers and the Subsequent Fall out of Doing it All Wrong.
The night before you start, bake a ton of cookies. Chocolate chip AND peanut butter. Excuse this because both kids have friends over and you love being the mom who cooks the good stuff....add some sliders and you are golden....these kids will never want to leave your house...bask in the glory when you hear child's friend tell daughter how lucky she is. Do a head waggle - self back pat combo when no one's looking....
The next day, take daughter and her little friend to cheerleading camp. Admire / smirk at the teen age girls in super short shorts with UNBELIEVABLE bodies. Wonder if ANY of them realize how amazing their bodies are because you see a few gals who had figures similar to yours in high school, when you thought you were gargantuan. At 138 pounds. Vow that your daughter will appreciate her figure but not obsess about it. Promise self you will throw away scale so she doesn't think the number has any significance. Again, head-waggle. You are heading in the right direction with both your diet and mentality.
After dropping them off, head to Weight Watchers meeting. See someone you know pulling in. Haul ass as fast as you can away from parking lot. She doesn't need to know what you're up to. Circle block. Talk yourself off the ledge and remind yourself you are a grown up who can face running into someone you barely know at a WW meeting. Notice she is leaving! Feel exhilarated because you're a chickenshit who didn't want to do the whole "oh, yeah, time to take off a few pounds...heh heh" conversation with her because she's skinny and you aren't and that equals only one of you talking about losing weight and it's you and that is a big ball of suck.
Park directly in front of meeting. Keeping head forward, scan eyes from left to right, sort of like a spy. Make sure no one is looking. Take a HUGE slurp off your mocha. Wish you had gone pee before because you are about to weigh. Register. Step on scale. Step off. Get little booklet that shows your starting weight. Really wish you had gone pee and downed a box of laxatives the night before instead of three cookies. Have light bulb moment about COMBINING LAXATIVES WITH COOKIE DOUGH. Decide you are having a flashback to those two days you were bulimic in high school and shake off this brilliant idea as possibly not brilliant. Although it has all the makings of brilliance. And stomach cramps.
Meeting has already started. Find seat in the back. Listen as woman talks about how she hasn't had a piece of chocolate since April. Start to wonder what kind of cult you have just joined. When meeting ends, meet with leader to receive additional booklets and information. Mind starts to wander. Listen to him babble about his weight loss and how great he feels. Tell him about your fundraising plan....watch his eyes glaze over...know he isn't listening to you because when you are done talking he simply says "hey! did you get a sample of the cinnamon breakfast bar? they are REALLY good and you can buy them out front!"
Sit facing each other as he goes over the plan...start daydreaming about your mocha. Hear words like "so, you have 30 points to work with...but you also get 49 allowance points so you aren't deprived"...try to refocus....hear him talk about "power foods" and the "little green pyramids"...mind still wandering although you are putting on a good show...hear him explain about fruit being "free" and also a "power food". Thank him for his time, waltz out, drink remainder of mocha and look up points values for chocolate chip cookies (2). Oh, mocha? 11. Realize we all have our crosses to bear and yours comes in the form of chocolate, milk and decaf espresso. With extra whip cream. And light ice. But it's nonfat, because you are all about slimming down.
Think about what you've learned from your half-assed reading and the short conversation with the WW guy. Start to realize WW is the way to go...with your free green pyramid foods and your 30 points and you 49 allowance points AND the extra five activity points you can add, you will be eating until the cows come home. The next day, order a caramel drizzle on your whip cream, because if there is one thing you accurately remember Steve or Mel or John or whatever the hell his name was said, was that you shouldn't starve yourself and that the WW wizards want you to make sure you consume your points value every day...You are KILLING this new way of eating...your fingers start to feel a little puffier in the morning but you tell yourself it's because you have abandoned the low carb way of eating and since you have all these points to eat, a huge plate of spaghetti at 10:00 pm really doesn't matter, because it's clearly all scientific and you just need to power through the puffy fingers.
Go to next meeting. Get on the scale. You have lost one half of a pound. You have exercised for over an hour every day and you've lost one half of a pound. Explain your exercise routine to weight checker who has a name badge announcing she lost 117 pounds in 18 months on WW. Wonder if she has weird stomach skin. Start darting eyes to her mid-section to sneak a peek. Realize she is trying to give you tips but you are kind of obsessed about stomach skin. Wonder if you ever got a tummy tuck what your belly button would look like, because you have a really good belly button and wouldn't want it messed with. She's still talking. You're still in plastic surgery la-la land.
Head home, annoyed. Dig booklets out of bedside table. Jennifer Hudson is scream singing her new skinny anthem in that white dress and now she's just bugging the shit out of you, not inspiring you AT ALL. Re-read information. Realize your mistake. You had a choice. You could eat as many of the free green pyramid foods OR foods totalling your point value. Not both. Go on the internet for more research...turns out, it's NOT mandatory to add your activity points to your daily gluttony. Realize you are an idiot. But now you're an idiot who knows what she's doing. Which is ALWAYS important.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Toddle Time
I have decided to write a book...just like millions of other people. I love to write and have no money with which to gamble, travel or pay someone to suck fat out of my ass. So, that leaves me in front of my computer with a head full of random babble that I enjoy spewing out via the keyboard. I have decided my book will be on the mindfuck that is motherhood. I will NOT be discussing the time we went to Aspen and my children learned to ski within five minutes while the hubby and I shared hot chocolates (um, no that didn't happen)...my book will be much more real...and while it will discuss ski trips, it will also include what a pain in the ass it is to take two small children to snow covered peaks. How steadying oneself in a Honey Bucket in 0 degree weather whilst dangling a two year old butt over the gross hole and getting pee'd on in the process is just par for the course... I will be relaying all kinds of stories, adventures and experiences without the rose colored glasses that so many moms feel is necessary to put on to prove they love their kids. I would take a bullet for my kids...but motherhood isn't a fairy tale...it's hard, draining, and the moment you become a mother is when you realize you will never fully relax again...those little punks are always in the back of your mind, no matter what. Below is a short story that I would like to use as the introduction....
“I want her fired.” I said, hearing my voice tremble with rage, my cell phone miraculously not breaking from the death grip it was in.
“Excuse me? You want her, um, fired?” the calm and somewhat patronizing voice asked me.
“Yes. She should never be allowed around children, let alone be teaching them! What kind of weird brainwashing, infanticide program are you running anyway? Maybe I should contact the mayor…or the media! I want to know something is going to be done about this woman. She’s a monster who clearly needs to be committed. Maybe she’s gotten away with this in the past but not now! No way! She fucked with the wrong kid!”
With that, I glace in the rear view mirror, amazed at the resiliency of my 2 year old little boy, happily licking the ladybug stamp on his chubby little fist.
“Ma’am, can you calm down and just tell me what happened so that I might bring it to the correct supervisor for further discussion?” she was losing her snotty attitude and beginning to take me seriously. Good, I thought.
“Well, for one thing, when she asked the kids to do butterfly knees, she didn’t give my son any recognition. No ‘good job’ or ‘that’s great!’. Nothing. Then when it was time to have the kids make the letter T with their bodies, she forgot to call his name. Just forgot. Sure, she apologized, but I’m sure she didn’t mean it. Then, when it was time to go, I noticed on her little attendance sheet she had descriptions of each kid under their names, perhaps as a way to help her remember because she’s clearly in some sort of mental psychosis…anyway, under his name she had written the word STOCKY. I mean, seriously, is her intention to give him a fat complex before he’s out of diapers?!?!” I took a deep breath and waited for what I was sure going to be full agreement that this monster be locked up in a mental ward.
“OK, um, I can transfer you to her supervisor’s voice mail and you can leave a message…I’m pretty sure this isn’t a situation that will result in her being fired though. Perhaps we can transfer your son to another Toddle Time with a different instructor?” I swear, I thought that bitch was choking in some sort of giggle fit.
“Yes, that would be good. Another instructor. And she must be reprimanded at the very least….I would like a phone call to let me know how she will be disciplined.”
“Uh, certainly. I’ll transfer you….ok?” with that, I heard a full blown laugh and was immediately sent to her supervisors voice mail. She sounded about 13.
I started to leave my message but got cut off before I was done. I did include my name and number, though, and waited all day for a call back. A pleading, apologetic call back. It never came.
When I discussed the situation with my husband, he looked at me with furrowed brows, not saying much, which was good, I thought, because it clearly meant he understood the dire situation and how disastrously it could have affected our son.
“You’re nuts.” He said and walked to grab a beer.
“WHAT?” I asked, stunned.
“You’re nuts. If you weren’t a mom, if you weren’t pregnant, you’d be laughing at how ridiculous this is.” Really? Maybe you’ll laugh at how ridiculous it is to find a rubber band in your chili, Ass Munch.
That following Saturday, I took Henry to his new Toddle Time gymnastics class. As we walked in, the instructor very nervously approached me…”are you Andrea and Henry?” she asked.
“Yes…you’re Patrece? I’m so glad you had room in your class for us.” I smiled.
“Well, we didn’t actually, but this seemed to be a situation where we needed to make an exception” She kept looking at me nervously, almost waiting for my eyes to roll in the back of my head. She gave me a tight grin and approached Henry the way one might approach a ticking backpack left in a subway station.
“Hi, Henry! I’m so glad to have you in my class!!” Her enthusiasm was a little much but I was glad to have someone who was actually going to be nice to my kid.
The rest of the 30 minute session was full of Henry centered attention. This lady knows how to do it! I thought. She’s a great teacher!
When the class was over, I was on cloud nine. My voice had been heard. My child was being treated like royalty. I wasn’t sure what, but I was positive the skank that he had originally was being disciplined in some medieval fashion. Life was good.
After putting a dinosaur stamp on both of his feet, Patrece the Wonderful Gymnastics Teacher sent Directly from Heaven asked me tentatively if I enjoyed the class.
“Yes! Thank you, it was such a wonderful difference!”
“Good. I spent a bit more time with Henry today, to get him comfortable, since this was his first day. Usually I try to spread my attention evenly, to all the kids.” She smiled, again looking at me like I might bite her leg.
“Oh, sure, I understand. Thanks so much!” I gleefully grabbed my baby, put his dump truck emblazoned jacket on and began to head out.
On my way, I overheard one of the moms from the class lodging a complaint against Patrece the Wonderful Gymnastics Teacher Sent Directly From Heaven.
“She barely spoke to my child! That other little boy got as many dinosaur stamps as he wanted and my son only got one! I mean, seriously, if this is the kind of favoritism you guys support, I’m going to have to ask for my money back!”
The receptionist cocked her head to the side, looking at the woman patronizingly. “Perhaps we could transfer your son to another Toddle Time class, with a different instructor?”
“Yes! That would be good…” I could see what I’m sure was some sort of steam escaping from her ears.
Stifling my laughter, I looked at Henry and walked out. What a nutcase, I thought. It wasn’t until last week I got the irony of it…six years later.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Generation X
I was having dinner last week with some girlfriends and heard myself ask aloud "didn't you love the 70's?" Granted, a few were a bit younger and didn't quite meet the birth timeline to be considered Generation X so I got a few shrugged shoulders and polite smiles. Well, I'm going on record. The seventies rocked. The eighties were awesome. Granted, we have loads more technology at our fingertips but who's to say that's always for the best?
I have two kids. I am observant...I notice and I compare. I get that some things have improved, others haven't...and this is what I think....
Vehicles / Traveling
Carseats & Boosters
OK, this is a no-brainer...statistics show zillions of babies would be dead if not five point harnessed into a car seat that has been bolted to the back seat. If you put said car seat in the front seat, you are a monster because of, that's right, the risk of the air bags exploding...which didn't exist in the seventies. My favorite spot to sit was on the floor board of the passenger side. In the front. When I was about seven. I would use the space as my own personal cubby, look up at my mom and babble about Andy Gibb. NO ONE THOUGHT IT WAS WEIRD when we would get to our destination and rather than being un-strapped from a booster seat, I would spill out onto the parking lot. The same applies for pick-ups. No one thought anything of a bunch of kids going down a freeway in the back. I would do that with my cousins and we'd pretend we were different types of dogs. By the time the ride was over, our hair would have a million tangles and the only thing that would work was half a bottle of No More Tears. Who doesn't remember being left in the car when your mom ran into the store? Again, this wasn't weird. It also wasn't weird to leave the car running because it was cold and she wanted to keep the heater on. If someone were to stumble upon a car full of kids in a parking lot with a running car these days, the shit? Would HIT THE FAN.
School
As a child, I had a shoestring with our house key on it and wore it tied around my neck, under my shirt. I WALKED to and from school alone. No adult supervision, just other kids, doing the same thing, half of whom had fed themselves breakfast that consisted of either Pop Tarts or Fruity Pebbles. Nowadays, we are made to feel guilty if we even consider sugary cereal and eggs that aren't fucked with to include extra omegas because clearly, regular eggs will turn them into drooling idiots.
There were a few kids back in high school who regularly brought rifles to school...they'd put them in their lockers (yes, lockers) so they could go hunting after school. It never occurred to anyone these guys might lose it and go on a shooting rampage. The mentality, the ideas, just simply weren't there. Now, however, a kindergartner bringing in an army guy holding a little piece of pointing plastic that is supposed to be a gun but actually looks more like a toothpick makes the news. Because clearly he is a tiny maniac with a pipe bomb in his SpongeBob backpack...probably nestled next to his Juicy Juice box.
We picked teams. Sometimes we were the last picked, sometimes we were first, depending on who the captains were. If it was our best friend, we got to strut up next to them and look at the losers who hadn't been picked yet. If it wasn't a friend, we would talk to the remaining unchosen about how much we hated dodge ball and pretend not to notice the diminishing group of hopefuls. Gym teachers didn't give a shit about how this made us feel. We were expected to suck it up, grab a giant pink ball and hurl it as hard as possible at someone elses face while they tirelessly blew their whistles. My kids didn't know what dodge ball was until I told them, because it was determined at some point to be too violent...hmmm, MY generation threw balls at each other and went through the humiliating team picking process. But we didn't shoot each other. Today, anything considered 'too rough' is eliminated...and kids are shooting each other...connection?
Guys drove old trans ams and mustangs and wore permed mullets with their parachute pants. We wore leggings and giant sweaters. We teased the shit out of our hair and wore shoes that had laces with pictures on them. Now? Guys wear pants that hang down past their knees, forcing them to walk like they have elephantitis of the genitals. Girls? Wear practically nothing except a Bluetooth.
Everything else...
We had musicians that stood the test of time. Bon Jovi and Motley Crue are still hugely successful and touring. Does anyone really think the Jonas Brothers will sell out Madison Square Garden in 25 years? No. We went to concerts and spent too much money on concert t shirts. There was no youtube...so we saw it live or we didn't see it. We also were the first generation to REALLY push the limits. Mohawk? Seen it. Purple hair? Seen it. Nose ring? Please, half of my friends have them. Nothing 'rebellious' really shocks us. We laugh at idiocy (ie wearing jeans that don't cover the ass), but aren't shocked by it.
We went to arcades. We put in our quarters and played Pac Man until our hands cramped. Now, kids have X Boxes and Wii's. Finding a quarter in the return coin thingie was exhilarating.
We played outside until it was dark. Running, jumping, riding bikes and climbing trees. Now, kids sit on their asses and do all of this via some virtual game....and we wonder why childhood obesity is out of control? Hello, people, it's NOT the Fruity Pebbles. It's the fact these kids aren't moving like we did.
We HAD JOBS. Everyone I knew as a teenager had some piddly job they hated. I have spoken to friends with young adult children who have never worked. Ever. But they spend countless hours doing World of Warcraft..and brag about how much their accounts are 'worth.'
I get that times change. I understand and appreciate all of the wonderful things technology has brought us. I truly do. But if I had a choice, my kids would grow up at a point in time they would ride their bike for hours, exploring our neighborhood...they would get thirsty and rather than come inside, they'd drink out of the hose. I could take them to McDonalds for dinner and not know what the fuck a trans fat was. We would go to a drive-in movie in our truck, sit in the back with blankets and enjoy the sound of the crackly, clunky speaker hanging on for dear life. We wouldn't have cell phones that were glued to our heads. We wouldn't assume the world would stop revolving if we weren't text-able. We would laugh and point at the moron with pants around his ankles because that's just damn ridiculous...and rather than worry if he had a fucking Uzi in his giant pants, we would be confident he was just an idiot and not about to blow our faces off. We wouldn't know what the hell 'politically correct' meant. That's how MY generation grew up....and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I have two kids. I am observant...I notice and I compare. I get that some things have improved, others haven't...and this is what I think....
Vehicles / Traveling
Carseats & Boosters
OK, this is a no-brainer...statistics show zillions of babies would be dead if not five point harnessed into a car seat that has been bolted to the back seat. If you put said car seat in the front seat, you are a monster because of, that's right, the risk of the air bags exploding...which didn't exist in the seventies. My favorite spot to sit was on the floor board of the passenger side. In the front. When I was about seven. I would use the space as my own personal cubby, look up at my mom and babble about Andy Gibb. NO ONE THOUGHT IT WAS WEIRD when we would get to our destination and rather than being un-strapped from a booster seat, I would spill out onto the parking lot. The same applies for pick-ups. No one thought anything of a bunch of kids going down a freeway in the back. I would do that with my cousins and we'd pretend we were different types of dogs. By the time the ride was over, our hair would have a million tangles and the only thing that would work was half a bottle of No More Tears. Who doesn't remember being left in the car when your mom ran into the store? Again, this wasn't weird. It also wasn't weird to leave the car running because it was cold and she wanted to keep the heater on. If someone were to stumble upon a car full of kids in a parking lot with a running car these days, the shit? Would HIT THE FAN.
School
As a child, I had a shoestring with our house key on it and wore it tied around my neck, under my shirt. I WALKED to and from school alone. No adult supervision, just other kids, doing the same thing, half of whom had fed themselves breakfast that consisted of either Pop Tarts or Fruity Pebbles. Nowadays, we are made to feel guilty if we even consider sugary cereal and eggs that aren't fucked with to include extra omegas because clearly, regular eggs will turn them into drooling idiots.
There were a few kids back in high school who regularly brought rifles to school...they'd put them in their lockers (yes, lockers) so they could go hunting after school. It never occurred to anyone these guys might lose it and go on a shooting rampage. The mentality, the ideas, just simply weren't there. Now, however, a kindergartner bringing in an army guy holding a little piece of pointing plastic that is supposed to be a gun but actually looks more like a toothpick makes the news. Because clearly he is a tiny maniac with a pipe bomb in his SpongeBob backpack...probably nestled next to his Juicy Juice box.
We picked teams. Sometimes we were the last picked, sometimes we were first, depending on who the captains were. If it was our best friend, we got to strut up next to them and look at the losers who hadn't been picked yet. If it wasn't a friend, we would talk to the remaining unchosen about how much we hated dodge ball and pretend not to notice the diminishing group of hopefuls. Gym teachers didn't give a shit about how this made us feel. We were expected to suck it up, grab a giant pink ball and hurl it as hard as possible at someone elses face while they tirelessly blew their whistles. My kids didn't know what dodge ball was until I told them, because it was determined at some point to be too violent...hmmm, MY generation threw balls at each other and went through the humiliating team picking process. But we didn't shoot each other. Today, anything considered 'too rough' is eliminated...and kids are shooting each other...connection?
Guys drove old trans ams and mustangs and wore permed mullets with their parachute pants. We wore leggings and giant sweaters. We teased the shit out of our hair and wore shoes that had laces with pictures on them. Now? Guys wear pants that hang down past their knees, forcing them to walk like they have elephantitis of the genitals. Girls? Wear practically nothing except a Bluetooth.
Everything else...
We had musicians that stood the test of time. Bon Jovi and Motley Crue are still hugely successful and touring. Does anyone really think the Jonas Brothers will sell out Madison Square Garden in 25 years? No. We went to concerts and spent too much money on concert t shirts. There was no youtube...so we saw it live or we didn't see it. We also were the first generation to REALLY push the limits. Mohawk? Seen it. Purple hair? Seen it. Nose ring? Please, half of my friends have them. Nothing 'rebellious' really shocks us. We laugh at idiocy (ie wearing jeans that don't cover the ass), but aren't shocked by it.
We went to arcades. We put in our quarters and played Pac Man until our hands cramped. Now, kids have X Boxes and Wii's. Finding a quarter in the return coin thingie was exhilarating.
We played outside until it was dark. Running, jumping, riding bikes and climbing trees. Now, kids sit on their asses and do all of this via some virtual game....and we wonder why childhood obesity is out of control? Hello, people, it's NOT the Fruity Pebbles. It's the fact these kids aren't moving like we did.
We HAD JOBS. Everyone I knew as a teenager had some piddly job they hated. I have spoken to friends with young adult children who have never worked. Ever. But they spend countless hours doing World of Warcraft..and brag about how much their accounts are 'worth.'
I get that times change. I understand and appreciate all of the wonderful things technology has brought us. I truly do. But if I had a choice, my kids would grow up at a point in time they would ride their bike for hours, exploring our neighborhood...they would get thirsty and rather than come inside, they'd drink out of the hose. I could take them to McDonalds for dinner and not know what the fuck a trans fat was. We would go to a drive-in movie in our truck, sit in the back with blankets and enjoy the sound of the crackly, clunky speaker hanging on for dear life. We wouldn't have cell phones that were glued to our heads. We wouldn't assume the world would stop revolving if we weren't text-able. We would laugh and point at the moron with pants around his ankles because that's just damn ridiculous...and rather than worry if he had a fucking Uzi in his giant pants, we would be confident he was just an idiot and not about to blow our faces off. We wouldn't know what the hell 'politically correct' meant. That's how MY generation grew up....and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Art of Christmas Shopping
This time of year comes at the same time. It is not surprise to anyone. December 25th is always December 25th. You would think we'd plan ahead...some of us do. Most of us? Do NOT. We wait until the last moment to fight mall traffic, glare down other shoppers for a parking space, wait in long lines all so our kids can rip open presents, toss them aside and move on to the next gift. If we have very small kids, 99% of the time they will be far more pleased with the huge box whatever you got them came in. MnM's in a stocking trumps all. So why do we do it? The money, the stress...why? Because. And because we do it, I have assembled a how to list for the savvy shopper....
My Guide to Christmas Shopping
First, you'll need money. Get some from the bank. Head to Costco. Fight for a parking space. Buy the Scooby Doo limited edition set that comes in the groovy Mystery Machine carrying case because you are a child of the seventies and LOVED Scooby, but claim it's for your children when you run into an acquaintance who has a shopping cart full of grown up stuff like fancy crackers, some weird book on sculptures and wine you know cost way more than your Scooby set. You know you'll get more out of the cartoons than she will out of the wine but don't mention this to her. Start to compare carts. You have cartoons, a fuzzy blanket and ice cream. Realize she is probably also comparing carts and will probably go home and tell her husband what a lazy, ice cream loving, fuzzy blanket wearing, cartoon watching idiot you are. Decide you should throw in some fish oil to make your cart a little more well-balanced. Decide you need some samples to get you through because it's going to be a long day. Pretend that you are still shopping and non-chalantly walk past sample tables. Listen to demo lady rambling on and on about how versatile Greek yogurt is and wonder if she realizes there is no one at her table. Decide you should never go into the demo business because you already talk to yourself way too much and the last thing you need is to do it in front of hundreds of people while trying to push something gross like plain yogurt...and what if you were sampling something good, like cream puffs? There is probably some rule about not eating the samples and you know with your love of cream puffs, you'd be fired for breaking that rule. It is a certainty. See Facebook friend. Avoid making eye contact because even though this is a 'friend', you don't REALLY know this person and realize you make all kinds of idiotic, personal comments on Facebook and she probably thinks you're nuts and since you have only cartoons and ice cream in your cart, that might prove her suspicions correct.
Head to K Mart, where mother has told you digital cameras are on sale. Find it, head to the line. Pick the line that isn't moving. Realize woman in front of you keeps trying to do the eye contact thing with you so you can strike up a conversation about how slow the line is, blah, blah, blah. Know in your heart she is a talker and will probably want to babble about the holidays, what she still needs to shop for, who she needs to shop for and how she always ends up in the longest line. You are not in the mood. Stare at ceiling because at this point, she is so desperate to chat she's well within your personal space bubble, trying to get your attention. Wonder what the hell is wrong with this broad and why she won't take a hint. Realize you have been staring at ceiling in defiance for a little too long and she is starting to back away from you, obviously convinced you are insane or have some weird eye condition she doesn't want to catch.
Watch as manager comes to rescue distressed cashier. Do the "oh, no problem" chuckle with other people in the line. Know that underneath, it's a problem and every last one has wondered what the fuck is taking so long and duh, it's the holidays, we can't be standing in line for one spare minute. Get to vehicle. Realize drivers side door is impossible to get to because some jackass has parked waaayyy too close. Enter through passenger side. Bang head on rear view mirror and in an effort to steady yourself, cut arm on Starbucks straw. Fight traffic. Take long slurp of mocha. Prepare yourself. For the mall.
The chaotic energy from the wonderland that is the mall is palpable. Find parking space a few miles away. Once in, head for first store. Wonder if the entire country is in denial about the fact we are in a recession because everyone is hauling several bags and looking sooooo happy doing so. Watch as idiotic shit flies into peoples hands...
Yes. $4 for a dozen blue gumballs. Watch SEVERAL people gleefully purchase these. Start to question your fellow mankind and their intelligence.
Decide you are a smarty pants and will focus your gift buying on books.
My Guide to Christmas Shopping
First, you'll need money. Get some from the bank. Head to Costco. Fight for a parking space. Buy the Scooby Doo limited edition set that comes in the groovy Mystery Machine carrying case because you are a child of the seventies and LOVED Scooby, but claim it's for your children when you run into an acquaintance who has a shopping cart full of grown up stuff like fancy crackers, some weird book on sculptures and wine you know cost way more than your Scooby set. You know you'll get more out of the cartoons than she will out of the wine but don't mention this to her. Start to compare carts. You have cartoons, a fuzzy blanket and ice cream. Realize she is probably also comparing carts and will probably go home and tell her husband what a lazy, ice cream loving, fuzzy blanket wearing, cartoon watching idiot you are. Decide you should throw in some fish oil to make your cart a little more well-balanced. Decide you need some samples to get you through because it's going to be a long day. Pretend that you are still shopping and non-chalantly walk past sample tables. Listen to demo lady rambling on and on about how versatile Greek yogurt is and wonder if she realizes there is no one at her table. Decide you should never go into the demo business because you already talk to yourself way too much and the last thing you need is to do it in front of hundreds of people while trying to push something gross like plain yogurt...and what if you were sampling something good, like cream puffs? There is probably some rule about not eating the samples and you know with your love of cream puffs, you'd be fired for breaking that rule. It is a certainty. See Facebook friend. Avoid making eye contact because even though this is a 'friend', you don't REALLY know this person and realize you make all kinds of idiotic, personal comments on Facebook and she probably thinks you're nuts and since you have only cartoons and ice cream in your cart, that might prove her suspicions correct.
Head to K Mart, where mother has told you digital cameras are on sale. Find it, head to the line. Pick the line that isn't moving. Realize woman in front of you keeps trying to do the eye contact thing with you so you can strike up a conversation about how slow the line is, blah, blah, blah. Know in your heart she is a talker and will probably want to babble about the holidays, what she still needs to shop for, who she needs to shop for and how she always ends up in the longest line. You are not in the mood. Stare at ceiling because at this point, she is so desperate to chat she's well within your personal space bubble, trying to get your attention. Wonder what the hell is wrong with this broad and why she won't take a hint. Realize you have been staring at ceiling in defiance for a little too long and she is starting to back away from you, obviously convinced you are insane or have some weird eye condition she doesn't want to catch.
Watch as manager comes to rescue distressed cashier. Do the "oh, no problem" chuckle with other people in the line. Know that underneath, it's a problem and every last one has wondered what the fuck is taking so long and duh, it's the holidays, we can't be standing in line for one spare minute. Get to vehicle. Realize drivers side door is impossible to get to because some jackass has parked waaayyy too close. Enter through passenger side. Bang head on rear view mirror and in an effort to steady yourself, cut arm on Starbucks straw. Fight traffic. Take long slurp of mocha. Prepare yourself. For the mall.
The chaotic energy from the wonderland that is the mall is palpable. Find parking space a few miles away. Once in, head for first store. Wonder if the entire country is in denial about the fact we are in a recession because everyone is hauling several bags and looking sooooo happy doing so. Watch as idiotic shit flies into peoples hands...
Decide you are a smarty pants and will focus your gift buying on books.
Walk past Santa photo line. See young couple in line. Immediately read both body language and facial gestures. She is super duper excited about their cute as kittens photo with Santa. He is super duper excited that she will think he is Mr. Sensitive and reward him with a sexual favor later. You're old, but not too old to read those messages. Laugh and wonder if you should go back to Urban Outfitters and get him that blue ball gum.
Head to next store. Explain to sales person you are trying to find a 'simple, elegant' monogram pendant for your young daughter. Watch her jump up and down, clap her hands and show you a three inch high bauble full of cubic zirconia. Try to not smack her in the head. Take a good look around and realize every sales person you have come in contact with appears to be sucking on some form of happy gas or a lithium lozenge. They are way too cheery for the mind fuck that is hundreds of stressed out people, demanding their attention.
Next stop: Pillow Pet kiosk. Convince yourself the salesperson is a heroin addict because he has horrible skin, keeps nodding off and is really skinny...decide you are right because he is really close to Mrs. Fields and that yummy cajun place that always gives out the chicken samples and if he worked at the mall even a few days a week, he'd have more meat on his bones. Wonder if he naps on display models during the slow times. Keep this in mind when he informs you the only polar bear pillow pet is the display model, which is what your kid wants. Decide she can deal with a penguin that is still in it's sealed plastic and hasn't been defouled with junkie drool.
Walk by Mac store. Or Apple store. Or whatever it's called. Know you have no business going in there at all. You are much more comfortable in the As Seen on TV store. Go in. Debate with yourself on the purchase of a FlowBee. Decide against it. However, the pasta maker in the microwave thing? Maybe. You will NOT be a sucker for the ShamWow, though. You have standards. And besides, the last time you bought them, they didn't work. You are an informed, intelligent consumer who doesn't waste money on frivolous things.
Like AWESOME boxes of candy.
Head to Target for stocking stuffers. Watch as woman at the front of the line attempts three times, with three different credit cards to make her $445 purchase. Feel sorry for her that she isn't as good of a shopper as you. Wonder if she knows about the As Seen on TV store, because if she's going to shop, she might as well get some miracle products! Like a pasta maker that lets you cook pasta in the microwave. Or those weird foot pads that suck out all of your toxins. Or the Turby Twist. So many magical products to choose from....decide you want to strike up conversation with woman behind you since this loser is taking so long. You really want to talk about that pasta maker and how crazy the mall was and who you still need to shop for and how this line is sooo long. She starts staring at the ceiling. Wonder if she doesn't realize she's kind of being a bitch by blatantly ignoring you. You wanna talk, dammit! She continues staring at the ceiling, as if purposely avoiding you.
Realize she must have some weird eye condition.
What else could it be?
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Moment of Insanity aka Chub for Grub
Recently, I decided to embark on a little adventure...in an effort to fill my karma bank, I made public my decision to collect pledges per pound of weight lost and money collected would go to a food bank. This is a lovely idea. This is a beautiful, well thought out plan. This scheme hatched when I was high on Kit Kat bars and Reeses peaut butter cups I had stolen from my kids Halloween candy bags. Phone calls were made. Facebook pages created and emails requesting sponsors were sent out...by the way, if you're reading this and want to, ahem, add to my 'motivation' that would be great! As it stands, when (not if, WHEN) I lose my 50 pounds, I will (provided no one flakes out of me) collect almost $1500 for a wonderful organization that feeds lots of hungry people throughout the year. If you are ever tempted to do something like this, please follow my advise for an easier transition to your new way of eating.
My Guide to Navigating a Low Carb Lifestyle in the Name of Charity Once Sugar Buzz Wears Off
The first thing you should do when struck with an idea that involves the fun, fun task of weight loss is to TELL EVERY ONE YOU KNOW. Convince yourself the more people paying attention to the junk in your trunk the more likely you will be to follow through! You are a pioneer! You will go where no one has gone before! Put your idea on the internet and babble on and on about it to all of your pals. Listen to them enthusiastically pledge their money. Watch them smile and beam at what a great, thoughtful idea this is. Try not to do that eyebrow raise - head swagger thing that will tell them that yeah, you know this is a peach of an idea and yes, you are one hell of a gal. Soak in accolades for a few days. Walk a little taller. Remember how you lost 40 pounds before and it was a piece of cake. Think about cake. Think about cupcakes. Begin to realize if you are going to lose 50 pounds in six months, the love affair you've been having with cupcakes needs to end.
Pull out low carb cookbooks. Decide to start this thing off right with a sugar free chocolate cream pie. Whisk, melt, stir. Taste. Wonder what the fuck you have just gotten yourself into because you a) have a major sugar addiction and b) fake sugar sucks. It just does. Start to feel that panic you felt when your kids were babies and you couldn't find a pacifier when they were screaming. Decide YOU are the boss of this situation. Remember where you hid children's Halloween candy. Go through it, pulling out your favorites. Hide in coffee cup in cupboard. Tell yourself this just makes good sense...like carrying a pair of tweezers in your purse or a condom...well, the condom thing isn't really applicable to you because you have become celibate by default. Start to wonder if nuns chose nun-dom because of those dresses because man, oh man, could you really do some cupcake eating if all you wore were black and white muu muus all day long. Think about what a bad HABIT that would be. Crack up at yourself. Habit. Heh heh. Habit. Start to feel a little to Beavis and Butthead. Refocus.
Run into a friend who works out like a fiend and probably has never had a french fry in her life. Admire her figure. Revel in her praise of your selfless decision. Dismiss her comment about your age and how the last time you lost weight, you were in your twenties. You've had kids since then and you are in your forties. Blow this off. For just a few minutes. Look for paper bag to breath into because you are starting to hyperventilate. Shit. Go to book store...see a disproportionate number of books about fighting fat after 40 and wonder why 40 is the magic number for sucking at weight loss....who determined that? Isn't 40 supposed to be the new 20? Wonder if you've gotten in over your head. Decide you have not. You can do it!
Stop at grocery store on the way home to pick up a few things for your new way of eating...or WOE as some of the hipster (read: dorky) diet websites call it. Walk into store and get greeted by perky lady sampling cake and egg nog. Decide you don't want to hurt her feelings. Take a sample. Look outside...see two high school girls collecting food for local food bank. Feel like a jackass. This is the universe telling you to stick with your plan. But still finish your sample because it's only two bites and this is about MODERATION, not DEPRIVATION. Decide it's a good thing you were never into drugs because you would have made a terrible junkie...you are BRILLIANT at justifying the "just a little" way of thinking. Wonder if you will ever conquer the sugar monkey that has been on your back for years.
Decide to make the best of this....you CAN do it! You WILL do it! You have no idea how you will look, if 50 pounds will make a huge difference, if the only difference will be loose skin, in which case Oprah will need to be notified about this little plan so she can hook you up with Dr. Oz or whoever to cut it off and hopefully give you a new wardrobe and makeover, because she is so moved by your determination to show such self discipline in the name of benefiting others. Wonder if you will look way older or way younger because it's a tough call...you're are on the wrong side of forty to expect to look anything other than not terrible. What if you get jowls? Right now you have a chubby face, which means the extra skin is still somewhat firm...think about other parts of your body that might look jowlish. Again, think about your Oprah plan and hope she is open to financing boob jobs.
Find that in spite of cake samples and sugar free pie disasters, you have dropped 4 pounds. Only 46 more to go and you will march your skinny ass down to the food bank, give them a wad of checks, pat yourself on the back and drive to the nearest cupcake shop to celebrate with your monkey. Because face it, he's not going anywhere. He's just been sedated by steak.
My Guide to Navigating a Low Carb Lifestyle in the Name of Charity Once Sugar Buzz Wears Off
The first thing you should do when struck with an idea that involves the fun, fun task of weight loss is to TELL EVERY ONE YOU KNOW. Convince yourself the more people paying attention to the junk in your trunk the more likely you will be to follow through! You are a pioneer! You will go where no one has gone before! Put your idea on the internet and babble on and on about it to all of your pals. Listen to them enthusiastically pledge their money. Watch them smile and beam at what a great, thoughtful idea this is. Try not to do that eyebrow raise - head swagger thing that will tell them that yeah, you know this is a peach of an idea and yes, you are one hell of a gal. Soak in accolades for a few days. Walk a little taller. Remember how you lost 40 pounds before and it was a piece of cake. Think about cake. Think about cupcakes. Begin to realize if you are going to lose 50 pounds in six months, the love affair you've been having with cupcakes needs to end.
Pull out low carb cookbooks. Decide to start this thing off right with a sugar free chocolate cream pie. Whisk, melt, stir. Taste. Wonder what the fuck you have just gotten yourself into because you a) have a major sugar addiction and b) fake sugar sucks. It just does. Start to feel that panic you felt when your kids were babies and you couldn't find a pacifier when they were screaming. Decide YOU are the boss of this situation. Remember where you hid children's Halloween candy. Go through it, pulling out your favorites. Hide in coffee cup in cupboard. Tell yourself this just makes good sense...like carrying a pair of tweezers in your purse or a condom...well, the condom thing isn't really applicable to you because you have become celibate by default. Start to wonder if nuns chose nun-dom because of those dresses because man, oh man, could you really do some cupcake eating if all you wore were black and white muu muus all day long. Think about what a bad HABIT that would be. Crack up at yourself. Habit. Heh heh. Habit. Start to feel a little to Beavis and Butthead. Refocus.
Run into a friend who works out like a fiend and probably has never had a french fry in her life. Admire her figure. Revel in her praise of your selfless decision. Dismiss her comment about your age and how the last time you lost weight, you were in your twenties. You've had kids since then and you are in your forties. Blow this off. For just a few minutes. Look for paper bag to breath into because you are starting to hyperventilate. Shit. Go to book store...see a disproportionate number of books about fighting fat after 40 and wonder why 40 is the magic number for sucking at weight loss....who determined that? Isn't 40 supposed to be the new 20? Wonder if you've gotten in over your head. Decide you have not. You can do it!
Stop at grocery store on the way home to pick up a few things for your new way of eating...or WOE as some of the hipster (read: dorky) diet websites call it. Walk into store and get greeted by perky lady sampling cake and egg nog. Decide you don't want to hurt her feelings. Take a sample. Look outside...see two high school girls collecting food for local food bank. Feel like a jackass. This is the universe telling you to stick with your plan. But still finish your sample because it's only two bites and this is about MODERATION, not DEPRIVATION. Decide it's a good thing you were never into drugs because you would have made a terrible junkie...you are BRILLIANT at justifying the "just a little" way of thinking. Wonder if you will ever conquer the sugar monkey that has been on your back for years.
Decide to make the best of this....you CAN do it! You WILL do it! You have no idea how you will look, if 50 pounds will make a huge difference, if the only difference will be loose skin, in which case Oprah will need to be notified about this little plan so she can hook you up with Dr. Oz or whoever to cut it off and hopefully give you a new wardrobe and makeover, because she is so moved by your determination to show such self discipline in the name of benefiting others. Wonder if you will look way older or way younger because it's a tough call...you're are on the wrong side of forty to expect to look anything other than not terrible. What if you get jowls? Right now you have a chubby face, which means the extra skin is still somewhat firm...think about other parts of your body that might look jowlish. Again, think about your Oprah plan and hope she is open to financing boob jobs.
Find that in spite of cake samples and sugar free pie disasters, you have dropped 4 pounds. Only 46 more to go and you will march your skinny ass down to the food bank, give them a wad of checks, pat yourself on the back and drive to the nearest cupcake shop to celebrate with your monkey. Because face it, he's not going anywhere. He's just been sedated by steak.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
My Brilliant "Get Back Some Good Karma" Plan
A few weeks ago, I planned a class party for a bunch of first, second and third graders. The theme was "friendship"...no autumn, no Halloween, nothing fallish, just "friendship"...not a whole lot to work with so in my effort to fill the two and a half hour party I suggested having a local children's art teacher come in and give a lesson using oil pastels. She agreed, we set it up and the party was planned.
The day of the party, I rearranged the tables in the classroom to accommodate all of the children, spent lots of time dividing up oil pastels into little Dixie cups and cut the shit out of my hand, cutting paper to the appropriate size. Then? She didn't show up. Now, trying to find something for 50 (yes, 50!) children to do when your entertainment has just flaked out on you is a bit of a mindfuck. But somehow, we managed...of course, not without me complaining to the other teachers and fellow party volunteers about what an assbag this person was for flaking out. Several people pondered the possibility of an emergency, an idea I smashed because I was pissed. Remember this. I bitched and moaned and totally disregarded the remote possibility something had happened and assumed she had just screwed me, the kids and left us hanging. Ok....
Four days later, I get a phone call from this person...a sobbing phone call complete with apologies about why she didn't show up and it involved her then UNCONSCIOUS child. Pause while you envision the ass of a donkey where my head would normally be. In all of my years, there are a handful of times where I have truly, utterly felt like a total dick. This was one of them.
Now...one more story and I'll bring this all together.....last year, when I was going through one of the worst times of my life (we'll get to that in some other post...trust me...Lifetime movies have NOTHING on what I went through the past 18 months...but anyway.....)...whilst going through hell, I decided it would make total sense to feed the homeless....in all seriousness, I thought it would be a nice thing to do, give my kids a chance to soak in the fact there are kids around here who don't have a home and are hungry....so, we found a homeless shelter for women and children, found out that on Sundays the kitchen is closed and they needed 85 sack lunches delivered. This was truly a moving experience for my children, as they delivered these meals to kids their age. I decided this should be an annual holiday tradition for our family and recently started calling some shelters. Turns out, with the economy in the hole, rather than a tuna wrap & chocolate chip cookie, the shelters really need cold, hard CASH.
Like most, we have also been hit by the economy, so writing a check to a shelter that would make a real difference didn't seem doable. Then, it hit me! As I was sucking back my iced mocha, thinking about how great it would feel to dress up as a mermaid for next Halloween but then realizing you never see chubby mermaids, what with all the swimming they do and fish they eat...wait, would that make them cannibalish? Maybe they are vegetarians...ANYWAY....I was just thinking how fun it would be to dress up as something that didn't require a million yards of fabric to cover my chubby body and feeling disappointed about the shelter situation, I heard the words "Chub for Grub" explode in my head....so here's my thought: I would reach out to everyone, make a website (chubforgrub.com - no I haven't made it yet, the website address is available so don't steal my cute idea, ok?) where people could go on and SPONSOR ME....however much per pound...I'm giving myself six months and I'd like to lose 50 pounds. The idea is once the six months are over, I collect the money from my sponsors via my website and donate every penny to the shelter! You might be asking yourself why you'd want to sponsor a chubby little housewife lose weight? Well, knowing it would go to help homeless women and children is your answer...I wouldn't keep any of it because a) I'm not a douche who would take money that is intended for homeless people and b) I NEED TO RE-FILL MY KARMA BANK AFTER THE DEBACLE WITH THE ART TEACHER. UNDERSTAND?? OK. So that's my idea...of course, the fact that I have eaten approximately 4 pounds of Halloween candy and don't want any thing sweet ever again may possibly be giving me a sense of certain, undeniable future victory and in a week when the candy is gone I may be singing an entirely different tune, but I don't think so....I'm excited, I will be blogging about my 50 pound adventure and hope lots of people recognize the opportunity to help out not only the homeless, but also me. That's right. Me. Because if I have LOTS of people paying attention, I will be less likely to blow this off.
I'd love some feedback, too....stupid, crazy idea? Good idea? Do you want to do it with me? Do you have some chub you'd like to exchange for grub? This could be big if enough people hopped on board. No, not Bill and Melinda Gates buying a trillion malaria vaccinations, but it could make life a little more bearable for some people who would benefit from the kindness of strangers.
And? I think I would make a REALLY cute mermaid.
The day of the party, I rearranged the tables in the classroom to accommodate all of the children, spent lots of time dividing up oil pastels into little Dixie cups and cut the shit out of my hand, cutting paper to the appropriate size. Then? She didn't show up. Now, trying to find something for 50 (yes, 50!) children to do when your entertainment has just flaked out on you is a bit of a mindfuck. But somehow, we managed...of course, not without me complaining to the other teachers and fellow party volunteers about what an assbag this person was for flaking out. Several people pondered the possibility of an emergency, an idea I smashed because I was pissed. Remember this. I bitched and moaned and totally disregarded the remote possibility something had happened and assumed she had just screwed me, the kids and left us hanging. Ok....
Four days later, I get a phone call from this person...a sobbing phone call complete with apologies about why she didn't show up and it involved her then UNCONSCIOUS child. Pause while you envision the ass of a donkey where my head would normally be. In all of my years, there are a handful of times where I have truly, utterly felt like a total dick. This was one of them.
Now...one more story and I'll bring this all together.....last year, when I was going through one of the worst times of my life (we'll get to that in some other post...trust me...Lifetime movies have NOTHING on what I went through the past 18 months...but anyway.....)...whilst going through hell, I decided it would make total sense to feed the homeless....in all seriousness, I thought it would be a nice thing to do, give my kids a chance to soak in the fact there are kids around here who don't have a home and are hungry....so, we found a homeless shelter for women and children, found out that on Sundays the kitchen is closed and they needed 85 sack lunches delivered. This was truly a moving experience for my children, as they delivered these meals to kids their age. I decided this should be an annual holiday tradition for our family and recently started calling some shelters. Turns out, with the economy in the hole, rather than a tuna wrap & chocolate chip cookie, the shelters really need cold, hard CASH.
Like most, we have also been hit by the economy, so writing a check to a shelter that would make a real difference didn't seem doable. Then, it hit me! As I was sucking back my iced mocha, thinking about how great it would feel to dress up as a mermaid for next Halloween but then realizing you never see chubby mermaids, what with all the swimming they do and fish they eat...wait, would that make them cannibalish? Maybe they are vegetarians...ANYWAY....I was just thinking how fun it would be to dress up as something that didn't require a million yards of fabric to cover my chubby body and feeling disappointed about the shelter situation, I heard the words "Chub for Grub" explode in my head....so here's my thought: I would reach out to everyone, make a website (chubforgrub.com - no I haven't made it yet, the website address is available so don't steal my cute idea, ok?) where people could go on and SPONSOR ME....however much per pound...I'm giving myself six months and I'd like to lose 50 pounds. The idea is once the six months are over, I collect the money from my sponsors via my website and donate every penny to the shelter! You might be asking yourself why you'd want to sponsor a chubby little housewife lose weight? Well, knowing it would go to help homeless women and children is your answer...I wouldn't keep any of it because a) I'm not a douche who would take money that is intended for homeless people and b) I NEED TO RE-FILL MY KARMA BANK AFTER THE DEBACLE WITH THE ART TEACHER. UNDERSTAND?? OK. So that's my idea...of course, the fact that I have eaten approximately 4 pounds of Halloween candy and don't want any thing sweet ever again may possibly be giving me a sense of certain, undeniable future victory and in a week when the candy is gone I may be singing an entirely different tune, but I don't think so....I'm excited, I will be blogging about my 50 pound adventure and hope lots of people recognize the opportunity to help out not only the homeless, but also me. That's right. Me. Because if I have LOTS of people paying attention, I will be less likely to blow this off.
I'd love some feedback, too....stupid, crazy idea? Good idea? Do you want to do it with me? Do you have some chub you'd like to exchange for grub? This could be big if enough people hopped on board. No, not Bill and Melinda Gates buying a trillion malaria vaccinations, but it could make life a little more bearable for some people who would benefit from the kindness of strangers.
And? I think I would make a REALLY cute mermaid.
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