A Moment
Scene: The greeting card aisle of my local mega-mart. I saunter down the aisle to the "Birthday, Humorous" section and begin picking cards at random, hoping to score a good one for my best friend's belated 42nd. There is a woman a few years older than I am about three feet away, also browsing.
I pick a card, read it. I grimace. Replace it. Pick another card. Read it. Frown. Replace it. I repeat this at least half a dozen times. Where is the advertised humor? I can either guess the punchline ahead of time or it's so awful I'm
glad I didn't think of it myself. Soon I notice that the woman near me is doing the same thing.
"They should hire me," I mutter. "I could do better than this."
The woman next to me looks up. "I know, huh? It's all bathroom jokes or over the hill junk. None of which I'm giving my Dad."
I momentarily think of my own Dad, who appreciated the good bathroom joke now and again. I'm sorry that I can't be in this aisle trying to select just the right potty joke card for him. I'd happily pop $2.49 to make him laugh again. To see him laugh again. But I also know what she means.
More tense silent reading of unsatisfactory cards.
Finally, I choose one. Read it. Snicker.
The woman near me looks up hopefully. "Find a good one?"
I shake my head, even though I did. "Not for your Dad."
Highlight below to see the card's contents:
Outside: What's the difference between a margarita and a hunky guy?
Inside: A margarita always hits the spot.
Labels: This one time I was at the mall and the weirdest thing happened...
Each Day Better than the Next
This was rather a tough weekend and I'll admit I'm glad it's over. We had several days in a row of stifling temperatures which resulted in some very frayed nerves around here. AnonaBaby is getting another tooth and it's causing her some righteous indignation. And she has discovered her scream, which has caused us to rethink the necessity of being able to hear.
This scream is... unimaginable. I did not think such a sound could come out of so small an individual. It is piercing. It is so high that the dogs in our neighborhood come out of the woodwork for it (well, they would if we didn't keep the windows closed). And it is LOUD.
And I have no ides how to make her stop it.
Obviously, at a year old, I cannot reason with her. I cannot make her understand that it HURTS when she screams
right in my ear. She does not understand cause and effect well enough to make the connection that her scream and my eardrum do not want to be bosom buddies. I can't put my hand over her mouth because... well, why not exactly? It looks all wrong? It's ineffective? I get bitten if I do that?
Yeah. That's the one. She also bites.
Where did my sweet baby girl go? She was apparently kidnapped and replaced with this squirming, biting, screaming, teething disaster area. I know she's biting because her teeth hurt, so I'm giving her stuff to chew on (teething rings, wet washcloths, the cats...) but her favorite thing to chew on is me and I can't say as I appreciate it.
The only thing I've been able to figure out to do with the screaming is put her down, turn around and ignore her. She doesn't like to be ignored, so... it sort of works. Somewhat. As soon as I turn around she screams again so not completely effective. Also it does not work in the car. And the car? Is the
worst place that she pulls this screaming thing. Also, public places.
Between the heat and the resulting difficulty with naps such that the child was wildly overtired and uncomfortable, and my being screamed at, bitten and generally clawed all weekend, I was happy as all get out to plop that kid in her crib last night after the world's fastest reading of "Goodnight Moon".
(By the way, does anybody know what the deal is with the page that says, "Goodnight nobody?" It creeps the living hell out of me every time I read it.)
God, I'm all over the place today.
Any suggestions on the biting thing, the screaming thing (God, especially the screaming thing. With the biting I simply remove her from my person and tell her no, biting hurts. I'm still bigger than she is. But the screaming... Lord...) or the mystery of Goodnight nobody would be appreciated. I'm fresh out of ideas.
Resolution
After writing yesterday, I spent the rest of the day as I'd planned. AnonaBaby woke about 10 minutes after I turned off the computer, so I got her up, changed and fed her and then we went to the local pool to go swimming. So far this summer I've stuck to my plan of taking the baby to the pool twice a week, but I haven't stuck to my plan of working out there
alone twice a week. Oh, I dropped the baby at my mother's and came back an hour and a half later, but I didn't get to the pool. As we know, I ate instead.
While I was hanging with my girl, and then afterwards, as I sat through an unsuccessful nap (hers, not mine. If I'd tried to nap I would have been successful. Except for the screaming baby part. I would have had trouble with that), my mind wandered back to what I'd written. The fix seems
soooo simple, right? Stop eating the wrong things. Eat the right things. Exercise. Lather, rinse, repeat. After a while, get on a scale. Viola!
I know in my head that that's how it should work, but I always screw it up. And I'm the sort of person who, once fallen from the proverbial wagon, does not simply dust herself off and get back on. I fall off the wagon and then leap into a cavern of destructive behavior. Ate a couple of cookies? Might as well eat the whole bag. And some Pop-Tarts for dessert.
How do you think I got to this weight? Salad was not the culprit.
I can't begin to count the number of times I've sat down and was stern with myself. "Lady," I'll start, "You need to get your act together. Today. Right now. Actually, tomorrow morning because it's 10:30 pm at the moment. But tomorrow morning, by God, there are gonna be some changes around here." And then I list out every rule I want to follow and I feel so virtuous and composed like this time, goddamn it all, it's going to work.
And sometimes it does for a few days, or even a few weeks. But somehow all the resolve vanishes long before I've lost enough weight to want to keep going. Then I gain it all back plus some more for good measure and it all starts over again.
For nearly 25 years I've been doing this.
25 years.
That's a lifetime.
This morning (after skipping the workout and eating stuff that doesn't make me feel that great) that number really struck me. 25 years. I've been doing this to myself for a quarter of a century. Do I want to spend the next 25 years - years that my baby will be watching - treating myself this way? Do I want her to watch me play these games with myself while I tell her that she should eat healthy foods until she's satisfied and then be done? Do I want to be the mom whose central message is "Do what I say, not what I do"?
I don't. I really, really don't.
And this morning, as I was holding her, the most thunderous idea hit me. What if... and this is a big question... but what if I treated myself the way treat my daughter?
It would certainly simplify things.
No rules to follow, no timelines, no pressure to be perfect. Just... walk the walk, you know? I don't feed AnonaBaby junk food. I shouldn't feed it to myself. I take time to make her meals, which I make sure are balanced with protein, fruit, vegetables, calcium... I could do that for myself. She doesn't get soda, candy or processed filler food - not because I'm punishing her but because they're not good for her.
What if I looked at the lack of Pop-Tarts in my life not as a punishment, but as a way of treating myself with love and caring?
I feed my daughter foods that are good for her. I pay a lot of attention to what I buy for her and what I make for her. It's not like it takes up a lot of my time. I just do it. What if I did it for me too?
So I'm making a commitment here, in front of God and everybody - a different kind of commitment. Usually I'm all about setting a goal weight and then mapping out what weight I should be at certain dates if I'm "successful" and then writing down all the things I'm going to do differently so that by the time the sun comes up on my "First Day of the Rest of My Life" I'm so wrapped up in things I can't do and ways to fail that I'm halfway ready to run to McDonald's before I've even started. This is different. There is only one rule, and it hardly feels like a rule at all.
Be a good role model for AnonaBaby. Aim the same patience, compassion, understanding and love that I give her towards myself. Celebrate small stepping stones as the precursors to larger milestones that they are.
I don't know if I can be that gentle with myself. But I think I want to try.
Labels: Confession is Good for the Soul
Weight Weight, Don't Tell Me
I feel the distinct need to stop typing and close down my browser at this moment. Today I want to write about something difficult for me and part of me really would rather go downstairs and watch something fluffy on TiVo. Of course, that's part of my problem, so... here goes.
I'm fat.
That's not news to anyone who knows me, though if anyone here is reading who knows me, I'm sort of in trouble, since this isn't my public blog. But it's nothing people who look at me can't see. I'm not hiding anything.
Or rather, I'm not hiding anything outwardly. Inside there's a lot going on, despite having wrestled with the fact of my body for 35 some-odd years now. Therapy helped some. Some. I don't hate myself with the vehemence I did in my twenties. I still try not to think about myself from the neck down, though.
When I was in my twenties I used to wear makeup. I had a rather elaborate morning routine that included foundation, powder, eyeliner, mascara and shadow, blush, lip liner and lipstick - everything. And I had a large amount to choose from. Buying makeup was sort of a hobby. I amassed quite a collection and used it all regularly. But the weird thing was that I would spend all this time doing my makeup and then I'd put on a ratty t-shirt and pants, my beat up hiking boots and a baseball cap and go to work (I worked in a field that allowed a pretty wide range of clothing selections, since I didn't work with the public). My hair has always been a problem since it's frizzy and I'm unwilling to spend more than 5 minutes on it at any time. And my body... I just didn't want to think about it. It took a therapist to make me realize that there was a disconnect for someone who spent that much time and money on her face and so very little on the rest of her.
The oddest thing was that for the longest time, I wasn't even particularly heavy. It's been an up and down thing for me, all starting when I was about 11. That's nearly 25 years, people. You'd think I could get my act together by now. And I have - at times. Throughout high school I gained weight, until I hit about 170 lbs. Then I went to college and hated where I was and stopped eating. I dropped 40 lbs and at 130 lbs I looked the best I had in my adult life. I have a pretty big frame so 130-140 is a good range for me.
I stayed at that weight until my college boyfriend moved out here. I distinctly remember the day he told me he was going to move from his East Coast home to my area. We had met at a high school leadership conference and kept in touch. He called often, we wrote - we were friends. When he moved out here... I didn't really think I wanted more than that. I was a junior in college and I'd never had a boyfriend. I didn't actually want one. I liked my life very much the way it was.
But I never said any of that.
Instead, I became a Girlfriend. I slept with him the second night he was in town. I felt like a slut but I pretended I was giddy with him. Sometimes I
was happy with him. Sometimes I was miserable. He was a kid and so was I. He didn't really want a serious girlfriend (he wanted regular sex), but I became one. I was
very serious. We fought a lot - about places he wanted to go (strip joints in the city, for example), how late he'd be out (three, four in the morning), girls he kept in touch with (I was the jealous type and in time it became pretty clear that I had foundation. He was a cheater)... everything.
And during the two and a half years we were together my weight crept up and up and up. By the time we got engaged (engaged, folks! That's how good I am at deluding myself!) I was 180 lbs. I cried when I looked at the pictures we took in Europe, where he'd proposed. And I finally decided to do something about it.
Enter Jenny Craig. I was merciless with myself. I never cheated. I exercised daily. I remember stuffing corn chips in my mouth and chewing them and then spitting them in the trash. I was terrible to myself.
And our fights got worse and worse.
Finally, everything came to a head. About 3 weeks after I'd hit my goal weight (135 lbs), we had a terrible fight. We'd bought a house (all in my name because I had credit and he didn't - also he hadn't filed taxes in three years... I can really pick 'em) and he announced that he wouldn't be moving with me. It was over.
Those were some of the hardest months of my life. I hated myself. I was furious with the house I moved into alone. I was angry and lonely and scared. I stopped eating. I lost about 8 lbs before I began eating again and even then it was not much.
It was during this time that I met the man who became AnonaDad. We began seeing each other about 6 months after I broke up with East Coast guy and we've been together ever since. That was about 13 years ago. And, of course, my weight has been steadily rising ever since.
That's not strictly true, actually. My weight has yo-yo'd all over the place since we got together. I've never been at 130 lbs again, but I'd gain 10 lbs, lose 2, gain 20, lose 5, gain 40, lose 12, gain gain gain...
I actually
lost weight when I was pregnant with AnonaGirl. I was on a strict diet (gestational diabetes) and between the lack of carbs and no alcohol, I was down a lot after her birth. When I got pregnant with her, I weighed 252 lbs - my highest weight ever. When I went in for my induction, I weighed 234 lbs. And three weeks after her birth I was 208.
I had so many plans to lose weight as soon as she was born. I would breastfeed - that would help. I would exercise by walking my baby around the neighborhood. I would eat right - I knew I could from the diabetes diet.
But, of course, everything went to hell.
I couldn't breastfeed. And my relationship with my boobs in a whole post unto itself. Suffice it to say, even when I'm thin, they're big and I hate them and always have. When they didn't work? I was furious. I was angry that I couldn't feed my baby and I raged that I'd carried these mofo's around with me for 25 years and the joke was on me. They were huge
and useless. And my hopes of breastfeeding helping me lose weight were gone.
And, of course, the weight came back.
Today I weigh 245.5 lbs. I am miserable. I am constantly uncomfortable. My clothes (what little I have) fits poorly. My husband, rightfully so, does not find me attractive and we have no sex life. There are a million and one reasons for me to lose weight.
So of course, yesterday I went to a restaurant and had potato skins, 3 glasses of wine and an apple cobbler and I'm tempted to do it again tomorrow.
I have tried it all. Jenny Craig, Stop the Insanity, Weight Watchers, Overeaters Anonymous, The Zone, the Rotation Diet, cleanses, laxatives... I could go on. I don't know what do to. I know if I keep this up, it will kill me. I have a history of diabetes, high blood pressure and congestive heart failure in my family - it's what killed my father at 56. I feel like the smoker whose family has all had cancer but who lights up anyway. I know what I'm doing to myself. It's slow suicide.
And I have this amazing little baby who I would kill for. And I want to be there for her and I want to be a good example for her and I don't don't
don't want her to hate herself or her body. I don't want her to go through what I went through.
What I'm going through.
But neither do I know how to stop, how to change.
Labels: Confession is Good for the Soul
Summer, Summertime
The last week has been pretty crazy since it was the last week of school. It's always that way. On the surface it seems like it would be pretty easy for teachers, right? Especially teachers at the promoting grades, where the last week is filled with activities and rehearsals and all that stuff.
Well, think again.
Because teachers have to supervise all that stuff. So we're running around like mad, keeping kids from killing each other, slipping off to cause trouble or generally making bad choices. It's not all kids, of course. Not even most. But enough.
So last week was a lot of keeping kids in line, helping them on and off the right buses, etc etc etc. Plus our school is moving for next year so I had to pack up my entire classroom and if you think that was a thrill you can have a long hard think again. Ugh. By Thursday afternoon I was pooped. Friday was officially my first day of summer and I spent it watching the baby and at my surgeon's office. Just a routine checkup of the plate that was placed after I broke my leg last autumn.
On Saturday we went to a family reunion at my aunt's house. It was OK. It was the side of my family that I hardly know at all. I know these people pretty much by name only - they're my paternal grandfather's family and the dominant family for us has always been my paternal grand
mother's family. The people at the party were... old. Most of their kids - my second cousins - aren't particularly close so they didn't show up. It was all people in their 50's and 60's, which I know isn't OLD, but it's not my generation and I didn't even know them so it was sort of dull. But my aunt has a pool and my mom and sister were there and we took AnonaBaby swimming so it wasn't a total loss.
On Father's Day we did exactly nothing exciting. Which was what AnonaDad wanted. (He still feels bad about Mother's Day because he got me nothing whatsoever (not by request) and the one thing he'd planned - breakfast - was destroyed by AnonaBaby's absolute refusal to take a nap, even though she was exhausted. Which made for a fun Mother's Day, let me tell you.) I did get him a present, and we watched movies for much of the day and played with the baby and it wasn't a half bad way to spend a Sunday.
Labels: The Mummy Returns
Down Tonight
For some reason I'm feeling really down tonight. I should be happy - school's almost out, which means lots and lots of time with my baby. And I
am happy about that.
But I'm also really ambivalent about possibly going to a new job, and about my life in general. I
should be really happy with what I have.. and I
am... but there are problems, too. Secret cracks, quiet holes. Things I can't talk about with anyone though I wish to God I could. I don't feel I have any
right to be so goddamn sad. And I don't. I
know how fucking lucky I am - anyone not nearly so lucky will be glad to tell you just how good I have it.
And that's the thing. Anybody has it worse if you look hard enough. In my case, you don't even
have to look very hard.
Does that mean I have no right to be sad?
Or does it really just mean I have no right to talk about the sadness?
Labels: Bitch and moan
Update on the leadership position
I didn't get it! Yay!!! I know exactly
why I didn't get it and it was
totally political and this is the first time that work-type politics have worked in
my favor! I'm so happy I didn't get it that I could just fall on the ground and kiss it, but - ew - 8th graders walk on this ground so it's filthy and disgusting. So I'll abstain.
But - whew! Can you tell I'm relieved?
In other (but related) news, I may be applying for a transfer anyway. It's not because of the leadership thing since, as I mentioned, I'm the teeniest, tiniest bit thrilled to
death that someone else got the position. It's more about management personnel and people I
really want to work with and opportunities, etc etc etc. I'll fill you in more specifically when I know more. At the moment I'm having my inside people gather intelligence for me.
(Hehe. "Inside people". Ha! That makes it sound so secret-agenty. It's not like that. I simply asked my friend to ask around about it. She's going to call me back tonight with the inside scoop. I'm nothing if not good at befriending the inside people, while not bearing the responsibility of being an insider myself.)
Labels: I'm a glorified babysitter some days
I guess I spoke too soon. But I was IMPATIENT.
Dear Hillary
(ahahahahahahaaaaaa! At first I typed "Dead Hillary"! Shows what I think!),
Anyway.
Ahem.Dear Hillary,
Thank you. You dragged things out to the end of everyone's rope, but thanks for
finally getting the hell out of the way. I won't soon forget it. None of us will, actually, since I'm sure you'll be
talking about it for the rest of our natural lives. And probably claiming that people were shooting
bullets at you as you ended your campaign. Fortunately Sinbad was not there to gainsay you. There was a lot of media there though, and the footage is everywhere today, so, you know, maybe you don't want to throw any revisionist spin on that in the future. Just a thought.
Kisses!
Mum
Dear Baracky-pie,
It's all about you, baby! Except for the fact that now it's all about who you're going to choose as a running mate. Pick me! I'd run anywhere with you. Of course, my tarnished past might be a little tricky to overcome, as well as my lack of any semblance of public service experience, but... foot rubs! I give killer foot rubs! And I'm unknown so the media would be all, "Who the hell is
she?" and would forget about your former pastors and all that crap. It's a win-win! Especially for me!
Love and other indoor sports,
Mummy
Dear John McCain,
Could you maybe start hanging around Bush a little more often? It always seems to dip your popularity rating a few points when you do, and that's a good thing. Also, perhaps, a hunting trip with Cheney would be in order? Do you hunt? It actually doesn't matter, as we know that Dick is far more interested in the most dangerous game. All the Secret Service guys could flush out quail and then? It's anyone's guess where the buckshot will go! How exciting!
Do it for your country.
Thanks,
AnonaMum
Labels: Political Mummy
Dear "Candidates"
Dear Hillary,
STEP OFF already! My boyfriend Barack Obama has it all sewn up. Let it go. As far as I can see he hasn't
asked you to be be his running mate (an invitation which I suspect you would interpret as him asking you to be "
co-president") so please take your helmet hair and bad necker-chiefs and go back to New York or wherever you're going to spend the next 4 years drinking yourself into a stupor.
JEEZ already,
Mum
Dear Barack,
Your wife seems absolutely lovely, but if you're looking for some hot teacher action, please consider me for any of your Embarrassing Scandal needs. I can deliver the goods, yessir!
Love,
Mummy
Dear John McCain,
You know, I almost sort of like you when you're on The Daily Show. I think I might actually be able to sit through a meal with you, if you're buying. There will be no Barack-y action afterwards though, because... ew. I know far too much of your medical history, for one. But, you know, drinks. That would be fine. You seem to have a fine sense of humor and while I cannot vote for you because you Stand For Everything I Cannot Abide we can agree to disagree and I don't think you'd make me
completely nauseous or anything. Unlike a certain non-conceding woman I can name (I'm looking at YOU Hillary).
Sincerely,
AnonaMum
Labels: Political Mummy
Then I'll just hang myself for good measure
I realize that this blog is short on good news and long on the complaining. I know that. The thing is that I have found myself in a life situation where I have absolutely no outlet for my frustrations. My husband tries to fix things without understanding them - an endearing quality in that it's sweet that he wants to help but frustrating because sometimes all a girl really wants is a hug and a pat on the back and a voice saying, "Boy that must be awful. I'm sorry it sucks for you. Can I get you a dry martini, extra olives?" (Attention Men: Do you hear that? I just told you what women want at least half the time. Don't say I was never on your side!)
I wouldn't lay this all on my daughter in any case (besides being only a year old and thus very short on life experience, she also cannot talk and she does not make a good martini). My best friend is now halfway across the country and has her own problems. My mother would worry so damn much that the guilt I'd feel is not worth the relief of confession.
And so here I am. 'Fessing up to y'all.
The background you need to know is this: I teach 8th grade. At the beginning of this school year, I got the not-so-coveted job of being our 8th grade team leader. Then I broke my leg and was out of school for 6 months. Someone else had to take my position as team leader. Now that the year is coming to a close and the replacement lead is retiring, there is an open spot. My colleagues have really been pushing me to take the position but the fact is that I really don't want it. There is a stipend and I am an organized person but I got into teaching from another career because I loathe meetings and I hate managing people. I didn't want another career-driven job - I wanted a job where it was ok to be good at what you do, to like what you do and NOT feel pressure to move up some sort of ladder.
But please don't forget I'm just the girl who cain't say no. I'm a terrible idiot.
Our principal threw open all his leader positions this year because of a district wide situation that mandates it. If you were interested, you would send him your name and if more than one person was interested he'd hold interviews.
Christ.
Guess who sent in her stupid, stupid name?
That would be yours truly, AnonaMum StupidHead,
Please understand that I Do. Not. Want. To Do This. It's not enough money to make a difference and it means extra days of work that take me away from my baby. But I've been trained since I was a very little girl to go out for anything that pushes you up in the world. Every opportunity should be taken. It's so goddamn hard for me to
not volunteer.
I'm tempted to blow this "interview". Why do I want to be lead? Well... I don't actually. But you can't say that, can you?
Shit.
Labels: Bitch and moan, I'm a glorified babysitter some days
All this time
AnonaGirl celebrated her first birthday this weekend. It was the culmination of weeks of frantic work on our house because her party was the first one we've had at our place in years. Usually we celebrate everything at my mom's, but this year I wanted to start a new tradition for AnonaGirl.
Everybody seemed to have a great time, especially AnonaGirl herself, who loved playing with the other kids who showed up. Being an only child, she hasn't had a ton of exposure to other kids. She gazed with hero worship on the oldest girl there, a 6 year old who has twin brothers and who, after being followed Just Long Enough by AnonaGirl announced in no uncertain terms, "I am
not your mommy!" and flounced off to get some snacks.
AnonaDad and I are pretty... well, we're actually
terribly bad at making friends. I can count my friends on one hand, which I don't actually mind
too much, because they're thick-and-thin friends. I've known them all for years and I know they've got my back just as I have theirs. But I can't think of a single person outside the family who AnonaDad considers a friend. I often think this is sad, but I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to do. If there's anything that can actually be done. Which I'm not even sure about in the first place.
I worry that between her father's hermit-like existence and my own issues with making friends AnonaGirl will be at a distinct disadvantage socially. I've signed us up for classes over the summer both to get us out of the house regularly but also to expose her (and me) to others. The classes are through our community center and I really hope they're good. Any other ideas?
This whole weekend I was flashing on what was happening This Time Last Year. I kept catching my breath as my gaze fell on my baby standing, cruising around, taking tentative steps on her own. "This time last year she was getting her first bath..." She loves to hand things to people and have the item handed back to her. "This time last year we were being moved into the post-partum room..." She gets intimately involved in exploring her world, passing toys back and forth between her hands and then testing them in her mouth. "This time last year I was alone with her for the first time..." As I opened her presents she sat in a sea of wrapping paper and ribbon, waving tissue paper in the air to hear it crinkle and then grinning up at me with a gap-toothed smile so wide it broke my heart. "This time last year she had her first hospital visitors."
It's been the fastest year of my life. It seems like every time I turn around it's time to get the baby up, or put her to sleep or fix a bottle. Everything in my world seems to revolve around her because I love to be with her so much. She entertains me in a way that nothing has before - I can watch her play for hours at a time, and sometimes I do. Her bumps and bruises wreck me and her victories swell me up with pride.
Things are actually better than they were at exactly this time last year. I had a horrific time breastfeeding, as my milk never came in though I was insanely engorged. AnonaGirl had thrush, which she passed on to me and by this time last year I was in horrific pain. Every time I put her to the breast I grit my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. Within 24 hours we would be in the ER because AnonaGirl had spit up blood and we weren't sure it was from my cracked nipples or her intestines (it was me. All me. And it was at that point that we broke out the bottles and formula because she had lost too much weight and was becoming dehydrated). I would rather not remember all the details of
this time last year.
But I would do it again for her in a nanosecond. I would do anything for this tiny person. Just anything. When she clambers into my lap, holding her animal book out so we can read it together - I would do anything to keep that safe. No matter what was happening last year, my life in this one is just fine.
Labels: The Mummy Returns
