Soft Serve & Soul Searching

It’s no secret that I’ve put on some weight over the past couple of years. Anyone with eyeballs and a reasonable amount of cognitive functioning can see that. For those who didn’t know me pre-chubby, I truly hope you don’t think I’ve always looked like this.

Over the past weeks and months I’ve attempted to analyze the WHY’s and HOW’s of this weight gain and my seeming inability to do anything to stop it – not to mention reversing it!!

And then, just now, I believe I came upon my answer. I had just put Joel to bed – yes, it’s only 6:30 pm, keep reading – and was headed downstairs when I thought, “Oh man, I could so go for some ice-cream right now!” And why, you ask, would I be in need of ice-cream at this particular moment?

In no particular order, here are some of the highlights of my day:

•Joel woke up with a fever and runny nose. Cry, cry, cry all day. I watched about 8 hours worth of Baby Einstein movies with him on my lap or touching me.
•Cadence peed her pants on the couch, in the bathroom and my favorite - leaked pee into her panties in her bedroom. (Don’t worry Mom, my pants are dry this time!) for a 4-outfit day!
•Eliana head-butted the neighbor girl and required some emotional healing
•The dog is wearing a cone on his head (post-surgery) and believes it has rendered him immobile. At one point I had to sit on the kitchen floor and hand feet him. He also peed in his doggy bed and then again on his temporary towel bed.
•I spilled my entire glass of lemonade on Cadence and the dog at dinner.
•Eliana and Cadence decided it would be fun to line up “fun-size” bags of Fishy Crackers and then jump along them causing them to explode like balloons. Fun Fishy Confetti. Hey, the fishy bag idea was so fun, let’s try these popcorn bags.
•Finally got Joel down for a nap and someone next door fired up a lovely Bobcat tractor thingy. Helpful!

There’s more… but I don’t want to make you guys cry!



At the end of a day like this I find myself very much in need of a healing shake, a healing piece of pie, a healing coke… you catch my drift. Unfortunately a healing carrot doesn’t cut it.

Suddenly I understand what has happened here. Multiply that day by 365 days a year – okay, not EVERY day is this bad. Make it 355 days a year - and you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see what’s going on. That many shakes can’t be good for the hips!!

Does this mean I have to give up shakes? Or do I have to wait until the kiddies grow up a little to enjoy my once smaller physique?

Hmm… I’ll think about that over some soft serve…

Live Long & Prosper

This past week my Mom and I decided to can applesauce. I’m blaming my over-achiever friends (you know who you are!) for making me think it’s normal to spend your autumn days sweating and swearing (in my head!) over canning. Every time I talk to them they mention how they were canning beans, peaches, apples, beets… all while saving abused animals and making quilts for cold children in Africa.

So, when the opportunity presented itself to make applesauce, I jumped at it. I couldn’t be the only one without a fruit to throw out during the Canning Competition Conversations!

Pride goeth before the fall. (Turns out, these adages have some truth behind them)

Monday night I heaved my bushel of apples (I say "mine" as though I actually picked them!) up to my parent’s house. I was pretty proud of my huge load and could only imagine how the entire counter would be full of gleaming, steaming bottles of golden-delicious applesauce!

Too bad it was about zero fun. Okay, that’s not true. Laughing with my mom was fun. Having my Dad help out was entertaining. Being alone with my parents for the first time since 1980 was also pretty great. Canning applesauce = big zero on the fun-o-meter.

My mom casually mentioned how canning food used to be a way of survival. She regaled me with tales about my great-grandparents spending days around an outdoor fire and canning their little hearts out. Then she said, “No wonder everyone died so young.”

And there you have it. Canning = stunted life expectation.

So, for all my friends who make me look like a failure, I now know the secret to a long and happy life. While you may have food in your cupboards, you’re going to be kicking it in about 20 years. I, however, will far surpass you in years, because my veins flow with Twinkie filling… and that has like a 100 year shelf-life ;)

******************
Just for your info: My bushel of apples made about 8 quarts of applesauce.
3 hours of canning = 8 jars of homemade applesauce
5 minutes at the local market, and an investment of $5.50 = roughly 8 jars of applesauce

It's like pulling teeth...

I never realized just how appropriate the expression “It’s like pulling teeth” is to describe an impossible and frustrating situation, until I found myself doing just that – pulling teeth.

A few months back Eliana started growing a 2nd set of teeth behind her front bottom teeth. (Sorry, hard to paint a picture with words). The new “adult” teeth have taken their sweet time in moving forward and knocking out the “baby” teeth.

It’s been …well… a bit much… to deal with. In a more, shall we say, emotionally stable child, this would not have been a big deal. With our sweet Els, however, we’ve gone the full rollercoaster in regards to these darn teeth.

Phone calls to the dentist (told to be patient, nature will take care of it), phone calls to friends (Uh… WHERE are her new teeth?), consultations with the hubby (start calling her “Shark” and she’ll pull them out herself!), repeat calls to the dentist (can’t we sedate her…or possibly me?), and even dark alley meetings with the younger sister offering her candy galore if she’ll “accidentally” punch out said teeth during a typical morning wrestling match.

This past weekend it all came to one horrifying head. She was playing and bumped something hard on her teeth. I heard a terrible shriek from the playroom – land of lost fishy crackers – and she came barreling out and jumped in my lap holding her mouth. The most dreaded thing in her well-ordered 5 year-old world had just occurred. Her little bump in the mouth had loosened the tooth. Let the weeping and wailing begin.

The incident happened around 10:00 am on Friday. I’m not sure how she was able to make it to school that day, but she was in no shape to handle the stresses of life after school. She slunk around the house in excruciating pain as her tooth wiggled freely. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t drink, she couldn’t sleep – it might fall out and she’d swallow it. Life was no longer worth living. She’d never be completely whole again. She was being scarred for life by my laughter. (Kidding… sort of)

After much perserverance, I finally talked her into taking nourishment on Saturday afternoon. Yes, a full 24+ hours later. And wouldn’t you know it; as she feebly attempted to take a bite of lunch, out popped the tooth.

Eliana (drying her tears and clearing her throat): Uh… I think I just lost my tooth.
Me: Really?
Eliana: Yep. It just fell into my hand. (Stops crying and smiles jubilantly) That wasn’t bad at all!! Pass me a steak….

One little tooth down. A bazillion to go....

Catastrophic FAILURE!

Disclaimer: It’s been my goal in blogging to keep things short and to the point. I don’t want people to have to scroll too many times or spend too much effort in reading.

Sorry peeps… that isn’t how it’s going to go this time! There’s just no way to shorten this tale!

********** MOVING ON

This is my new favorite phrase: Catastrophic Failure. My dad used it this past weekend to describe the state of our car.

You see, there are some things I’ve learned in my life. And one of them is that no matter how much I try to avoid it, I’m destined to have rotten dang luck. Another of the painful life lessons I’ve learned is that every time the Hadley’s pull into St. George, the pagan gods of that red rock land demand a vehicular sacrifice.

Over time the sacrifices have become larger and larger. It started out with small things: perhaps a ding in the parking lot, a flat tire etc. Then, the Gods became more demanding: A new alternator, spark plugs, 4 new tires.

This past weekend, we were instructed to sacrifice the entire engine of our car. That’s right. Poof!!

“Oh, and as a side note,” the Gods laughed, “You may as well ruin the weekend for multiple family members as well” (insert EVIL cackling!)

Never one to argue with the Gods, we proceeded to do just that. Here are the steps we took:

(1) Poor Dave (bro-in-law) had to tow us back to their townhouse rather than working on his Master’s homework. (Sorry Dave!)
(2) My brother gave up his truck for the day Sunday. (Eh, he owed me anyway for letting him make it to adulthood!)
(3) My Dad used above mentioned truck and drove down to St. George on Sunday morning with his trailer. He then flat –towed us home that afternoon.
(4) Oh – and did I mention that we’d decided to leave Joel at home with my parents for the weekend? Yep, so we had the added stress of rearranging babysitting for him. Which leads us to…

(5) My in-laws had to suddenly and unexpectedly give up their Sunday afternoon to watch Joely and let the dog out.

(Good thing I’d written that lovely ode to our families in my previous post huh!!)
So now what? Well, for starters, we are never going back to St. George. We’re afraid that if we do we’ll have our entire car just disappear and we’ll have to buy plane tickets home.

Also, after speaking with mechanics and pricing things out, it turns out that it would be between $3000-$4000 to repair. Did I mention that this car is our “beater”? The poor little thing isn’t even worth that much money.

Usually car shopping is kind of fun. Turns out that it’s only fun when it’s by choice and when you have the money to make the purchase.

So, if you see a little family of 5 huddled by the side of the freeway entrance in the next week or two… please… have mercy and give us a ride!

My Village

Perhaps it’s the fact that the sun is shining today. Maybe it’s because the kidlin’s are playing nicely. It could be the sweet sounds of a sleeping baby, or the remnants of the mint brownie I just polished off. Regardless of the reasons, I’m feeling a bit nostalgic today.

The topic of my mental ramblings? FAMILY

Tomorrow morning the Hadley Circus is pulling out of town and heading down to St. George to meet the newest member of the family. Of course, having a newborn added to the family has taken me back to when my babies were born. (It’s also made me afraid to have a newborn EVER AGAIN… but that’s for another post!)

I’ve been thinking about the past years of parenthood and there is one thing I know for sure. If it weren’t for my family, I’d be in an asylum, drooling on my pillow. There’d be no mint brownies or sleeping babies.

Thanks to my family I’ve had help in navigating the occasional (ok..daily!) deep waters of parenting. I’ve gone to them with tears, shared the laughter, begged for babysitting services, and just generally handed over part of my load for them to carry.

So, this post is for them. The Hadley and Ridges families. I love being a part of your village. And I thank you for the things you constantly do to keep this little train on its tracks. I quite literally couldn't do it without you!!

I’d bring you a mint brownie… but I ate them all… they were yummy too!

@!#&*

To swear or not to swear… that is the question.

I’m hoping someone out there can help me figure out what the devil is going on with all the potty mouth acronyms I’ve been encountering lately!! I mean it seems to me that if you want to fit in with the Facebookers and Twitterers (yes, I just typed that) of this world then you need to be able to wield the mighty “WTF” or “OMG”. I just don’t get it.

My first thought is – would you say that out loud… actually type out the phrase in “long hand”? If not, then why is it okay to shorten it? If you’re going to “OMG” all over the place, you may as well just say it. Seriously, who reads those acronyms and doesn’t say the words in their head??

My second thought is – the whole pseudo-swear phenomenon is very tiring!! It’s somewhat annoying to decipher. I’m too tired to attempt to figure out if “WTF” means “Where’s The Farmer”, “Who’s That Fox”… or … well… you know!

Either swear, or don’t. If you don’t want to swear, then stop using those stupid acronyms and pretending. And if you do want to swear, then go to sailor/pirate school and embrace it fully – no more hiding behind an innocent little “WTF” you scurvy dogs!

Frankly, all those people using acronyms just make me LMAO!!

My "Favorite" Things

A few days ago I was doing the typical morning duties – making beds, begging children to eat and get dressed, trying to pee in privacy etc. For some reason that song from The Sound of Music popped into my head. You know, the song listing the nanny’s favorite things. However, on that chilly morning while I was knee deep in a 3 year-old meltdown and my baby had just pulled the TV off my dresser, successfully breaking it, I began to substitute the cheerful lyrics with a more cynical version of the song. I thought I’d share:

THESE ARE A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS – The Cynical Cut

Raindrops on windows, my breath smells like kittens

Bright smiles before dawn, with Barney they’re smitten

Brown smelly diaper, my nostrils they sting…

These are a few of my favorite things

Cream colored shirt now it sports some nice doodles

Doorbells and cell phones and burning the noodles

Wild kids that jump high and ruin the couch springs

These are a few of my favorite things

Girls playing kung-foo with ribbons and sashes

Allergic reaction, I’ve lost all my eyelashes

Searching the house for my darn wedding rings

These are a few of my favorite things

When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I call out for Dad(dy)!!