Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Broken Promises.

I made a commitment to come back to blogging.  Then I disappeared again.  It't not cause I don't love you.  It's me. Not you.

I'm the dog who caught the car.  I had this 'oh wouldn't that be awesome' thing in the back of my mind and it worked out.  So with like five shoots a week and two kids with schedules and a household to run I am kinda busy.  A good busy.  A 'squeeze in three miles before 7am' busy.  And I'm in love with it.

Which mean blog neglect.

But I had to share this.  My 4 year old, when he gets tired, crumbles if you look at him funny.  Last night he turned on his toothbrush (one of those five dollar electric transformers ones) and the batteries were dead.  And I hear from the bathroom, 'Oh come on!'.  He might as well have said 'could anything else possibly go wrong on this horrible no good very bad day?!?!?' after he spent the morning at school and the afternoon in a bounce house in the backyard. Life is SO hard.

So.  Happy Halloween! Promise to be back before Thanksgiving! Or try to be :)

xoxo


Tuesday, October 2, 2012

I'm back. For reals this time.

I was an awesome blogger in 2011.  Like really good.

I'm tired of blogging about not being able to lose 10 pounds (blah blah blah researching lipo... kidding.  Kind of) and death.  And chances are if there are any readers left, you're tired of it too.

So.  It stops today.  The poor me/sad me blogging stops.  Because the truth of the matter is that life is quite good.  Excellent even.  It's just that I get sad and I write.  I get happy and I laugh and play and savor the moment.  You get it.

So. Without further ado.  Some observations and revelations, old school styles.

My baby turns two this month. I'm not crying about it (see above note about no more sad blogging).  But 2? Really?  Cause I think she was born like a month ago and yesterday she started walking and now she's turning 2? How is that possible?  Serious. And here's the thing.  She's a talker. Her brother was and continues to be a talker and she's a HUGE talker.  Like full sentences.  And correct grammar.  It's the grammar that gets me.  Sometimes I wish when I hear 'Mommy I do it myself' (albeit in a sweet toddler voice) I secretly (or outloud) wish she'd say 'Mommy, my do it!'  And the potty.  She wants to sit on the potty.  I'm not begging to wipe her ass for a lot longer but come on, one thing at a time please.

Halloween.  It's a big deal in our neighborhood.  So big, in fact, that I made a burlap wreath.  Made one.  And I didn't have to start over and I didn't throw anything against the wall.

On a weight related note (but not a poor me sad face one) my husband hid the scale.  And for a month it's been nice to not have it in the bathroom taunting me, begging me to get on it every hour on the hour to see if I lost a pound by cutting some pineapple and doing the dishes.  But now I'd like to get back on it.  Not hourly, maybe weekly and he won't tell me where it is.  Do your grocery stores have giant old school scales? Ours does.  And I think that's where my weekly weigh ins will now take place.  At Publix.  See you there.

Back to Halloween.  Cosutmes.  The kids were discussing their costumes and Cannon was planning on Batman (until we went to Target and he saw Optimus Prime.  Game over) and E will be a princess (obviously).  And I overheard this from the playroom, "Since you're going to be a princess I will protect your kingdom." And I died. Of a happy full heart.

I was gonna do the mudroom project.  Pinterest style only hiring someone to do it.  And I kept getting these quotes where they would say 'It's $XXX and we'll put in a shelf and a cabinet" and no one told me what the cabinet would look like or the shelf or if it would be made of rich mahogany or freaking plywood.  So I bought a storage bench and hung some hooks myself and all is right in the mudroom.

The dog.  He wasn't putting any weight on his back foot (one of them, yes he has 2) and I was feeling all, 'oh my god the dog is broken cause I don't pay any attention to him and we have to take him to the vet immediately even though I have the two kids with me and it will be a giant pain in the ass'.  So I did.  $300 later he's got a sprained ankle.  Or possibly a dislocated ankle cause once we got home, it was fine.  So the vet thinks dislocated.  I call bullshit and he wanted attention.  $300 worth.

I started using myfitnesspal (yesterday).  Cause I got an iPhone (5 bitches) and it's easy.  And did you know you can just scan the barcode of whatever you're eating and it adds it!?!?  Even stuff from Trader Joe's (where I can now drive in a mere 90 minutes instead of 3 hours).  So between the app and the Publix weigh in's I should be able to shame myself into losing the weight.  If not, lipo.  Who's coming with me?

I got a new camera.  Cause I've got this business and it's going well and I really love it and it's actually all rainbows and butterflies.  And my new camera is smarter, and prettier than I am.  And the day it was delivered I missed the UPS man and almost chased him down in my car with one child at home asleep but I didn't.  I instead opted to BEG and PLEAD and incessantly call the distribution center to get him to come back.  And he did.  So I've got this new camera and I'm afraid of it a little bit.  But I'm less afraid and more totally psyched for a new challenge and a no longer 'bottom of the barrel' camera.

This is the time of year I really really really miss living in the midwest.  Because right now it's like 85 with 185% humidity and a dew point of a trillion.  And everyone else is picking pumpkins and making soup and jumping in piles of brightly colored leaves and having family photo shoots on pretty farms where the sun is golden and no one is sweating.  But we did go to the beach on Sunday and get a tan.  So take that.

Ok.  Not bad for my first day 'back in the saddle' of the fun side of blogging.  Maybe there will even be pictures next time.  But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

The Best part?  I'm baacccckkkk.



Sunday, September 30, 2012

happy birthday grandma.

I want nothing more today than to pack up my kids and go to my Grandmother's house and eat birthday cake and to sing 'happy birthday' to her and celebrate.  I want to celebrate her birthday so bad it physically hurts my heart.  And I can't.  I mean I could go to her almost empty house and visit but there's none of her left there.

It's been three months.  And sometimes out of no where like a damn ton of bricks it hits me and I just cry.  I cry cause I miss her.  Or because she's missing something I would want to share with her.  My kids birthdays.  Her birthday.  The holidays are coming.  She loved the holidays.

And then, sometimes, I can almost feel her standing next to me, her hand around my waist and her head on my shoulder.  I can almost feel her.  Those moments when you can actually see the rays of sunshine coming through the clouds.  I can almost feel her. There is comfort in those moments.

But dammit.  I miss her.  So badly.

But she would mad.  She would be mad if we just sat around and cried.  So we're going to celebrate.  The way she would want us to celebrate.  With our toes in the sand.  Maybe a few afternoon beers.  On the beach.  Watching the pelicans soar.  And we're going to remember. And laugh. And feel her.  And know she is watching over us.  Guiding us.  Loving us.

Happy birthday Grandma.  I love you.



 

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

on why I want to put my fist through the wall.

So.  At the end of January I wrote this.  The beginning of my journey to lose like 10 pounds.  By now I thought for sure I'd be rid of those 10 pounds.  I thought FOR SURE.

Since then I have been running, eating healthier, did a bootcamp twice a week for 16 weeks.  My clothes fit a little better, I'm definitely stronger.  I can run four or five miles now with relative ease.  All of this sounds well and good until I tell you this.

I have not lost ONE GODDAMNED POUND since February.  Not one.

The 'eating healthier' was fewer carbs and calories but until two weeks ago I was still drinking wine on the regular (my vice, seriously) and grabbing a handful of goldfish here and there.  We ate out a lot and despite good menu choices it's still not as healthy as eating at home.

So.  About 10 days ago I gave up carbs.  Wine.  I gave up wine.  And bread. And pretzels.  Sweet stuff.  Short of a spinach smoothie (with greek yogurt) with fruit in the morning, the amount of carbs I'm taking in is not even worth talking about.

And still.

I have not lost ONE GODDAMNED POUND.

I'm not asking for 30 pounds. 10.  Just 10.  For no one other than me.

And that, friends, is why I want to put  my fist through the wall.  Or the scale.

Cause... really... if I weigh the same when I don't eat (or drink) the things I love, as I do when I do eat them, they why bother???

Monday, July 30, 2012

it was time.

You know when you feel like you could sleep for hours? Not cause you want to, cause you need to?  Yeah. That.

We have some closure.  We have sort of closed a chapter.  Or tied a ribbon on a present.  We celebrated my grandmother this weekend. We cried some.  We laughed a lot.  We drank even more.  It was exactly the way she would have wanted it to be (except for her not being there).  We toasted her.  I managed to give a speech, albeit slightly teary.  We sorted through 40 years of stuff.  It was cathartic.  And emotional.  And fun.  And it needed to happen.  Exactly the way it happened.

I still miss her like crazy.  I still have trouble believing she's just not here anymore.  But here's the thing.  What she left behind?  The family she helped create?  The love that we share?  And how much closer her passing has brought us?  It's all pretty awesome.

And so now we hold hard onto our memories.  We remember the good.  We move on.  With her always in our hearts.  And bits and pieces of her life scattered throughout ours.

If you're interested in what I cried my way through at the celebration, it's below.  Happy Monday, friends.



My name is Corey and I’m the oldest grandchild, also the only granddaughter which makes me the favorite.

There is something safe about your grandparents house.  Something comforting about knowing that there will always be neopolitan ice cream scooped into coffee mugs if you need it.  That you can go there and take nothing with you because she’s got it all there.  There’s something about walking through the garage into the kitchen knowing she will be in there.  And that you can always go there.  Always.  Grandma didn’t get mad at you.  She couldn’t be mad at you, even if mom and dad were.  To her, we were all perfection.  She loved us all unconditionally.  Without a question.  When my brother got a tattoo and as a result couldn’t go home for spring break, he came here.  Grandma would take him.  She’d take any of us.  In a heartbeat.  She’d hold your hand or scratch your back.  Or just say ‘oh hi sweetie’ in a way that only she could.  For us she was safety and comfort and unconditional love. 
We are so lucky.

There is a poem that reads: A wonderful bird is the pelican whose bill will hold more than his bellican. Food for a week he can hold in his beak but I’ll be damned if I know how the hellican. 

We used to stand on the balcony of the 7th floor condo they would rent in Ponce Inlet every summer and watch the pelicans fly by.   She told me once she was coming back as one.  That once she was gone, she'd be back, as a pelican.  So the next time you go to my grandmother’s favorite place on the planet, the beach take a moment and watch the pelicans soar.  Watch them effortlessly glide through the air above the waves.  Marvel at their beak first plummets into the water.   And remember the woman we celebrate here tonight.  Because she’s up there, soaring.  And telling us all to stop making such a fuss over her and enjoy the beer.

Please, raise your glass to our grandmother who couldn’t have loved us more if she tried… We hope the greens are well manicured.  That the sand soft between your toes.  And that your happy hours are spent alongside Umpah with cold beer and martinis on the rocks.

To Grandma.




Monday, July 16, 2012

observations and revalations.

It is not ever socially acceptable to see a cute baby in a stroller and pull out your cell phone and take a picture of said baby just cause you work at Sunglass Hut and the baby is wearing sunglasses.  Not ever.

I made a cake with Greek yogurt instead of just about everything else.  Because I have a Pinterest addiction.    It also makes me feel slightly inadequate when it comes to just about everything.  But has equally fabulous ideas. I mean where else would I learn how to clean out my dishwasher, get a fabulous idea for a birthday party and also learn about these???

Along those same lines... I want every room in my house painted except for three.  Yesterday.  But the outside needs to be painted too.  I can think of a million things I'd rather spend that money on.

A bestie and I are driving 2 1/2 hours one way to go to Trader Joe's on Saturday.  Also to escape our children.  Also to stop at the outlets. It's for the greater good.

Do not go see Magic Mike.

I took both of my kids to the grocery store in the rain because we were out of milk.  Only extra item I came home with? Rainbow marshmallows.  Victory.

On a non-sarcastic note, I'm pinching myself over how much fun I'm having with my photography business and how awesome things are. Pinching myself.  Like, did this really work out? For reals?

It rains here everyday right now. Usually in the afternoon.  Which for me means it's time to crawl under the covers and sleep.  Someday my 3 year old will understand.  Someday.

That same 3 year old (who's really dangerously close to four) has learned the word brilliant.  And now everything I do is brilliant.  Finally, someone who agrees with me!

On that birthday note, he wants a surprise super hero party.  This will be the easiest surprise party I ever throw.  And we're getting a bounce house for it.  Our postage stamp of a backyard is JUST big enough.  We may be able to rig up something so you can actually slide from the top of the lanai into the bounce house.

The Best part? A blog post, old school O&R style.




Thursday, July 12, 2012

1 year.

It's been more than a year since my better half took a new job opportunity that landed on our doorstep as if out of no where.  And six weeks after he left, we followed.

It was a year ago today that the kids and I were wheels up, Florida bound.  I cried when the plane took off. Big fat tears of sadness.  Ugly cries.  I'm sure it didn't freak my kids out at all.  Change is scary.  Leaving the people you know and love, also scary. And horribly sad.  And everything happened at lightening speed.  The house we loved, our first home, the one we brought our kids home from the hospital to, sold super fast.  And we had to leave.

We arrived to a two bedroom apartment where BGB (throw back on the acronym) had to sleep in a bathroom.  And elephants lived upstairs.  We went through house after house, offer after offer.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that was all happening for a reason but at the time, it sucked.  But we landed where we were supposed to.

A lot has happened in a year.  Some of it good, great even.  Some of it terribly sad.  All of it for a reason.

We have made a home here.  A home we love.  Surrounded ourselves with people who make us better or who at least make us laugh.  We have nuzzled right in.  But what we haven't done is forgotten.  The people and place we loved.  The friends who we made our family.  Their spot is still firmly planted in our hearts.  Always will be.  That's the beauty of friendship.  As long as you nourish it, it grows.

That's what's cool about life.  It changes.  But some things, don't have to.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Pelicans.

A funny old bird is the pelican.  
His beak can hold more than his bellican.
Food for a week
He can hold in his beak, 
But I don't know how the hellican.


We used to stand on the balcony of the 7th floor condo they would rent on the Atlantic every summer and watch the pelicans fly by.  Soar is a better word.  They soared by.  She told me once she was coming back as one.  That once she was gone, she'd be back, as a pelican.  


Three good days.  "I've had three good days in a row!" my grandmother exclaimed to me on the phone Sunday.  "Things are looking up."  We made plans for the fourth of July.  She was going to be well enough to walk to the club.  Have dinner with us.  Watch the fireworks with the kids.  I bought her some stuff at Sam's Club, you know, bulk.  Maybe.  Just maybe.  There was hope.  

She passed away this morning.  She's with my grandfather again.


Umpah and Grandma on her 80th birthday

My grandmother fought a hard, long fight.  Really long.  For years she's lived with a heart that wasn't strong enough to keep up with her.  Keep up with her golf game, bridge games, happy hours, holiday parties.  And it finally gave up.  Or maybe her heart served it's purpose.  Maybe once my Grandfather died it was done.  Maybe it was broken.  It's probably all of these things.  


"Corey, you give that handsome husband a kiss for me, ok?"


I am so lucky.  For 31 years I knew and loved and spent time with my grandmother.  She saw me graduate from high school, and college.  She was at my wedding.  She knew my kids.  They knew her.  Things happen for a reason.  We moved to Tampa a year ago for a reason, not just for a job opportunity.  A reason much greater than that.  How lucky am I to have spent the last year of my grandmother's life, living 10 minutes away?  I am so lucky.


Umpah, Grandma and my family (with baby girl in my belly) 2010




For a while now we've been preparing for this.  And she kept on keeping on.  I said goodbye to her half a dozen times. I know that my Grandma died knowing how much I love her.  Cause I got to say it.  I am so lucky.

"I married him for better or for worse but not for lunch."

When someone is dying, you think about what you will remember. What you want to remember.  What you want to hold on to.  And never forget.

I will not ever go to the beach without thinking of her.  No one loved the beach more than my Grandmother.  No one.  Her toes in the sand.  The sun warming her skin.  No one loved it more.  And the same goes for golf.  My Grandmother loved to play golf.  And played almost until the day she died.  85 years old.  Not many 85 year olds can say that.

"What in the world?!?!"

She loved the holidays.  Every single one.  Valentine's day.  St. Patrick's day.  Especially Christmas.  No inch of her house went undecorated.  Actually no inch of her went undecorated either.  She was the queen of seasonal wear.  Earrings. Necklaces. Outfits.  She was the first one to get her Christmas cards out, every year. She's probably the reason I want my tree out before the Thanksgiving dishes are done.  She loved to celebrate.  And didn't ever need a reason but loved having a holiday theme to tie to any celebration.  


Thanksgiving 2011, couldn't let anyone else make the turkey

Making Christmas cookies with Cannon, 2011


I will never eat Neapolitan ice cream without thinking of her (in fact, now I'll eat in in honor of her).  She'd give it to us in a coffee cup.  Not a bowl.


"Oh hi dear. How are my babies?"

I got scoliosis from my Grandmother.  I mean I guess technically I got it from my Dad who got it from her.  Not normally something you would mention after someone you love dies (like, 'oh yeah, those bunions, those are genetic, got those from grandpa bob') but I share this with good reason.  Having scoliosis and having a spinal fusion when I was 14 made me who I am today.  It's not life threatening, but it's life altering.  I learned how strong I am, what I can do if I put my mind to it, and what I am capable of taking on.  Thanks to her.  She would never look at it that way but I do.  I'm so grateful to have gotten scoliosis from her.

With Cannon at the zoo, 2011

Her eyes.  Both of my Grandmothers had blue eyes.  No one else has them.  Not me, not my husband, my parents, his parents.  I will not ever look into my daughter's blue eyes without thinking about Grandma.  Every time we went over there she'd say, "Corey, her eyes are still blue" with a giant smile on her face.  Those eyes, by the way, are going to help medical research.  Her heart might not have been worthy but those beautiful blue eyes were more than worthy.

Giving Cannon a bike for Christmas 2011

I will hold onto these memories and many more forever.  I want my kids to grow up knowing who GG is.  And knowing how much she loved them.

With my sweet blue eyed girl, Christmas 2011


I don't know how long it takes to get used to someone being gone.  With my grandfather it was different.  He was mentally gone long before he died.  It's going to take a long time.  Cause I can't call her anymore.  Or just drop by and say hi.  It's weird.  Doesn't feel real.

But it is very real.  She's gone.  If you could squeeze memories in your arms and hold onto them for dear life, that's what I'm doing right now.

It's going to take a while.

It's going to come in waves.  Like the ocean at the beach she loved so very much.

We will celebrate her the way she wanted to be celebrated.  She told me in no uncertain terms that there was to be no funeral.  She wanted a party.  A big party.  And we are going to have one.  For her.  Because hers is a life worth celebrating.  A love worth celebrating.  A journey worth celebrating.  Because she's my Grandma and she deserves it.

Grandma, I love you more than words could ever say.  I hope the sun is warm, the greens well manicured and the beer cold.  I'll keep my eye out for soaring pelicans.






Friday, June 1, 2012

to those who dream, there's no such place as faraway.

Life is funny.  Not in a 'ha ha' kind of way.  More in a 'really? this was the plan?' kind of way.  And sometimes in a 'I want to punch you in the face' kind of way.

Today I want to punch life in the face.  I want to ask it, why the hell this way?  If this was the plan all along, why put her through this?  Cause this was NOT fair.  This is NOT the way anyone would want to spend the last few months of life.  This sucks.

8.  The number of times my Grandma has been in the hospital since February.
Dozens.  The number of times her defibrillator has fired, shocking her back to life while simultaneously literally knocking her on her ass.  
8.  The number of miraculous recoveries she made.  Leading us all to believe, each time, that maybe, just maybe she'd play a little more golf and drink a few more Miller Lite's.  
6.  The number of times I said bye to her.  

The defibrillator is off now.  She's in hospice care.  Comfortable.  Resting.  Not sure she'll rally again this time.  No one expects her to.  This has been a long, hard fight.

I want to punch life in the face.  But I also want to thank life.  There aren't a lot of people whose grandparents get to meet their kids.  And what about the people who don't get to say 'bye' one time, let alone half a dozen?  I got to tell her, to her face, what a great grandmother she has been.  How much I love her.  How whenever I'm at the beach I will think of her.  And whenever I see a pelican soaring, I'll know, it's her.  I got to tell her that I will make sure my kids remember who GG is.  I got to tell her it's ok.  It's ok if she can't fight anymore.  I got to say those things.  Look her in her blue eyes and tell her.  I love her.

Not everyone is that lucky.   





Tuesday, May 8, 2012

self serving... and a few quickies.

So this photographer worked some miracles.  And this website wrote some stuff about me.  I dig it.  Thought you might too.  And who knew Francesca's had really cute stuff?  Cause I didn't.


I'm over bootcamp.  I'm over 5am and the same freaking hour of songs.  Problem is that I've got five classes left and I already paid.  Therefore I power through.  Taking a summer break for sure.  But the good news is I am still running and my shins appear to be healed.  Must be the divine medical help I got from that really awesome doctor.


Telling your wife as you lie down to go to sleep that someone tried to break into the neighbors house while we were away on vacation is a bad idea.


Key takeaways from locking my keys in the car at the farmer's market. No pun intended.  I have amazing friends. Leaving your back door unlocked is OK as long as you know you have plans on locking your keys in the car. And I should use that remote keyless entry thing more often.  


I was not cut out for music class.  There's not enough preschool teacher in me to even pretend I like it.  And when Little Bunny Foo Foo gets a lesson about bad choices and sits in a 'safe place' to think about his decision, it takes everything in my power to not to bop the teacher on the head.





Monday, April 23, 2012

O&R

I have been kind of a downer of late.  Forgive me.  Grandma is a bit better.  Looking like I get to be greedy a bit longer. 

Onto lighter notes.

The dishwasher was leaking.  It also seemed like it wasn't rinsing as well as it used to.  It's less than a year old.  The repairman came at 8 sharp this morning (I called yesterday) and said I was right.  It was leaking.  He threw some soap in and noticed it sudsing quite a bit.  And then said, and I quote, "Are you sure you're using dishwasher soap?".  Turns out, what happens when you accidentally throw one of those new fancy laundry detergent gel packs in the dishwasher a few times, it leaks.  Wonder what the bill will be for being stupid.  And to be clear, it was NOT intentional.  I did not realize it was laundry detergent when I grabbed the fancy new gel packs off the end cap a week ago.

I stepped in poop the other night.  On my kitchen floor.  Human poop. 

I bought a new swimsuit.  Only it's called a swim dress which makes me feel Amish and like I'm one step away from mom jeans.  No, it doesn't have sleeves.  Nor does it come to my knees.  And it's amazing. 

Discovered my absolute favorite flower growing in our backyard this morning.  Gardenias.  If you have not smelled them in bloom you are missing out.  Majorly.  

The other day Cannon said something to me in the car and I didn't hear him.  When I asked what he said he responded, "neveryours mommy"... Brilliant. 

I did it.  She's 18 months old and I took the bottle away.  Tough love for Cannon on his first birthday the bottles were gone but not for my baby girl.  She didn't bat an eye.  Someone hold me.

The tremendously talented brother of a best friend of mine designed a logo for my photography business last week.  I am blown away and humbled by his talents.  Check it here if you like.  Or here.  I'm not one for tattoos but this, I might consider.

In six days we are unplugging.  For a week.  Of vacation.  Toes in the sand, lazy days, unplugging.



Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Greedy...

I'm being greedy.  But I want more.  More time.  I want more time.  Not for myself.  I want more time with her. 

My grandmother isn't well.  Hasn't been in a while.  And I find myself being selfish.  Greedy.  I realize there aren't many 31 year olds who have a grandparent still with them.  I realize how lucky this makes me.  I do.  And I want her to stick around.  I'm not asking for years (although that would be nice).  Just a little while. 

But I have to be even greedier.  I want her around and feeling good.  I want her to be able to enjoy a few more things before it's her time.  I realize that 18 holes of golf might not be in the cards.  But putting her toes in the sand might be.  Hanging with her great grandkids a little more.  Being at home.  Not in a hospital bed covered in wires surrounded by beeping.  I want her to enjoy a few more cold ones.  A few more laughs.  Maybe some chocolate cake.

I realize this is asking a lot.  Maybe even too much.  I know I'm being greedy.  And selfish.  But I'm not ready to let go. 

I'm just not.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Dr. Asshole.

Normally when I have bad customer service I have someone to call.  I can find an email address to complain to. I have some sort of outlet.  Today this is my outlet.
I've got these shin splints.  Yes? You've heard. I know.  So I made an appointment with an orthopedic guy to make sure they weren't anything worse than shin splints and also to have him look at my shoulder.  It's bothering me a little bit and I thought, when in Rome. 

So the appointment is this morning, at 10:10.  I arrive at 10.  I'm a new patient.  I know there's paperwork.  I should add I have an 18 month old with me.  And maybe you know an 18 month old who likes to hang out in a stroller for a long time, but I don't.  Anyway.  I get called back at 11:05.  That's right.  Almost an hour.  But I didn't throw a fit. I didn't even ask. I put on my very best face and used my very best patience.  I told the nurse my issues and at 11:20 Dr. Asshole comes in. 

Ask him.  He's a big deal.  Trust me on this one.  He checked out my legs for about a minute.  Told me I have flat feet (no shit...) and prescribed physical therapy (at the facility he owns).  Then I ask about my shoulder and the conversation goes like this:

Me: Can we talk about my shoulder really quick?
Asshole: Let's do the shoulder another time. I've already spent a lot of time with you and shoulder is a whole other ballgame.
Me: I waited for you for an hour and fifteen minutes.
Asshole: You want an orthopedist you have to wait for. 

And cue my mouth falling open, him exiting, and his nurse mouthing 'sorry' to me as she leaves.

This is what's wrong with healthcare.  That asshole is going to get paid even though he did almost nothing for me.  And if I was a fool and actually bought the whole 'come back again for the shoulder' thing then he would get paid TWICE. 

So. I reviewed him on ratemds.com and I emailed my insurance company.  I've found him on facebook and am considering emailing him to tell him just how disgusted I am and how I will be telling everyone who will listen what a prick he is. 

Until then, I'm telling you. 
If you live in Tampa and want to know his name I will happily tell you. Just ask.

And here's what I've come up with for the Facebook email... should I decide to send it... but I probably won't because it probably won't make any difference and he won't care and it's not worth it... but I feel better writing it... thoughts?

I hate to reach out to you this way but could find no email address or website with any contact information for you. So ,I have resorted to Facebook.
I want you to know that I am disgusted by the way you treated me today. I would have said this to your face but I was so shocked that by the time I had words to say you had swiftly moved onto the next paycheck, I mean patient. I waited an hour and fifteen minutes to see you today (with an 18 month old) and you couldn't take an extra three minutes (after spending 4 solid minutes with me) to even hear what was bothering me about my shoulder.
Clearly your time is more valuable than that of your patients. And your response when I shared with you how long I waited to see you today was nothing short of egotistical and rude. It lines up with everything I have now read about you on the internet. I don't want to see any doctor who thinks his time is more valuable than that of his patients. Having a long wait time does not make you a better physician. Just the opposite, in fact. And on top of that, it makes you inconsiderate.
I am an educated woman with a solid head on my shoulders. To suggest that I come back to see you to waste another 90 minutes of my time so you can prescribe more physical therapy at the facility you own is ludicrous. And I'm certain my insurance company would be thrilled to hear your suggestion.
I may not be a professional athlete seeking your help to get back on the field, but I am a profession talker. And I talk to just about anyone. About just about anything. I plan on talking about my experience today for a long time.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

observations and revelations.

So. I had a physical for the first time in probably close to a decade.  I can't remember how long it's been.  And while the nurse gasped when I told her that, I'm pretty sure I'm not alone.  I think a lot of women my age who have kids just figure everything is fine.  I can get pregnant.  Have babies.  I know all those parts work.  So I'm sure the rest is fine. 

Doctor told me to give up diet coke.  All soda.  He wasn't just hating on diet coke but it's the only one I drink.  At first I scoffed.  I haven't had one in almost a week (and there are cold ones in the fridge).  I'm surviving. Don't have a headache yet.  Drinking water instead, cause he's not a big fan of crystal light either.  Funtaker.  But he didn't tell me to give up wine so it could be worse.

I was hoping for a under active thyroid to be revealed in my blood work.  No such luck.  It also turns out the scale at home is spot on.  I digress.  I am vitamin D deficient.  You know where you get vitamin D?  The sun.  You know where I live?  The surface of it.  Florida.  Everything you read about vitamin D deficiency talks about people whose skin is never exposed to the sun.  This is not me.   

Tomorrow, I leave.  With my kids.  Without my husband.  Over six days we will fly five different times.  Tampa to Nashville to St. Louis to Pittsburgh to Cincinnati to Tampa.  The only flights where I will have someone to help me with a very active 30 pound 18 month old (who doesn't have a seat of her own because why buy one before you have to?) and a three year old, are the latter two.  You're jealous right?  Or you're excited cause this can only mean one thing: excellent blog stories.

I have these shin splints.  Posterior ones. They got bad.  Like felt like my bones were gonna crack in half.  And so I got some compression sleeves.  They help.  And not just cause they're hot pink tye dye.  Got some new insoles too.  Legs no longer feel broken.

You know that boot camp I was doing for eight weeks at 5am two days a week?  Well it just wrapped up the first eight weeks.  I swore I wasn't going to do it again.  Because 5 in the morning sucks.  But I'm doing it again.  Because the only part that sucks is the alarm going off and the getting up.  After that it's pretty awesome.  And it's turning me into a brick shithouse.  That's right. I said it.

Ok.  Off to put every snack in the house into a ziploc baggie, pack the iPad, DVD player, Mobigo, 1000 cars and a flask.

And... we're off.


Friday, March 23, 2012

one of these things is not like the other.

We don't have lots of princesses.  Our collection of baby dolls and things pink and girly is growing, albeit slowly.  She plays with the same stuff he does.  Bubbles and cars and chalk and puzzles and books.  Cause he's her favorite.  So she wants to do what he does.  So I don't have one kid on one end of the house playing monster trucks and one putting a baby in a crib.  Yet.  I don't feel the huge boy/ girl divide.  Yet. 

But yesterday.  I saw it manifest itself in a different way.  It had nothing to do with cars or dolls.  Pink or blue.

I picked her up out of her crib from her nap and she asked for the shoes in her closet.  (Side note: Not her shoes.  Her brothers shoes.  Specifically orange crocs that she walks around in constantly.   Not just the orange ones. Blue.  Green.  Doesn't matter.  She wants to wear his shoes and only his shoes.)  I said no.  She smacked me.  Not that unusual.  She's figuring out that when she doesn't like something she can express that dislike through a simple smack.  So, I smacked her back.  Kidding.  I took her hand and firmly said, 'no hitting.'.  Period.  No exclamation point.  I did not scream it.  I did not give her a nasty look.  I just said no. 

But I think she must have heard: listenlittlegirlifyousomuchaseventhinkabouthittingmeagainyouwillbeswimmingwiththefishies.

She immediately starts bawling.  Real tears.  Sobbing.  The kind of crying you think might make them vomit.  I hurt her feelings.  I had to sit down and cuddle her (twist my arm) to get her to calm down.

Cannon would have barely reacted to that kind of discipline.  And so for the first time, aside from anatomically, I see the difference in my kids.

Here's the thing baby girl.  I get it.  I don't like being told 'no' either.  I'm certain it's made me cry way later in life than it ever should.  A word of warning.  You will also cry when you get your name written on the board in elementary school.  When you get your first 'B' (this one you'll get over by high school).  When one of us is disappointed in you.  When you feel fat.  The list goes on.  I get why someone you care about disciplining you hurts your heart and makes you feel sad.  I get it.  Cause I'm the same way.  And I would rather you care too much, than not care at all. 

Because maybe, just maybe if you care too much, you won't come home sporting a tramp stamp, with a motorcycle riding boyfriend (who doesn't wear a helmet), and tell us you're dropping out of college to move to Vegas and be a showgirl.  Just maybe.

Love her.  Her passion.  Her giant personality (rivaled only by that of her brother).  And her tears. 

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

a neglected blog.

It's not that I don't love you.  I do.  It's just that I get busy.  And it's a good busy.  But it's busy.  And random blog post thoughts pop into my head and then quickly disappear.  So here I am with a quick O and R.  And really only writing it because I set out to run this morning and I am just too damn sore.  Here goes nothing.

My kids are at awesome ages.  C and his letters and numbers and curiosity is ah.mazing.  He's fun and smart and learning and the temper tantrums seem to have slowed every so slightly.  Cause you know, at 3 1/2 those things slow down.  E is hilarious and has the biggest personality of any 16 month old I know.  Her sleep habits are sporadic at best but I don't mind middle of the night cuddles.  It's the screaming that I mind.  How many teeth does one child need anyway? 

The workouts.  So for a solid six weeks I've been busting it.  Boot camp two mornings a week, running the other days.  Today is probably the third day in the last six weeks I haven't done SOMETHING.  And it's 6:30 am so there's still time.  It took all of five weeks to lose five freaking pounds and it also took that long for me to stop obsessing over the scale and looking in the mirror.  Remember this post?  I should read it more often.  Because when I look in the mirror, things are good.  Asses are higher, legs are crazy strong, arms are thinner, boobs are smaller (of course, stupid stupid thing that happens to women).  I'm really pretty proud that I have gotten into shape and I have zero plans of stopping. 

Speaking of being proud of myself.  Photography.  Rocking and rolling.  A solid three to four sessions a weekend, sometimes more. I am in love.  In love.  And pinching myself that it actually happened.  I set out to start a small business, make some money, do something I love, and have something that was just for me.  And I've done it.  And I'm proud.  You can check out my Facebook page should you so desire.

It's summer here.  A lovely 80 degrees during the day and 65 at night.  Remind me of this in June when it's 100 already.

So.  That's an update.  Not a very exciting one.  But it's' why I haven't been around these parts.  Cause life is good.

Hope you are too.

xoxo

Friday, March 2, 2012

photo op. post 501.

Oh hey.  Been missing.  Wrote a boring post that I haven't posted yet.  About turning another year older, yadda yadda yadda.  And then this happened.

BTW, this is my 501st post.  Should have celebrated on the last one.

Anyway.


Yesterday afternoon I packed up some buckets and shovels, the jogger, some towels and a blanket and headed to the beach. It was 82 and gorgeous and we were going to take advantage. And we did.


 Played in the sand. In the water. Breathed deeply. It's good for the soul. Really good.












See?  We had fun.  My kids love it.  I love it.  We will never get tired of it. 



You get the point.  It was fun.

We have learned, the hard way, that you don't take snacks to the beach.  The rats with wings seagulls are majorly aggressive.  Like out of control.  They will fly down and grab food OUT OF YOUR HAND.  Not only does that scare the shit out of me but it's disgusting.  And they call all of their friends as soon as they smell blood.  So.  We snack on the way to the beach and on the way home.  Not at the beach.  Yesterday was no different.

Then.  People of Walmart showed up.  Mullets.  MAJOR mullets.  A cooler the size of a small car.  Everyone smoking two cigarettes at a time.  Tattoos.  Ugly ones.  Green and yellow ones.  Jorts. Sleeves were hard to come by too.  They set up camp and immediately pulled out giant bags of chips and sandwiches.  They didn't seem to mind the giant rats circling their heads waiting for the right moment to strike.  Then they start feeding them.  This is why the birds are aggressive.  Because assholes feed them.  So now there's like 30 seagulls pooping and cawing all over the damn place. 

I'm taking some pictures of my kids.  And I hear, 'y'all! I got one!'  Yep.  He did.  Balding dude #1 in the grey tux grabbed a seagull out of the air and was holding it on his lap.  Feeding it chips and petting it. 

And so.  I did what any other person would have done.  Took a picture.


No.  Make that two pictures.  To the left of mullet man/woman (?) in the grey tux sans sleeves is the gull whisperer.


And he was surprised when he finally freed Willy the gull why it shit on him. 

The end. 

PS. If you click on the picture you can see the another member of the POW crew.  It's worth it.
Happy weekend.

Friday, February 17, 2012

helllooo president's day weekend.

It's a 3 day-er.  With almost zero plans.  I am in love.

I've lost 3 1/2 pounds in the last almost 3 weeks.  I will take it.  Sure, I would love to have dropped 10 but that's not realisitc.  Not only that but even though it's only a few pounds, I know I am a lot stronger, my clothes fit better, and I'm on my way to being in amazing shape.  Or at least really good shape.  That's all I want.  To be in good shape.  And be slightly skinnier.  The running, bootcamp, and spinning is working.  And since I'm getting up before the sun every week day to bust my ass, it should be working.

I hosted a happy hour playdate yesterday afternoon where we served goldfish and wine.  And lots of other goodies.  I let like 20 kids destroy the house for the sake of some fun for them and for the moms.  And it was fun.  I wrote about it here too.

The baby jumping on the couch because her brother does gives me heart attacks. 

Told Dan I want to go to Ikea this weekend.  He asks, 'what for?'. Um. I don't know yet.  Um. Does it matter?  Um. Sweedish treasures I am in dire need of and just don't know it yet.  Any of these answers is the right one in this situaiton. FYI.
Trader Joe's is opening in Sarasota.  It's like an hour+ away.  And just like that, my plan is falling into place.

I don't deal in tuna fish.  Tuna steaks, yes.  Tuna fish out of a can or a pouch or a gold encrusted box from Tiffany's, no. 

E took her diaper off in her crib in protest of a nap the other morning.  When I walked in after she slept I thought for half a second that she hadn't peed the bed. 

Also, this child has some serious junk in her trunk.  It does not come from my side of the family.  I have no ass.  If she gets my other curves and that ass we are all in big trouble.

Am I the only one haunted by party favors?  The dollar store crap that just shows up, even after you thought you had thrown it away?  Would rather send children home with a shit load of candy and call it a day.  Or sidewalk chalk.   

It's one of those gray gloomy days where if you didn't have kids and didn't have a job you would just lay in bed and watch movies and drift in and out of sleep.  Although if you didn't have kids or didn't have a job that may be your everyday.

And since my kids are about to nap.  I'm gonna go pretend I don't have any kids or a job. for like 45 minutes.

Happy weekend friends.




Wednesday, February 8, 2012

observations and revelations

Throwing it back to the old school cause I'm so cool.

January kicked my ass.  It took a full week for me to return to feeling semi normal.
This dieting thing is working.  I said bye to two pounds last week.  And it's probably no coincidence that as soon as I decided to diet I ran into a friend who talked me into a 5am bootcamp twice a week. There are small muscles I didn't know existed.

And the mornings where there isn't bootcamp I am sleeping in until 6 and running with a few others.  Honestly it makes it so much more enjoyable and goes by so much faster when you have someone to talk to and pass the time with.
Sometimes I look at the people I'm friends with on facebook and think, really?  Why?  I mean it's not like we talk, ever.  If we haven't talked since high school should we be facebook friends?  I mean if you have kids and we can relate and you say funny things sometimes, then I'm cool with it.  Then I got a request from a girl who I don't remember.  I didn't do anything with it.  Then she sent me a note reminding me who she is.  Really?  Is this what facebook has become?  Cause I don't think she's saving the whales and looking for support... I think she wants to stalk my pictures.  Not cool. 

I added some new initials this week.  LLC.  Now I can pay taxes.  Exciting, no?

Speaking of taxes, when our packet of documents arrived from our accountant this week it had our names on the outside and two other clients names and social security numbers on the inside.  So.  He's fired and I'd like to know who has our information.
And how about this one?  I'm not speaking in religious undertones but I love this.  Courtesy of Pinterest.  Which Dan told me last night is the newest and fastest growing social marketing tool.  Probably cause it's awesome.


I'm mourning the fact that my three year old can now pronounce L's.  No more 'I wuv you Mommy!' and no more 'Mommy I was the wine weader at school today!'.  Sad. 

I'm hosting a happy hour playdate with toys and crafts and drinks for the moms.  I was a little worried people would judge.  So far, everyone is coming.  Guess everyone is tired of the playground.

E has fallen for Elmo.  Honestly I am so happy!  Cause Cannon was Elmo obsessed but since he doesn't really watch anymore, and since she watches whatever he watches, I was worried she wouldn't even know who Elmo was.  Which I am pretty sure is a right of passage for a child.  But she does.  And she asks for him and dances to him and sings the song.  That little red monster is baby crack.

It's gonna be 'winter' here this weekend.  Cold and rainy.  I won't tell you how cold.  Cause you'll want to punch me.

The Best part? I'm actually really loving the early morning workouts.  It's good.  Hope you are too.








Monday, January 30, 2012

a weighty issue.

I was pregnant for most of 2008. When I wasn't pregnant, I was nursing and figuring out life with a newborn.

In 2009 I was figuring out how to work fulltime and be a mom. 

In 2010 please see above reference for 2008. 

In 2011 I was nursing for most of the year and also moving my family 1000 miles away.

Welcome to 2012.  The year I get my body back.  I am not growing a child. I am not feeding a child.  I am feeding my face to provide for me and only me.  And I'm going to lose 15 pounds. 

I am not fat.  I know that I am not fat. I don't look in the mirror in disgust.  But I also know I weigh 25 pounds more than I did when we got married almost 7 years ago (what!?!?).  My diet then of slimfast, lean cuisine, and alcohol isn't sustainable and no one should actually exist on fewer than 1000 calories a day and lots of exercise. 

It starts today.  A sustainable diet and exercise.  Nothing crazy.  Fewer carbs, calorie counting, and good old fashioned workouts.  I will not cut out any one food group nor will I cut out alcohol.  We will still eat out and I will have cake on my quickly approaching 31st birthday.  Sustainability is key. 

About a year ago I did this same thing and lost 15 pounds.  I have just hung out there.  So I will do it again.  And pray to maintain.

I have issues with my weight.  Not like eating disorders or anything. I don't need counseling.  I have a blog instead.  But I'm tall.  And big boned.  I never weighed 120 pounds.  I'm not ever going to weigh that.  My goals are realistic ones.  But I still have issues.

I was a chubby prepubescent.  And I have a few vivid memories from middle school when kids were mean.  I remember one time in eighth grade walking up the stairs and hearing two of the popular boys guess how much I weighed.  That'll mess with your psyche. 

I am a sizist.  Just for myself though.  I watched a lot of Stacy and Clinton in my day and I know you should dress for the size you are because you actually end up looking skinnier.  But I won't buy a pair of pants if I have to go up a size.  Won't do it.  I know that's irrational.  I know that all manufacturers have different measurements.  I also know that the size of clothing isn't found on the outside of the pants for the world to see.  Like I said, issues.

When I get on the scale (which is too often... this new diet I will weigh myself twice a week, not twice a day praying for a miracle each time) I hold onto something and then let go like it will trick the scale.  Or myself.

It was just recently that I realized it's normal for adults to discuss challenges with weight.   That no one is going to judge me for admitting I need or want to lose a few pounds.  It's not something I have ever discussed in depth with anyone.  Until now.  Because more and more I am realizing that this is normal.  That most people (save a lucky few) have this challenge.  I am not alone.

I am writing about it, saying it 'outloud', to hold myself accountable.  There won't be weekly updates.  But I will celebrate small victories. 


it starts today.

Saw this on Kim's blog and then on Pinterest. Found it appropriate and motivating.


So there you go.  It's out there.  On the table.  Time to be accountable. 

15 pounds, I'm coming for you.  Cause come vacation time (yes, people who live in FL still go to the beach for vacation) this mama is gonna look like she did before she was a mama.  Or at least resemble that young svelte 26 year old.  

Monday, January 23, 2012

Coralee.

That's what he called me.  Coralee. 

"Coralee" he would say. "Coralee, what is the meaning of this?" as a giant smile spread across his face. 

umpah and i circa 1988

I called him Umpah. Thereby paving the way for all the grandkids who followed to also call him that. Umpah.
Umpah passed away this weekend.  I said goodbye.  We all did.  Doesn't make it easier.  But knowing he's at peace now, that he can rest now, that makes it a little easier.

I share this not to solicit sympathy, but to share a life.  Share a passing, and a lesson.

Frozen bananas. He would unpeel them and wrap them in saran wrap.  Then freeze them.  And eat them.  All the time.


umpah at penn state in 1942, before the war.

Penn State.  Jo Pa.  Umpah graduated from Penn State in 1948, a year before he married my grandmother.  And the year before my Dad was born.  My grandfather was a Nittany Lion to his core.  He bled navy blue and white.  And he loved Joe Paterno.  Joe Paterno died on Saturday night too.  The coincidence didn't escape any of us.  And it's comforting in a way.  To know Umpah and JoPa are up there, having a beer, talking about tackles. 

He ate salad but never vegetables.

My grandfather loved swimming.  The sport.  With a passion.  He groomed my dad, uncle and aunt to be amazing swimmers and athletes.  And he loved the beach. 

Cold beer.  Miller lite more specifically.  Or gin.  Football.  Ice cream.  Those hats with the mesh in the back.  The weather.  Crossword puzzles.  Shooting the bull.  Watching his stocks.  Newspapers.

My grandfather shaved every single day.  He retired 27 years ago and shaved every afternoon. 'You have to shave, Cor.  Everyday.'  he would respond when I asked what he was going to do at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday.

umpah and my younger brother circa 1988

The last few years Umpah had become less active, and less interactive.  He had Alzheimer's, forcing him to take a backseat in conversations, do a lot of nodding and smiling, and talk about the weather.   Alzheimer's takes away the person.  The personality.  Not the life, but the life.  The life like the energy.  The passion.  The enthusiasm.  And he struggled to get around.  It's not how he would want me to remember him.  And it's not how I will remember him.

umpah, grandma and my parents after my parents were married

Back up a couple weeks to Christmas week.  We spent it at the beach with my parents and my dad brought along home movies (formerly VHS tapes converted to DVD, for posterity).  We went back to the 80's.  When I was 8 and my brother 3.  When slouchy socks and tube socks were cool, horizontal stripes in bright colors were worn with stirrups and Keds, and when you drove a wood grain station wagon (you know the ones where the way back seat faces backwards and you stare at the people behind you) instead of a minivan if you had kids. 


And when Umpah was healthy. 

When he played tetherball with us, took my new rollerblades for a spin, let my brother tackle him while they played football in the backyard.  When he walked miles a day and went for a daily bike ride to Publix to pick up a paper and chat with his buds.  When he said things like, 'thing of it is Cor...' and 'Well I'll be darned...'.  He's in those videos the way I want to remember him.  The way he would want me to remember him. 


My grandfather fought bravely inWorld War II.  And the Battle of the Bulge.  He earned a bronze star and a purple heart. He came home, married my grandmother and started a family.  Three kids.  Six grandkids.  Two great grandkids.  All because two people loved eachother.

He wrote notes.  Lots of them.  His wedding gift to us was a fireworks show at our wedding.  Fourth of July style.  A loan from him enabled us to buy our first house.  He sent me one of those quarter collection things (when they first came out with the 50 states quarters).  He had filled in about 60%half of it.  The rest was up to me.  Dan finished it.  Umpah would be proud of that.  When I was in college and we would talk he would ask on the regular if I was Suma Cum Laude.  I, of course, was not, but he wanted me to know he wanted me to work hard.  Study hard. 

umpah around 1927

My grandfather met my children.  Not many people can say that.  Sure, my kids might not remember, but I will.  And I have the pictures to show them some day.  The pictures.  Not an online album that will someday go the way of the dinosaur.  An actual physical picture that I had printed and I dutifully filed away in an album.  A real album. 


We will celebrate his life soon.  The way he would want it celebrated.  With family and friends and cold beer.  Not crying over a coffin in a church.  We will toast him.  And remember him.  And honor him.  The way he deserves to be remembered and honored.  We will laugh about his quirks and habits.



We will wrap my grandmother in love and support.  Her parnter of 63 years is gone.  Her high school sweetheart.  My heart hurts for her.  His wedding ring rests on her ring finger, next to hers.  They will be together again (but not anytime soon!).

Here's the lesson. 

My dad sacrificed his coolness card and hauled that enormous video camera just about everywhere.  Didn't care how silly he looked doing it.  And sure then, it may have been a joke among us.  But now?  Now I am so very thankful to have those memories, those times when Umpah was healthy.  So thankful. 

Take videos of your kids.  With your parents, with your grandparents (if you're as lucky as I am to still have grandparents), at family get togethers, or just on a random Tuesday afternoon.  Doesn't matter who's watching.  Your kids will want to watch someday.  And they will appreciate it.
And take your camera.  Everywhere.  Take pictures.  And have them printed.  And put them in an album, or a box, or on your walls.  Have them printed.  Or have a photobook printed every year.  Just have something you can touch.  Memories you can actually hold on to. 

And.  Tell people you love them.  Out loud.  Don't assume they know.  Tell them.  Because it's what makes the world go round.

all because two people loved eachother

I love you Umpah.  And miss you.  And will hold hard to those memories.  Forever.  We will take care of Grandma.  Rest in peace. 

Thursday, January 19, 2012

perfect parent. I am not.

I am not a perfect parent.  I lose my temper sometimes.  My kids eat pancakes for dinner (ahem, tonight).  I am not sure I say the right thing all of the time.  The list goes on.  But.  I am doing my best.  We all are. 

Or most of us are.

I try to be understanding of people's situations, or my lack of knowledge of people's situations.  Try not to jump to conclusions.  Try not to judge.  Because I don't know.  I don't know what people go home to at the end of the day.  I have no idea what goes on behind closed doors.  So I try not to judge (at least not immediately).

This time.  I can't help myself.

It was a gorgeous 70 degree Florida winter day and we took a jog to a nearby playground to meet some friends, play, chat, burn energy.  While chatting, a little boy (he's probably 5) runs by myself and a few friends and slams his shin bone into the edge of a stone wall.  I heard his bone hit the wall.  There's no padding on your shin bone.  That hurts.  A lot.  He reacts as any child would (I probably would have reacted this way as well) and falls down and starts crying.  We ask him if he's ok and then see his mom come sauntering over.  Not as quickly as I might have sauntered (I would have run if my kids bone had hit the wall like this, fully expecting it to be exposed and bleeding).  She picks him up and walks right by us saying to her son, and I quote, "Stop crying.  Boys don't cry.  Don't be a sissy."  End quote.

Cue jaws hitting the floor.  Or the synthetic playground surface.  This wasn't a playful conversation (as though those words coming from a mother could be playful).  This was a direct order.  Do not cry. You are a sissy.

She called her son a name.  Sissy to be exact.  She called him a sissy.  And told him not to cry. 

My dad cries.  My brother cries.  My husband has cried a few times. (sorry to give you up guys).  Real. Men. Cry.  Real men express emotion.  Gone are the days where men don't have the right to be sad or to show how they are feeling.  Gone is the stoicism.  Real. Men.  Cry.  And wear pink.

I'm not an expert on bullying, but I'm pretty sure this is how they are born.  Hell, his mom just bullied him.  So when this kid, sees another kid hurting, get hurt, or in pain, how will he react?  Will he run to his aid (as I hope my son would do some day) or will he laugh and call him a sissy? 

I have a son.  We are working hard to make sure he grows up into a kind, compassionate, ambitious, loving, passionate, considerate, good natured, sincere man (LBS if we achieve a quarter of those we'll be successful).  I know we won't get there by calling him names.

I'm not a perfect parent.  I let them watch too much tv.  I bribe with suckers all too often.  And I have never forced a vegetable.  I'm not a perfect parent. 

I'm just saying.  I judged her. And she deserved it.  That and a swift kick in the ass. 

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Absence make the heart grow fonder...?

I have been noticeably not around these parts of late. No particular reason. That whole not boring you with uninteresting things just to put up a blog post is the reason.

Can dogs live without a tongue? Cause around 3 this morning when the dog was licking his nonexistent balls for the third time, I considered grabbing the scissors from the knife block and taking care of it once and for all.

Had our first friend over last week without his mommy. It went swimmingly. Sure they destroyed the place but there was someone else to entertain. Pretty awesome. Have a playdate at a friend from schools house this morning. I don't know their last name and asked via text if she wanted me to stay or drop Cannon off and pick him up. I am sure I sound like mom of the year. I'm just saying. They live close. It's a christian school so surely they are good people. And I have laundry.

We are preparing for 8 days of visitors and I can not wait. Rooms have been painted. Menus are being planned. So excited to have old friends visit our new life. Friends who are really family.

I took pictures (shot photos... captured images... whatever you prefer) of food yesterday afternoon. And I really loved it. Little more creative. Little less pleading with small children.

I wrote an open letter to Trader Joe's basically pleading them to open a store here. Publishing it on another blog I write for. I am certain they will see it, read it, and instantaneously make making dinner at the Best household easier.

I put on a sweater last week. One time. We have turned the heat on twice this winter. True stories. Both of 'em.

The Best part? The friends coming south to play.

Monday, January 2, 2012

O&R new year's edition

Happy new year friends.  Hope it was fun.  And safe.  We celebrated at home.  Amongst luggage, laundry, boxes, and the Christmas turmoil we left behind when we set off for vacation.

We shared a bottle of champagne.  Good champagne.  And both still had a headache yesterday.  I have heard that to tolerate champagne you have to drink it on the regular.  Not sure I can afford that.  And know I can't tolerate that slight headache it brings me for long enough to 'build a tolerance'.

Thought today was a holiday.  As in no trash collection.  Was wrong.  Oh and not only was I wrong about trash but they rounded the corner to pick up Christmas trees too.  Know what happens when you see them three houses away and undecorate your tree in five minutes?  Not pretty.

So thankful to have had the last two days to recoup/regroup/clean/organize/get life back together.  Also so thankful school resumes on Wednesday.  Even if it is only three hours this week.

Never missed the dog so much in my life.  He's been at 'camp' since Christmas eve.  Never realized exactly how much food he cleans up off the floor until now.  When one year olds walk around with pretzel sticks it's not pretty.  At all.  He will have a smorgasbord in a few short hours.

E is definitely my daughter.  And not just because we look alike.  The child loves to eat.  Anything.  Anywhere. Anytime.  If you have food, she wants it.  And let's you know it.  This is endearing now.  When she's 12, probably not.  Hopefully she has her father's metabolism.

Do you know what a 'willit' is?  Apparently it's a yellow and blue snail like creature that spits on three year olds in their dreams.  Have a half asleep three year old tell you that at midnight and try not to laugh.  Dare you.

There is a 'hard freeze' here tonight.  Apparently that means you get out all your ugly old sheets and put them in your front yard.  Interesting.  There are sheets I should have saved for such an occassion.  My apoligies ahead of time to those of you who may be visiting us in the coming weeks.  Promise to wash them.  Swears.

Promised Dan I'd watch more movies with him this year.  I don't really love movies or even like them.  But he does.  Started last night with Horrible Bosses.  Hilarious.  Hoping he returns the favor by partaking in this season of the Bachelor.

Doing ok so far on my promise to blog more. You can thank me now.  Or later.  Whichever.