Confessions of a Serial Swooper

Facebook friends should forgive that a couple fragments were used as status this week.

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1) Murphy’s Law.  If a stay-at-home Mom orders something online that may or may not have been an absolutely necessary purchase, said item will arrive on a day or a time that Husband is home.   Which means SAHM has no chance at opening item, getting item into household circulation and disposing of packaging evidence before Husband notices its arrival.  Every.  single.  time.

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2) Just when you think you’re a strong woman able to handle difficult situations, something will happen to prove you wrong.  Like, your six-year-old will fall face first into a bench and need 15 stitches in his face.  And you will crumble.   And thank god that your husband was with you when it happened so that you can go to pieces and know your baby is still being comforted by a loving parent.  I like to think that, had Husband not been with us, I could have handled it.  But, I’m damn glad I didn’t have to.

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3) We added HBO to our cable yesterday, mostly for the kids movies and Curb. So, now with the Sunday Ticket, MLB package and DVR it’s highly likely our cable now costs more than our mortgage.

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4) I took my boys to see the Lion King this week.  Love that movie.  As you may recall from my last few posts, I’m on a much-needed weight loss quest so I (optimistically?) looked up “movie theater popcorn with butter” on the Weight Watchers points system.   I found it funny that Weight Watchers doesn’t even acknowledge the existence of buttered popcorn on their online points calculator. As if to say, “Don’t be ridiculous, fatty.”

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5) Like many of my blogging brethren, I also read a lot of other people’s blogs.  I have a recent funny favorite in Suri’s Burn Book (click here to see it).  But, I think it’s amazing to read almost every day about the lives of other people, many of whom I’ve been reading for a year or longer.  It’s like being a voyeur without the risk of arrest.   Because someone left the window open and hung a “welcome” sign.

When Big Brother fell, it was horrible for all of us.   There are sounds and images in my head from that afternoon in the hospital that I hope will someday stop replaying and just go away.  And, although writing has always been a little therapeutic for me, I just can’t write about it.  It’s too gory and awful and I hate that it ever happened.

But, days later, when I finally dared let BB out of my sight for more than a minute, I tuned back into “blog world” and was reminded that my experience with my son was, while dramatic to us at the time, really no big deal.  He’s fine.  He’s alive.  He may have some small scars but he’s a healthy, happy 6-year-old boy.  And, more likely than not, we have more trips to the ER ahead of us.

I have read, for more than a year, An Inch of Grey (click).  I’ve always like Anna and related to her writing style and her parenting stories.  When she, her husband and two children were evacuated from the Outer Banks during Hurricane Irene, I commiserated with her in our shared shortened OBX vacations.   And then, just days later, her son was dead.  Lost in a flash flood.  He was 8.  And he’s gone.  She’s starting to write about it.  She’s amazing to me.

15 stitches?  Nothing.

I’m counting my blessings.

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One of my very favorite people turned 42 last week.  Her Mom was in town so she decided to have a low-key get together at her home.  She invited a gaggle of lady friends from “boot camp” — an exercise class my friend has been participating in with the same ladies a couple days a week for the last two years.

She invited those ladies.

And me.

I arrived a little late.

I walked in and immediately noticed that each and every other person in the room was, not surprisingly, in excellent physical shape.  They were all fit.   Many were tall.  All were fashionably dressed.

I should have known.

I was greeted with warm smiles and enjoyed friendly conversation for the duration of the party.

Which is amazing because all I could hear over the course of the evening was this song playing in my head over and over and over again…

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Turning over a new leaf.

Enough is enough.

Since my wedding day, I have literally gained the amount of weight equal to the total weight of my now six-year-old son.   As in, his weight today.  Not the day he was born.

Gross.

So, I’m back in the saddle.

Two things need to happen, right?

Step One:  DIET

I signed back up for Weight Watchers.  See?

(Creamer in my coffee, thus far.)

Prior to my wedding I joined Weight Watchers (like 9 gazillion other women do once they get that ring on their finger and the countdown begins), and lost 35 lbs like it was nothing.  No problem at all.

Granted, I was 29.

Granted, my house was free of leftover chicken nuggets and mac and cheese and, usually, bottles of Pinot Grigio.   Oh, and it was also free of needy children.

And, I had a MAJOR goal (skinny bride!) and a FIRM deadline.

It was easy to get out after work and Rollerblade along the Charles.  It was easy to hop over to Boston Sports Club on my lunch break for a 30 minute run on the treadmill.  It was easy to take the stairs.  It was easy to grab a salad from the restaurant in my office building.

Today?  Yeah.  Not so much.

Step Two:   EXERCISE

So, I also organized a group of six women to get together every Wednesday morning at a personal training joint where we get our a** kicked for an hour in a class called Tread n Shed.   The very first class was two days ago, it was absolutely brutal and we all loved it.

I swear I think I burned 3,972 calories.  And, I only nearly passed out once!

And, I’m not even sore.  Except for when I try to get out of bed, out of a chair, walk up or down stairs, get into my car, pick up my kids or bend over.  The rest of the time I’m totally fine.

Oh, and when we’re not out-of-town, I think I’ll do the class on Saturday mornings, too.  That is, if I can walk by then.

I know.  I know I need to add more exercise into that plan.

But, it’s a start.

I have some blog friends out there in cyber world who have gone on a weight loss tear and, to hold themselves accountable, they posted a BEFORE picture of themselves in their workout clothes on Day One.

I took a picture.

Yeah, well, that’s not happening.

Suffice to say that this polar bear is roughly my size.  And, he’s a lot cuter.

And, perhaps, more coordinated on a treadmill.

You’re welcome.

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Little Brother started at a new pre-school yesterday.  He’s three (four in October) and has actually already been attending a different nursery school for the past two years.  Don’t judge me.  🙂   Anyway, yesterday was his first day at the school from which he will advance to Kindergarten.

Being a typical two-year pre-school, however, there were a number of kids attending who had never been to any sort of school before.   Where Little Brother will be four in just a month, others are barely three.   Where LB has attended “school” in the past, others have not yet been pushed from the safe nest called home or come out from under the hovering wings of Mommy.   It can be a scary time.  But, I was convinced, it wouldn’t be for my seasoned LB.

So, we’d talked about it.  A lot, I guess.

Easy peasy, I said.

You got this.

You’ve already been to school.  

You’re almost four.  

You’ll be bigger than a lot of the other kids.

You can show ’em how it’s done.  

No problem, big guy.

When we arrived at school yesterday, we were (typical) early so I brought LB to the fabulous little playground for a bit.   Other nervous parents had the same idea so there were a few other little kiddos racing around.  LB was happy to join them.  Mothers and Fathers orbited the areas in which our offspring played — keeping close, but not too close.  Giving them space but not wanting to let go too soon.

Little Brother joined another little boy in a castle play structure.  After just a moment or two, I hear Little Brother’s voice from inside.

I’m bigger than you, you know.

His new classmate wouldn’t hear of it.  He leans in towards LB’s face and proclaims…

No!  I’M BIGGER THAN YOU!

At which point, Little Brother took both hands and shoved the kid against the back of the castle.

Awesome.

The other little boy’s mother shrieked, leaping towards the castle, scolding LB at the top of her lungs (which he deserved, by the way).   Turns out LB’s victim was barely three years old.  Mommy was very (understatement) nervous about sending him to school so young.

LB really knows how to pick ’em.

We all worked it out but I realized that, in my attempt to boost his confidence about his new school, I had inadvertently created a little monster.

Because now, LB was darn sure he was BIG MAN ON CAMPUS.

And proud of it.

So, my usually sweet little man, was pretty ticked off when someone tried to tell him he wasn’t “all that”.

I retold the story to Husband last night.

He listened intently while I explained my misjudgment of the three-year old psyche.

Husband’s response…

So, was he?

Me:  Was he what?

The other kid.  Was he bigger?

Me:  Seriously?  You think that’s relevant?

Yeah!  Was the kid bigger than LB or not?

Me:  No.  He was smaller.

Good.

*sigh*

Three or thirty-three, it’s clear I will never understand the inner workings of a male mind.

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