Life – Page 120 – Write From Karen

Weekend Update with WFK

August 11, 2008August 11, 2008 Karen

This past weekend was cool and quite pleasant – a welcome change from the 90+ degree weather we had had up to that point.

When the weather turns cooler and the air becomes fresh and crisp, I CRAVE camping. There is nothing more relaxing and comfortable as lounging outside your camper door around a campfire and roasting marshmallows while enjoying family time. Seriously, nothing.

At least, in my world.

So, I made more camping reservations. We’ll be camping in Branson again (we love Branson – mainly because it’s only 45 minutes from home and the country is so pretty down there) at Cooper Creek over Labor Day weekend; we’ll take off as soon as the boys get out of school on Friday and come back Labor Day. We’ve camped at Cooper Creek several times before and though we’re not entirely crazy about the bathrooms (which is a major issue when we camp because come on, how fun is it to take a showers with spiders?), we love where the campground is situated – right off the Taneycomo lake. So, we’ll likely do a little fishing (well, when I say “we”, I really mean the guys will fish and I will sit around and read), feast on some awesome beef stew (cooked in the Crockpot – Crockpot food is PERFECT for camping) and count the stars.

*Sigh* I’m already more relaxed just thinking about it.

The husband and I went searching for a new microwave yesterday. The one in our camper sort of fried – and I mean that literally. The little computer just went berserk and it wouldn’t respond to any commands. And then, while we least expected it, it would DING and start up, for no apparent reason and without provocation.

It was sort of freaky, if you want the truth.

We discovered our microwave was possessed this past camping trip. And we were QUITE bummed that we were unable to pop popcorn to eat while watching our movie (don’t look at me like that – a microwave is ESSENTIAL to a successful camping trip *grin*). So, we bought a cheap microwave at Wally World and the hubs monkey-rigged it into the space in our camper. So now, we’ll be able to chow down on popcorn and watch movies! Maybe this time, the weather will be cool enough we can watch movies outside – that’s always fun. (And our camping neighbors REALLY love when we do that. *snort*)

This photo is neither here nor there; I just discovered it on one of our camera cards this past weekend and thought my facial expression was funny. Apparently, I have the same “deer caught in headlight look” and tight-lipped expression when I read, too. The husband is constantly teasing me about it.

If you look closely, you can see GD in the background “pretending” not to watch the movie with us. We were watching Spiderwick, which I thought was pretty cute, considering.

And please, no smart comments about my peace shirt. I LIKE my peace shirt, thankyouverymuch. 😀

In other news …

My nephews spent the night with our boys Friday night. The younger boys pooped out about 1ish, the older boys stayed up until 4ish.

They spent every waking moment playing games, of course. Though there was a curious little distraction that I thought was quite ….. odd.

MK likes plush toys. He has a small collection of Nintendo plush toys that he will periodically sleep with and/or pull out and role play with. (A sign of his immaturity, in my opinion. Though I don’t know, I “played” with my barbies until I was 15 – but we’re not talking about me here. *wink*)

So, all of the boys pulled those plushies out, used our old video camera and proceeded to film a random skit using those plushie dolls. They filmed at various points in the house, assuming high-pitched voices personifying the characters and shot a bunch of short video stories.

What I found odd about this whole thing was that an almost 18-year old and a 16-year old would think this was amusing.

But judging by their laughter, I’m assuming it was.

They spent the remainder of Saturday afternoon, inputting it in some video software and trying to make the audio card work. I suppose I could look at the episode as their curiosity to play around with production options, but I don’t know, I still think it was odd for them to run around the house assuming Nintendo characters.

Perhaps they were truly bored. *shrug* At any rate, I think I need to get my boys out more. *grin*

(I tried to take a picture of them while they were role playing, but they would catch sight of me every time and stop their actions, their facial expressions tight, pinched and self-conscious. It’s too bad, because it was really funny to watch).

In other news …

Motivated by my boys’ odd behavior this past weekend, I coaxed them into making banana bread with me last night. Though I abhor cooking myself, I wanted to the boys to participate for two reasons:

1. I got to spend time with them

and

2. I wanted to start the ball rolling on teaching them everyday, mundane, real-life skills.

If the experience taught me anything it was this: I could never, in a hundred million years, homeschool my children.

Ever. As in NEVER.

The experience only reinforced what I’ve known my entire adult life – I simply do not have the patience required to teach ANYTHING for long term.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, we had a good time – the boys laughed and goofed off, much to my annoyance. Yes, I laughed along with them, and there was much eye-rolling, but overall, it drove me crazy to stand back and supervise when I was ITCHING to just take over and do it myself.

Clearly, I have issues I need to work through.

We divided the duties up so that both boys would have a chance to do something. GD broke and divided the egg yolks from the whites (which they thought was uber-cool because you and I both know egg whites looks like clumpy snot), mashed up the bananas (which was also fun because you know, they could ANNILHATE something), and put in the sugar and oil.

While GD was busy doing his part, I gave MK a camera and he took “action” shots.

Remind me to give the boys a camera more often. When I went back and looked at the photos … OMG! I thought I was going to bust a rib I was laughing so much. It’s so much fun to “see” through a kid’s eyes.

Here is a slideshow of my favorites:

[rockyou id=120019186&w=426&h=320]

The bread turned out really good. The boys were pretty proud of themselves and quite triumphant until I told them that next time? They were on their own. 🙂

By the way, the banana bread recipe came from the “New Dieter’s Cook Book” and is only 125 calories, 4 g of fat and 0 mg of cholesterol per serving. (Of course, MY definition of what a serving is is pretty broad *grin*). Here’s the recipe if you would like it:

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/4 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/8 tsp salt
2 slightly beaten egg whites
1 cup mashed banana (which works out to be about 2 or 3 overly ripe bananas)
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup cooking oil
Nonstick cooking spray

In a large mixing bowl stir together egg whites, banana, sugar and oil. Stir in flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon and salt just until moistened.

Spray loaf pan with cooking spray. Spread batter in pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 to 50 minutes. Makes one loaf (16 servings).

In other news …

The husband FINALLY bought his dream phone.

He’s wanted a phone/PDA/MP3 player phone for like, EVER. Though he did seriously think about buying an iPhone, in the end, he simply couldn’t justify paying $80+ dollars a month for service. So, he shopped around and settled on an HTC Touch Phone. His monthly plan is the minimum ($35 dollars a month) and it does everything he wants it to. He’s very, very, VERY happy and I’m very, very, VERY happy to see him happy.

That’s how love works. 😉

(Side note: That purple shirt? Is my favorite. He wears it when we go out to lunch together every Wednesday. *sexy growl*).

______________________________

It’s fun!

Life

Snipping it Off in a Mini-Skirt

August 8, 2008August 8, 2008 Karen

I have a confession to make …

The fiction I post on Thursday, called “Thursday Thread?” Those stories aren’t always fiction. *blush* Sometimes, they are fictionalized accounts of true life events – a little creative nonfiction, if you will.

The thing is, I can’t really talk about some things that happen to me in real life on this blog. I have family, friends, and even some clients (!) who read my blog so I have to censor myself on what, and how, I document my life. On one hand, I’m okay with this, I probably need to be censored (I can get pretty carried away sometimes), on the other hand, it can be stifling. So … I will occasionally write a “story” about that event and post it for Thursday Thread.

The trick is to decide if it’s reality based. The majority of time, I won’t tell you, but in this case? I will confess; this past Thursday Thread? Really happened.

Sort of.

In order for this to make sense, you sort of need to read “Haircut Hotties.” When you’re done, come back for the explanation … go ahead, I’ll wait. I need another cup of coffee anyway …

Ready? Excellent, let’s proceed…

I really did take the boys to get their haircut this past week. And we really did go to a “Hooters for Hair” type of establishment – it’s actually called “Too Hotties” and it’s, in essence, a barber shop with estrogen.

Look, I personally do not have a problem with Hooters, the restaurant, not the boobs, though I don’t have a problem with boobs either. Where was I … I mean, to me, if attractive women with big hooters want to walk around in tight t-shirts serving beer to oogling men who are only there to feed their dirty imaginations, then hey, whatever.

If you’ve ever eaten at Hooters, you know that boobs are the ONLY good thing on the menu (I can’t stand their food).

But apparently, I’m in the minority. When Hooters first came to Springfield, our bible-belt population dug out their pitchforks and polished up their superior attitudes and tried to keep the “boob” restaurant out of our town. They failed. I’m sure a lot of men heaved a sigh of grateful relief.

The women? Let’s just say, they were CRANKY about the whole thing.

But again, whatever. The one time I went there (out of curiosity, not to oogle strange women’s breasts … okay, maybe a little), and ate lunch with my husband, I was more embarrassed FOR the girls than anything else. I mean, talk about being on display! Being forced (though that’s debatable, isn’t it) to wear skin tight t-shirts and Daisy Mae short-shorts … how DEMEANING! And I hated their food, but I’ve already mentioned that part.

Again, I had no problem with the concept. They’re boobs. Big deal. To me, one set looks like the next. I wasn’t about to get on my holy horse because the way I see it? These girls have a choice whether they want to work there or not – they choose to, thereby, prepare to be oogled. The men? Choose to go and oogle. If you don’t like it, don’t go.

If you have a problem with your men going, well, that issue goes beyond the scope of this post or what I’m willing to delve into. But for me? I don’t have a problem with my husband going to Hooters. In fact, he’s often teased that when the boys get older (which would be NOW, actually), he was going to take them to lunch at Hooters.

Eh, whatever floats your boat, man. I mean, they’re guys, they’re PROGRAMMED to oogle – it’s just who they are. I’m a woman, I’m PROGRAMMED to buy dozens of shoes – it’s who I am, it’s what I DO. *wink*

In fact, my husband went to a strip club with a buddy years ago. He wasn’t sure how I would react and when he told me what they were planning to do, I simply shrugged and said, “Just don’t bring home anything contagious.”

I think he was disappointed with my reaction. But really, big deal? So he wants to go see some naked girls – great. You can look, just don’t touch.

I’ve gone to a Chippendale’s, erhm, thing several times with some gals I used to work with. Sure the guys were HAWT. But they weren’t who I went home to – OR the man who reaped the benefits afterward, either. *winkwink*

So, when the boys and I showed up at Too Hotties and I saw that it was set up like a Hooters restaurant for Hair, I cringed, but I didn’t exactly get upset. I mean, they’re BOYS, in my mind, they’re SUPPOSED to like being surrounded by attractive, half-dressed girls bearing sharp objects.

Erhm, maybe not the sharp objects part. On second thought, let’s not go down that road.

I was indeed the only female customer in the joint. We walked into a shop decorated entirely in black and red. (Sin colors perhaps? Hmm). The girls were indeed sporting short red mini-skirts with a cute little ruffle at the hem, and wearing layered black on red spaghetti strap clingy tunics and they were all attractive. The place was completely geared toward the male gender. They had comfy red leather massage chairs that faced a big-screen TV (tuned to a sports’ channel, of course). A pool table. Shoe shine chairs. Massage rooms. Tanning rooms. They even had a bar (which if you watch on the commercial on the website, you’ll see a father and son eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at – ahhh, such a Norman Rockwell moment, *snicker*).

GD was sort of freaked out when we first got there. He’s 15 after all and PAINFULLY self-conscious so when we first drove up and he realized what sort of “barber” shop this was, he sort of freaked out. “Oh great!” he says. “I’m going to have some babe cutting my hair!”

I really had to work at suppressing my laughter.

But his horror soon melted away and though the boys were pretty uncomfortable at first, they walked away from the experience feeling pretty “okay” about going someplace just for guys. Though the girls were eye candy, the concept behind the mini-skirts was pretty spot on. Guys DO need someplace to go where they can feel, well, like guys. This wasn’t a prissy place packed with gossiping (and judgmental) women, it was a guys’ hangout where they could sit spread eagle if they chose to and just BE themselves.

I say, cool.

There was only one thing about the whole experience that made my eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

On the glass door into the establishment (just like in the story) was a red sign with white lettering, “Please tip the girls.”

Now, I realize that there are a lot of people out there that don’t tip on a regular basis and to this I say, “shame on you.” These stylists spend a lot of time washing your hair, coloring it, trimming it all so that you can leave the salon feeling confident and beautiful. They don’t get paid very much to begin with and they DESERVE to be tipped for bestowing all of that attention on you.

So I “get” that there are a lot of people out there that don’t tip and should.

HOWEVER …

When we were leaving the place, on the back of that same sign was another message, “If you did not leave a tip, then do not come back.”

ZOING!? For real??

I was so shocked at the blatant HONESTY, that I actually tripped on the way out.

Now granted, I tipped both girls, I always tip our stylists, but geez, to be that forthright about something that is sort of an unspoken rule just felt … weird. At first, I was offended. But the more I thought about it, the more I could understand the salon’s position. All I can say is, they must REALLY have had a problem with people not tipping in the past for them to feel it was necessary to post that rather brusque message.

The final verdict? The boys liked it and we’ll likely go back. And I must admit, the girls really did a nice job on their hair. They’re happy, I’m happy and I say …

YAY FOR HAIRCUT HOTTIES!

Life

Worth the Sweat and Hard Work

August 5, 2008August 5, 2008 Karen

Camping is not for everyone.

You must be willing to get dirty, to be sweaty, to take showers in different, sometimes bug-infested places and to show body parts to strange people while pretending that walking around in a towel in front of women you’ve never seen in your life before and will most likely never see again, is all perfectly commonplace.

But camping? DOES it for me. And my family? LOVES it.

Which is really odd for me to say because though I’m not exactly a “prissy” sort of girl, I don’t care to get dirty. I DON’T enjoy gardening, on any level. Why? Because I can’t stand the thought of having dirt under my fingernails or possibly running the pads of my fingers over a cold, slimy worm. In fact, I don’t enjoy any sort of outdoor work mainly because I can’t stand that outdoorsy smell that clings to your skin and clothes when you come back in.

I don’t swim in lakes because of the fishy, moldy, NASTY lake smell and the fact that you’re swimming in pond scum and God knows what else. And I can barely stand to wade into the ocean because when seaweed wraps it’s slick fingers around my legs it makes me gag and feel all … icky (how’s that for an original adjective?).

And yet, I’m okay with camping.

Go figure.

Camping is A LOT of work. It’s a lot of work to prepare our camper – soak the fold-down canvas beds with waterproof solution, check, and patch any leaks, replace a faulty faucet, tear out soaked cardboard and insulation because the caulk on one of our seams had aged and cracked and it leaked, air up the tires, make sure the propane tanks have enough gas, the brakes on our camper are working properly (this was especially important when we went camping in Colorado last year), blahblahblah.

And then, packing the thing with clothes, bedding, towels, food (we’ve learned that buying our perishable food when we reached our destination is SO MUCH EASIER than stressing about whether it’s staying cold in a cooler the whole trip), cooking utensils, cookery, plastic forks, spoons, knives, dish soap, paper towels, coffee maker, coffee mugs (I almost always forget coffee mugs), entertainment …. and on and on.

In essence, when you pack a camper, you’re furnishing a small house – it’s time consuming, back-breaking and really sweaty work hauling stuff back and forth between the house and the camper – both coming and going.

And yet, we do it, several times a year … and we enjoy it.

Well, me and the boys enjoy it; I think the husband just tolerates it because of me.

The camping bug usually bites me in mid-summer. I don’t care camping in the spring because my guys have allergies and the few times we’ve camped in the spring, it’s been a miserable experience for them – so we don’t.

By mid-summer, I don’t know, I just yearn to be outdoors, to appreciate nature, to breathe in that fresh air you only get when you leave the city, to hear the nature creatures and insects you can only hear when you’re away from the buzz of the city. It’s soothing, it’s peaceful, it’s rejuvenating.

But if I EVER talk about going camping at the end of July/first of August again, you have my permission to reach across cyber space and flick me on the forehead.

For those just tuning in, we went camping this past weekend – in 100 degree weather. Wow. It was not only hot (which I can handle), but it was stuffy and unbearable (which I can not handle). This past weekend was a heat wave. And to make matters even more uncomfortable, there was no wind. None. Walking outside was like trying to breathe through a blanket. The air was heavy, thick and moist. Within minutes of being outside, your skin beaded with moisture and felt clammy and unnatural.

In essence? It was miserable camping weather. We’ve camped when it’s been hot before, but not anything like this. The skies were clear, the atmosphere was hazy and people walked around liked zombies because it was simply too much of an effort to be anything more.

So, we didn’t venture outside our air conditioned camper very often. We sat around and read, played games and watched movies, and we were perfectly okay with that. We wanted a brief getaway where we did … nothing. We had no agenda. We had no desire to get out and see the sights because we’ve seen them a million times before. (We camped in Branson for the like the umpteenth time). We simply wanted to get away and … breathe, a chance to catch our breath and focus on just being together.

I think the boys really like camping because the husband and I pay attention to them. The husband and I enjoy camping with the boys because they actually acknowledge our existence. We get so caught up and distracted with other things and responsibilities at home, that we often find ourselves co-existing, and not much more.

I bought some of those cheesy plastic ball lights that you string up along your awning. We’ve always wanted them but just never got around to buying them in the past. We strung those lights up and one night, we oiled our skin up with insect repellent and sat outside together under those lights. It was a comfortable, companionable silence, the silence that you typically experience with people you’re around a lot.

And then something wonderful happened – the boys began talking.

If you are, or have ever been, a parent of a teenager, then you’ll know that when these “talk” sessions happen, you savor every minute of it. It’s hard enough to communicate with your teenager at the best of times, but it’s certainly a rarity if they VOLUNTEER information about themselves or what they’re thinking.

We sat around and had a really good chat. They talked, and we listened. We asked them questions, and they actually answered them, honestly. It was an insightful and rewarding pow-wow with our sons. We caught a glimpse of the men they were becoming and we were quite pleased with what we saw.

We have been blessed with some truly great kids.

We spent the majority of our time playing a board game. It’s called Blokus and in essence, it’s a reality-based Tetras game. You can only place your pieces on the corner of your own colored pieces and when you run out of places you can place your tiles, you count up how many squares you have remaining and the person who has the least squares, wins.

We really had a great time playing that game. It’s a strategy THINKING game (as opposed to all of those RPG shoot-first-ask-questions-later games the boys are in to), and we shared quite a few laughs trying to outwit each other. I think MK might have won the most games, which doesn’t surprise me, he is the linear thinker in the family (well, he and the husband – they are two peas in a pod). GD and I held our own, though. (Translation: We weren’t TOTALLY boring to play. 😀 )

See this happy, relaxed smile?

THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what I like about camping: the easy camaraderie, the relaxed atmosphere and the chance to be together and enjoy each other.

It makes all the sweat and hard work seem insignificant in comparison.

Life, Monday Stuff

Weekend Snapshot: Going to the Fair

August 4, 2008August 4, 2008 Karen

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Share your weekend snapshot.

Between going to our county fair and camping in Branson in 100 degree weather, it’s been a busy, and sweat-drenched weekend.

I’ll talk about our camping trip tomorrow, but for now, I’d like to focus on the fair.

Our county fair has fallen the last week of July since, ~~forever~~ I was a kid. You know as a kid, you didn’t keep track of time – things happened when they happened – hence the reason time moved slowly back then, who kept track of minutes or days?

But I always knew when the fair was getting close because my mom would barricade herself in her sewing room finishing up last minute projects she had entered into the fair. And when the fair actually arrived, she would spend most of her time in the kitchen, baking pies, cookies, breads and all sorts of sweet confections that we (me, my sister and brother) were allowed to finish up or consume (I LOVED it when mom made baking mistakes – we were allowed to eat her mistakes).

I have a lot of fond memories of the fair as a child: rides, snow cones, funnel cakes, greasy corndogs, the duck pond, grab bags and of course, the creepy men who ran the carnival games that no one ever won.

I don’t remember going to the fair a lot when I was a young adult. I went a few times with friends and we rode the more “sophisticated” rides (i.e. the rides that roll your stomach over and turn your face a lovely shade of green). But for the most part, I don’t think I went very often in the time period after high school and before kids.

Then, the boys came along and I was obligated to take them to the fair. I spent the majority of my time making sure they kept cool, got to see the sights, ride a few kiddie rides and pet the zoo animals. In essence, I was too distracted to really ENJOY the fair myself.

Then the boys got a little older and we all had fun riding rides together. I took a Dramamine and I was able to handle the heat and the dizzy rides.

Now, we’re at the stage where my boys are teenagers and hanging around with mom? Ain’t that cool anymore. In fact, it’s downright unacceptable. I try not to take it personally (I fail), and I understand their need to do their own thing (most of the time), but you know how it is – I’m MOM, I can’t just LET THEM GO COMPLETELY. I don’t have it in me. So, we try and find a happy medium – the boys stay with me, but always about ten paces behind so it doesn’t really LOOK like they’re with me. If you don’t have teenagers, you don’t know what I’m talking about – just wait, your turn is coming.

The same can be said about the fair. For the past few years, it’s been me, my mom, my nephews and my boys. My mom and I led the pack of boys around by their noses and dutifully stood by while they rode rides. My mom can’t really take the heat too well anymore, so we would usually find a patch of shade and vigorously fan ourselves until the boys were ready to move on to something else.

It’s been fun, but the older mom and I get, the less we’re willing to do that whole “stand by and watch” thing anymore.

So, this year, my mom suggested that we drop the boys off at the fair and we would go shopping. Keep in mind, the “boys” are now 18, 16, 13, and 12. Plenty old enough to walk around an enclosed area and choose to do what they wanted to do for a few hours.

When my mom first suggested this, I was all like, “WHAT?! ARE YOU CRAZY?!” But then I stopped to think about what she was suggesting. On the one hand, I want them to be independent of us, to make their own decisions, to live with their own mistakes, and yet on the other hand, I can’t allow them to get into a situation where they CAN do these things.

I’m creating a catch-22 situation for my boys. Something, correction, someONE, has to give in.

So, I reluctantly agreed to her suggestion. I talked to the boys. I told them to make a game plan. For example, what were they going to do if someone got separated (I hesitated to say “lost,” I didn’t want to freak them OR me out). I asked them what they were going to do if one of the aggressive carnival guys approached them. I asked them what they would do if this happened, or this happened … etc. etc. I think I made them more nervous by bringing up these things.

When I told the boys what we were proposing, they were initially nervous about being left on their own. But I could tell, they were also excited. This was, after all, a first for all of us – a taste of independence both them from me, and me from them.

I made sure GD had his cell phone. I made sure both boys had plenty of money. And when it came time to drop them off at the fair, I steeled myself to not freak out and act like it was no big deal.

They were a bit hesitant to walk away when the time came, but they soon fell into a pattern only kids can fall into (oblivious to the world around them and only focused on having fun together) and my mom and I drove off.

I wouldn’t exactly say I was nervous, but I was apprehensive. What would they do? Where would they go? Would they be able to handle anything that might happen?

My mom and I ended up eating lunch at McAllister’s, being physically comfortable and enjoying a long chat (as opposed to snippets of yelled conversation above the fair noise and sweating off several meals).

And when it was close to the time we agreed to meet the boys, we arrived at the designated spot.

Only, the boys weren’t there.

But I didn’t panic. In fact, I took that to be a good sign – they were having so much fun that time slipped away from them and they didn’t realize the time.

It was better than watching every minute and showing up before it was time to meet because they were too nervous to HAVE a good time, right?

We sat for a while and watched this dude while we waited for them to show up:

robot man2, originally uploaded by PaceGuy.

He was completely covered in silver and until he moved, I thought he was a statue. He moved with robotic precision and I happened to capture him bent over and giving this little guy a slow high five.

My mom and I bought ourselves lemonade and attended her cheese ball judging contest (she placed third out of seven – not bad!). After the judging was over, I went back to the place the boys were to meet us at – they were there, looking flushed, hot, happy and very animated – they had a blast.

They ate lunch, they rode rides and they even played one of those creepy carnival games and won not one, but two Sonic plushie toys. Though they didn’t exactly gush all the details (they’re boys after all), we could tell, they truly had a great time.

They once again fell into a comfortable ten-paces-behind-us routine while me and mom walked around and looked at the exhibits.

I thought this dress, made entirely out of duct tape, was especially impressive:

duct tape dress, originally uploaded by PaceGuy.

(In fact, every exhibit you see in this picture was made from duct tape – pretty impressive, yes?)

Going to the fair this year marked a monumental moment in our lives. It was a turning point for me (allowing the boys to go out on their own) and for the boys (to be responsible for their own actions). I’m quite certain this is the beginning of their independence.

Thanks mom, GREAT suggestion. 🙂

Life

The (Incredible?) Shrinking Woman

August 1, 2008July 30, 2008 Karen

I’m shrinking.

My body is shrinking and I couldn’t be HAPPIER!!

Well, except for the boobage shrinkage – I’m not particularly happy about that part.

A few nights ago, I woke up at 2:50 in the morning, my skin on fire and just feeling uncomfortable. I had cashed in some of my credits at the tanning salon eight hours earlier and “upgraded” to a level 2 bed. I hated that bed. It closed COMPLETELY, which left me gasping for air, and the fans, well, they sucked, so I sweated, a lot. (Which is nothing new, I sweat all the time. But somehow, sweating in a tanning booth just FEELS gross, you know?) Even though the experience was claustrophobic, I have to admit, that sucker tanned the crap out of my skin and I won’t be using it very often because I have no desire to look like a walking leather bag when I get older. (And just so you know, I rarely tan. This is like the first summer I’ve tanned in years and will likely be the last time I tan in years. I just go through spurts when I WANT to. Thankfully, they are few and far between, so please, no lectures).

But I digress.

I alternated between hot and cold all night. I had the fan on me (which is the only way I can sleep in the summer time because otherwise the air feels so HEAVY and I can’t stand feeling like there’s a Mack truck on my chest) so I would cover up from the fan, but then would kick off the covers because I got too hot. Off, on, off, on until I finally gave up and got up.

I went into the bathroom and being awake and aware of my skin, I lifted my shirt to see how dark my belly was.

Dark. But what caught my attention was my boobs. I blinked. Then I blinked some more. Had they shrunk? They looked smaller … somehow. I turned this way and that way and examined them from all angles.

They were most definitely smaller. I was somewhat alarmed. For you see, I never really HAD boobs until I had children. Before children (BC), I was pretty flat chested. In fact, I was pretty much a walking stick – no chest and no hips. Then I had kids and WHAM, I suddenly had boobs! Happy! But I also suddenly had hips, Not so happy!

But it was a trade-off, see. I could live with that trade-off because the boobs I’d always wanted, and always dreamed of having in high school, were finally MINE! All mine (well, I had to share them with the husband, but you know what I mean).

So when I noticed they had shrunk, I was quite bummed out.

And then I noticed my arms. What the … was that … could that be …? DEFINITION I was seeing in my flabby grandma arms?! Holy cow! Where did those shoulders come from? And I was definitely seeing some muscle where there was no muscle before.

And where did my second belly roll go? Now, when I bent over, I had one roll where I used to have two.

I’m telling you, I stood in front of that mirror a full fifteen minutes admiring this strange, defined, SHRINKING body. I guess I thought that if I didn’t get an eye full at that moment, I would likely wake up from the dream I was obviously having and I would be back to normal – large (and when I say large, I mean a healthy size C) boobs, obese arms and the Michelin man waist.

I gave my shrinking body one last, lingering look and went back to bed.

Ah well, a girl can dream, right?

Only, when I woke up the next morning, I was greeted with the same small-ish body.

*blinkblink* Had all of my working out FINALLY paid off?

For those new to this blog (welcome!), I’ve sort of been on a working out spree. I’m a big walker, in fact, I LOVE to walk on my treadmill and watch DVD’s – kill two birds with one stone, right? I’m all about multi-tasking. In addition, the husband and I stumbled onto an infomercial a few months back for Turbo Jam. Usually, we roll our eyes at each other and change the channel, but something about this program caught my attention …

It looked fun. I have always loved dance-y, athletic-types of workouts and all of the punching and kicking caught my attention. So, we ordered it … and have TOTALLY gotten our money’s worth.

Now before ya’ll think I’m some sort of health freak, let me set the record straight. I like to eat. Specifically sugary, fattening donuts and chocolate. In fact, it’s pretty safe to say I’m addicted to this stuff. I’d be the size of a house if I wasn’t constantly making deals with myself: All right, Karen. You had a glass of A&W Root Beer this afternoon, which is like 20 teaspoons of sugar. Since you chose to have this glass of soda, you may not have any chocolate for the rest of the day. Or … I’ll eat something pretty healthy, like salmon for lunch, and then reward myself later (because I’m really not a big fish eater but WOW, the protein is an awesome pick-me-upper), with a 3-Musketeer bar (because if I’m going to eat chocolate, why not pick the kind that has less fat, right?)

In addition, if I binge myself on junk food (which happens), then I MAKE myself work out extra hard to work off the calories – it’s a constant give and take with me.

As a result of these deal breakers, it appears that I’m constantly working out. Well, okay, I am constantly working out. But now I’ve become addicted to it – more on that later.

But what REALLY motivated me to start working out again was this one photo.

(I’m the fat chick in black on the left-hand side).

One photo where I look like a beached whale with chipmunk cheeks – attractive, no? It was a picture we had taken last Thanksgiving at our house with my husband’s family. I like my husband’s family, really. But they drive me crazy to be around because they are all beautiful, THIN people. And then, there’s me. Whale woman.

*sigh*

My sister-in-law posted this picture on Facebook and the family has really had a great time making fun of themselves – especially me. Because really, if you can’t laugh at yourself, what’s left? Tears? I don’t DO the feel sorry for myself bit. I just don’t. I’m a proactive sort of person.

But seeing this picture again disgusted me, not just because of how I looked but because at the time, before I saw how this picture turned out, I thought I had looked fine. In fact, I had felt pretty good about myself. But then I saw this picture and my self-confidence flew out the window like someone’s still-smoking cigarette. WHOOSH. Perception was burned to a crisp.

(My husband, trying to make me feel better, said, “But honey, that photo was taken with a wide-angle lens.” It doesn’t matter, I’m still whale woman – hear my whale cries of anguish).

I think I have the reverse of anorexia nervosa – where I think I look great but then I see a picture of myself and it’s like, WHAT THE HELL?! It’s so depressing.

So, I’ve been working out extra hard, that photo always in the back of my mind to motivate me to continue even when I feel like my arms are going to fall off or my lungs are about to explode.

And apparently, all of this sweating it starting to pay off. The husband commented the other night that I was indeed building definition in my arms. And that I was definitely skinnier overall. And yes, he admitted, after much coercing from me, that my boobs were indeed smaller.

*sigh* A “small” price to pay to look better, I guess. (Get it? Small? HAHA).

I had the presence of mind to measure myself when I started using Turbo Jam – I did not, however, have the presence of mind to put the DATE on these measurements (idiot) so I’m guesstimating here, but it’s been at least two, possibly three months, since we bought the program. Here are the results:

Chest: Lost 2.5 inches (see! told you!)
Arms: Lost 1 inch
Waist: Lost 3.25 inches (!)
Hips: Lost 2 inches
Thighs: Lost 1 inch (which is disappointing)

Weight: I don’t weigh myself. I keep track of inches because to me, that’s what is more important.

Now, because of these results, I’m working out harder. I’m motivated to continue because dog-gone it, it’s making a difference!

Now hopefully, when we take the next Thanksgiving picture, I won’t dread it but will be proud of how I look in it.

Of course, that’s what I thought LAST THANKSGIVING …

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Life

Life Resumes After the Blog-a-thon

July 30, 2008July 29, 2008 Karen

AAAHHHHH ……

The blog break did me good. Did you miss me?

I missed you.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get as much done as I would have liked – no surprise there.

Sunday, I got up early, inserted toothpicks into my eyelids (Gah, what an image!) so I could be awake (notice I didn’t say alert) enough to participate in bible study (hey, just because I elected to stay up all night and do the blog-a-thon doesn’t mean I could ignore my familial responsibilities). And by the time bible study was over, I had gotten my second wind so I was able to do my normal household chores. In addition, I went out to our little 21 foot travel trailer, unfolded the beds (it’s the hard-shelled kind that have the pop-out beds), sprayed the canvas down with waterproof stuff, and then cleaned it out so we could use it this weekend (we’re doing a quick camping trip to Branson – in 90 degree weather – did I mention I LIKE to sweat? *sigh*).

Messing with the trailer put me and the hubs in the mood for the whole “we love camping!” mode, so we drove to the Marshfield Camping World (first time there! And it was pretty small for being the ONLY Camping World in Missouri – we hicks heart our camping) to buy a new faucet. Our old one was made out of cheap plastic and had split in two and I don’t know about you, but it’s sort of important to have running water (along with air conditioning, a microwave, a CD player, a TV/DVD player, a toaster, because we’re BIG into the whole roughing it bit, *snicker*) when you’re out in the middle of nowhere. (Actually, that’s not true, we’ll be camping right off the main 76 Hwy “strip” in Branson so we’ll be within WALKING distance of a Chinese restaurant – per the boys’ insistence – our boys heart Chinese food).

We were also on the lookout for a new awning because the husband accidentally took a corner too sharp when we started out for our Colorado camping trip last summer and ran into a stop sign – that octagon attacked us with a vengeance! As a result, we have two lines of small, quarter-sized holes dotting one side of our awning. We can still use it, but if it rains, well, think sieve.

They didn’t carry any awnings at the store and the ones we found online were about $200 (just for the canvas!?) so now we’re thinking that since it isn’t really that bad, we’ll just patch it. Hey, I put up with a pop-up camper in near-hurricane weather on several occasions over the last ten years – we have the whole hillbilly look DOWN when compared to the monster RV’s that surround us. What are a few holes in our awning? Pfft. We’re used to the snooty once overs by fellows campers. (Actually, that’s not entirely true, other campers are usually pretty friendly, there are no strangers – sort of like a Shriners’ convention where everyone knows everyone else and pass the moonshine, will ya?)

As if sweating a few dozen pounds off from working on the trailer in humidity so thick you actually gag wasn’t enough, I thought I’d abuse myself JUUUST a bit more and work out for two hours. I did the 20 minute Turbo Jam session and then walked 90 minutes and watched “Numb” with Matthew Perry (don’t waste your time. Matthew, I love you, but dude, choose your scripts wisely, please).

I think that’s why I spent the majority of Monday in a headache-induced stupor because I rung my body out like a sponge on Sunday. (Dehydration is BAD). I sometimes get these sinus headaches and NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING, knocks them out. They aren’t so bad that I’m curled into a fetal position on the floor and drooling all over my chin or anything, but they are annoying enough and persistent enough to prevent me from thinking straight – or thinking about anything, actually.

However, I did manage to drag the boys away from their games long enough to watch LOST with me:

We’re currently on season three – no spoilers, please! We just finished the first disk and WOW, talk about a 180 degree stylistic turn from the other two seasons. The first episode was so dark and depressing that the boys and I just sat there and blinked in shock at one another. But we’re not giving up on it, we’ll trudge forward because now we’re too invested in the story NOT to.

This leads me up to Tuesday. I felt 100% better when I woke up Tuesday morning (though I woke up at 2:50 a.m. and not being able to go back to sleep, read for an hour) and I kicked butt on my to-do list, well on the IMMEDIATE to-do list – does it really ever go away? I worked out to Turbo Jam’s Punch, Kick and Jam, cleaned bathrooms, vacuumed, and made some progress on another website I’m working on (that kind of stuff gives me a CREATIVE high! LOVE doing that).

And this leads me to today. After my weekly lunch date with my husband, I have a meeting to attend and then I’ll most likely get some grocery shopping done because tomorrow, me and the boys are heading to our county fair with my mom and nephews. I have mixed feelings about the fair. On the one hand, it’s the FAIR, something I’ve gone to nearly every year since I was a kid (!), but on the other hand, it’s the FAIR, something I’ve gone to nearly every year since I was a kid – not much has changed, you know? But I love my momma and she LOVES her some fair (she enters a ton of things every year and usually walks away with a ton of ribbons every year) and I don’t want to disappoint her and besides, it gives me a chance to act all silly and be spoiled because my mom? Is the QUEEN at spoiling. After the fair, I’ll need to pack up the trailer because we’re leaving early Friday morning, which will work out perfectly because I’m sure I’ll be one huge, sweaty salt hill by the time we leave the fair (I sweat, all the freaking time!) so I won’t have to worry overly much about getting even more sweaty when I pack up the trailer.

That was one of the “agreements” I made with the husband so we could go camping – I’d do everything (except for hooking up the trailer and actually driving the thing), and he could sit back and relax. He’s been working uber hard lately and he truly needs to relax. Aren’t I a good little wife? *cough*

And now you’re caught up in the mundane things I like to affectionately call my life (seriously, no sarcasm intended – I adore my boring, mundane life).

Your turn. What have you been up to these past days?

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Life

“Tired” Out

July 23, 2008July 23, 2008 Karen

Get it? The title? Don’t worry, you will. 😀

Okay, I’m behind. Not A behind, though that certainly applies nowadays, but I’m behind in work. I spent yesterday doing Turbo Sculpt (and I’m hobbling around today as a result, that is a KILLER workout for your legs), then I got caught in a SEVERE and UNEXPECTED thunderstorm while taking my movies back to Blockbuster. In fact, it rained so hard that I had to spend 20 minutes in my car to wait the thing out so I wouldn’t be swept away and left hanging onto the storm drain for dear life.

Can you imagine? … On second thought, don’t imagine. 🙂

When the rain had abated enough for me to make it inside without getting drenched, I backed up and parked in a spot a little closer to the store. Normally, I wouldn’t do this. Normally, I LAUGH at people that circle parking lots, like vultures, looking for juicy spots close to the store front. I SNICKER at people who wait to sweep in and snatch up the next available parking spot all in the name of saving themselves from walking another 20 feet. *snort* But yesterday? I broke my cardinal rule (it’s a mile to the entrance? No worries, walking won’t kill me) and I parked close enough that, if I wanted to, I could leap frog onto the sidewalk.

However, shortly before I put my car into park and shut the engine off I noticed an unfamiliar, and unwelcome, light on my dashboard: my “low-tire” light had switched on.

Son of a …

This was the second time in about three months that my low-tire light has come on. The first go around I actually heard the hissing as the air escaped from my tire. And I KNEW it was going to happen because shortly before I started hearing that hissing sound, as I’m driving down the road and over my radio, that’s how loud it was, I drove through a patch of glass. I can still hear the sickening, crunching noise as the shards ground their way into the rubber. I immediately drove my car to Mr. Goodwrench and they patched my tire. Cha-ching! They sucked me out of fifteen bucks. (Which isn’t bad to patch a flat, in my opinion. And may I just add, the Mr. Goodwrench dude? SMOKIN’ HOT).

But this go around, I had no clue what could be causing the light to come on. I mean, one minute I’m sitting in my car, waiting for the rain to ease up and the next? I’m staring at the low-tire symbol – a symbol I’m beginning to dislike IMMENSELY.

The funny thing is? I hadn’t moved when that light came on. WTH?

I drove home, got out and circled my car, putting my ear to each tire in an attempt to hear that tell-tell hissing noise. And I got the giggles because I could just imagine my nosy neighbors looking out of their windows and seeing me bent over my car, like I’m trying to tell it a secret or I’m having an intense conversation with it. My neighbors already see me constantly Windexing my car windows, vacuuming it out and shining up the wheels anyhow, I’m sure they already think I have an unhealthy attachment to my car to begin with. And now I’m walking around the thing, leaning in close and telling it my deepest, darkest secrets.

Me and my Vibe? We’re thisclose.

I know – how stupid. But this is how I think folks. I keep TELLING you I’m a certified dork. WHEN will you start believing me?!

Where was I … oh yes. No hissing noise. Hmm … now what? I mean, I COULD take it up to Mr. Goodwrench again, but what if all it needs is air? How embarrassing would that be? So, I do what every female does in this situation – I called my man.

“Um, honey?”

*grunt* He’s really busy at work right now. I hated to bother him, but this was SERIOUS! What if I needed to run an errand tomorrow and I walked out to my garage and my car was lopsided because I had a flat tire? Oh sure, I could call Triple A but come on … you and I both know I wouldn’t do that. I’m WAY too chicken to deal with a strange man in my garage! *shudder*

“My tires are losing air.”

*pause* “And?”

“And … I’m not sure whether I should take it to Mr. Goodwrench. I mean, what if it just needs air? Then I’ll feel like a fool and have to pay them to put air into my tire. How pathetic would that be?”

There’s a long pause.

“Hub?”

“Look,” he sighs, “check the air pressure. Your tires should have 32 pounds of air. If any of them are below 30 pounds, then take it in.”

Hhm, that sounded logical. And easy. I can DO easy. “All right.”

So I did. I checked my tire pressure in each tire. And every tire showed exactly 32 pounds … EXCEPT my back right tire.

Swell. It registered 27 pounds. I thought that was pretty low. And considering my light came on not thirty minutes earlier, I thought that was REALLY low given the time frame.

So, I swallowed my girly pride and drove my Vibe up to Mr. Goodwrench. When the guy FINALLY came out (that is the only thing that irritates me about this place – HELLO?! *KNOCKKNOCK* Customer calling!), he looked at me like I was crazy when I told him that I thought my right rear wheel was leaking air. It was only after I told him my low-tire light had come on did he give a brusque nod and say, “Okay, we’ll take a look at it.”

I know he thought I was crazy. But HEY! How much trouble would it have been if I didn’t follow up on this and the damn thing lost ALL air?

Exactly. Humpf.

So, they checked it out. And they spent a long time on it – too long. I began to get worried. And suspicious. There was no way I was going to allow them to sucker punch me into thinking I needed something for that car when I didn’t really need it. You know how it goes – single female, all alone and looking nervous. Just tape a huge dollar sign to my head, why don’t cha.

I gritted my teeth and waited for the verdict. When they finally lowered my car and walked into the waiting area, I was ready to do battle.

“Well, you ran over a nail,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Erm … huh?” Was my intelligent response.

“Yep. Nail.” He grinned and motioned for me to come up to the counter. “Apparently, we’ve had some remodeling truck come through here a few days ago and lose some of their equipment. I’m thinking they must have dropped some nails because we’ve had several cars through here the past few days with nails in the tires.”

“Erm … I’m sure THAT’S a coincidence.” I chuckled to cover the fact that I was ready to do battle with this nice man. Honestly, it’s a wonder I have a man at all given my snappy comebacks. *rolls eyes*

So, Cha-ching! Another 15 bucks went up in smoke. And as a result of this unexpected stop, (and the fact that I had to go tan – HEY! I have my priorities straight, hush), I didn’t get any work done.

And now, I’m even MORE behind than I was before I told you this story. I had MEANT to just post a joke and get back to work but now …

Well, I’ll go ahead and post the joke anyway. (Provided you’re still awake at this point to READ it. Heh).

Ready?

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A mechanic was removing a cylinder head from the engine of a Jaguar when he spotted a well-known heart surgeon in his garage.

The surgeon was there, waiting for the service manager to come and take a look at his car.

The mechanic shouted across the garage, “Hey, Doc, can I ask you a question?”

The surgeon a bit surprised, walked over to the mechanic working on the Jaguar. The mechanic straightened up, wiped his hands on a rag and asked, “So Doc, look at this engine. I open its heart, take valves out, fix ’em, put ’em back in, and when I finish, it works just like new. So how come I get such a small salary and you get the really big bucks, when you and I are doing basically the same work?”

The surgeon paused, smiled and leaned over, and whispered to the mechanic…

“Try doing it with the engine running.”

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How’s about that? I even found a mechanic joke! WOW! I’m good.

All right – ALL RIGHT! I’m working now.

Sheesh.

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