Finders Keepers

I'm on a cleaning spree. Or rampage. Or shoot to kill mission.

Is it just me or are we pack rats? Yeah, that's what I thought too. We are pigs with too much stuff.

I started with the bookshelves. I am a book lover. Mmmmm I do love me so lit. It pretty much doesn't matter what kind either. I've got the classics by Moliere, Turgenev, and Keats. There's the children's section that includes works by Cleary, Lee, Henty and Austen. Reference books, dictionaries, Bible this and Bible that. Thar be maps o' the world, and dusty ancient lit worth a penny or two.

The reality is that we no longer have wee children clamoring for a bed time story. Time to clean the shelves. Of course, I'll keep the really, really good stuff, but some of this stuff has got to go!

I moved on to our vast selections of VHS tapes. Yes we still have a machine that works, but I'm not so sure we really need to keep Lady and the Tramp or Tall Tale on VHS. I am fairly certain that those are out on DVD now.

I cleaned out our two end tables and found all sorts of strange stuff. There were a wide assortment of pens and papers, as well as old school work from Boy's time. I found a folded up, hand made card from Boy for a Mother's  Day long past. Boy had glued pictures of wild animals on the paper and wrote in block letters,

"Have a wild Mother's Day Like a Wild Mother Should"

um....

Wow.

I kept it.

I also found, tucked carefully into a folder the ultra sound pictures of Girl. How they got where they were found is a mystery.

I kept those too.

I cleaned out my desk and found clips from my published work. I found two plays I wrote in high school and nearly burnt them. No one should have to read such drivel. Egad what a drama queen!

I found documents from when we lived in the apartment...fifteen years ago.

How long should you hold on to that kind of stuff anyway?

And I found a love note....to me....from  Beloved...awwwww

All in all, it's been a productive afternoon. If I can keep this up, I may actually have the entire house clean by fall.

I think I need a hobby.

Food is My Friend

Food. Me likes it. Me likes it a lot. Me likes it fresh. Me likes it grilled. Me likes period.

If only I didn't like it so much.

If only I could be like those actresses and runway models who eat 2.5 ounces of grilled salmon and a 1/2 a cup of lettuce and proclaim themselves stuffed.

I am not that girl.

In the month since FIL became broken, I have gained five pounds. FIVE.STINKING.POUNDS.

Now, you may be thinking that five pounds isn't all that much. Peesshhaww you say. It's only a few pounds you say. Sure, but added to their soul mates that are attached to my thighs and it's more than a few pounds.

DARN IT!

In all fairness, I am reasonably certain that a few of these pounds are stress pounds

Just let me have my little day dream here, okay?

Stress pounds are produced NOT from eating, but from stressful situations that cause your body to store extra fat in your stomach area. Isn't that great? Now not only can you gain weight by eating actual food, you can also gain wait by stressing out.

Isn't that swell?

Let's not even mention the little fact that since I am now cooking for two extra people (unabomber and FIL), one of which is picky, that my menu hasn't been as "healthy" as it could be.

FIL isn't a veggie eater.

FIL doesn't like this.

He doesn't like that.

It's like having a three-year-old sometimes. Except I can't send him to his room. I could, however, wait until he's in there and take his walker. Then he's stuck until I decide to bring it back...Not that I would ever do that.

...

Anyway, five pounds. FIVE.STINKING.ROTTEN.GROSS.POUNDS.

Blast!

So, this week, I up the anti. I'll need to hit the track. I'll need to make it to the gym more than once a week. I'll need to just say NO to cake.

mmmmm....cake...

I mean, yum, cottage cheese and fiber one.

Yum?

You Can’t Make Me – The Conclusion

Sometimes, only sometimes, the clouds part and the warm sun shines down upon you. When it happens it’s a glorious thing and all one can do is stand in that bright, sunny spot and smile. Such was the case when I learned that I had injured my knee just enough to avoid PE for a few weeks.

”Heck, if I milk it a little, I could probably get excused for the rest of the quarter,” my evil, little mind plotted.

Mrs. Warren, skilled professional that she was, saw right through my plans and brought the clouds back into my atmosphere. It rained. Honestly, it rained right there on my head, just like in Charlie Brown.

“Don’t worry. You can make it up after you recover. All of it." she stated flatly.

As I watched her walk away I realized she wasn’t threatening me, she was making me a promise. It was one I knew she’d keep. Despair washed over me as I considered making up PE after or before school for weeks. I’d be alone—or worse, I’d have to run laps when the football team was practicing. Ew.

Just as I was about to give up, I remembered that there was one person who hated PE more than I did. My Mother. Not only did she hate PE, she really despised PE teachers and if I informed her that Mrs. Warren was attempting to force me to make up PE and that she was the cheerleader coach me dear ole’ mum would come unhinged.

She’s funny that way.

I made the call during lunch, threw in a couple of sniffles (okay, I really was crying) and she said she’d take care of it. I felt better. I knew my mother didn’t like me, but I also knew she disliked PE teachers more.

Apparently Mother made one call to my school counselor. Ms. Counselor assured my mother that there was, “No need for you to come in…I can handle it from here…”. Mother, however, wasn’t so sure. I caught sight of her during a class break as she made her way towards the gym, Ms. Counselor in tow.

The rest, as they say, is history. I didn’t make up four weeks of PE. Mrs. Warren never looked me in the face again, and she passed me with a C. Thus ended my adventures in physical education, or so I thought.

Last spring, my best friend and I started walking. Then we started running. It was a liberating feeling; to be forty and running. But then winter came and with it the rain, snow, and wind. I’m a weenie, in case you haven’t noticed, and I don’t like running in the cold. I kept working out at the gym and waited for those glorious spring days to return.

And they have.

Running to me is an accomplishment. Realizing that I am strong and that I can run is one of the finest things I have ever done for myself. I think back, often, to that girl that I was. I was slender, but I was weak. There may be more meat on these bones today, but I’m strong, I run, and I love that. Wouldn’t Mrs. Warren be pleased!

The sun is shinning and white, puffy clouds dot the expanse of the heavens. It’s a cool spring day, after a rain shower and it seems like a perfect day for a run.

If You Break His Heart I'll Kill You with Scissors

Got your attention with that post title didn't I? Ha ha ha!

And no, I didn't utter those words. I never even thought those words! Those words spilled forth from a friends mouth and they've left us all stunned and laughing. I can't give you details, but let me just say that it transported me to that scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where the brother tells the fiance that if he hurts his sister, he'll kill him. It's all in good, clean fun...I think...

The banquet is over! Hallelujah. It went well and we had nearly 200 guests. I've not seen the final count, but I believe we exceeded our fund raising goal. This is such a great ministry and I'm happy to have been a part of it.

I've made a few new observations at work: One is that attitude is everything. If you have a lousy attitude then you've got a lousy job. That's all. Two, people are very inconsiderate of other people.

This last observation may not be a shocking revelation to you, but frankly folks, it's time we all pulled our heads out of the sand, took a good look around, and considered how we effect those around us.

For example: if you take a shower at small gym (IE. they have ONE shower and it's in the main bathroom) do not leave water all over the floor. Do not leave the shower mat in the middle of the room and please do not leave strands of your HAIR everywhere. Seriously. My children don't leave this big of a mess after they shower at home.

And please keep in mind that if you need 30 minutes to workout and the gym closes in 15 minutes...well...you do the math. It's not that we're not glad to see you, but you know how you feel after a long day? We feel the same way; we want to go home. We want to put our feet up. We want to veg. Not to mention, just because the gym closes at a certain hour, doesn't mean we'll be walking at the door moments later. Nope. There is cleaning to do. There is paperwork to do. It means we leave when the work is done and if you're still there, 15-20 min after we close, we're going to be there later.

There may be a new opportunity coming my way. News at 11:00.

I'm missing my friends. Short phone calls and txt msgs are not cutting it. I miss writing and one of my characters for my story is starting to appear in my dreams. She's a forthright black woman with an attitude and she's giving me heck for not getting her on paper. My mother has been making the occasional appearance in my nightmares...er...dreams. I'm wondering what that's about!

Boy got his drivers license (be warned). Girl is frustrated because our ultra conservative friends are making life difficult for her. Beloved is working with a mouthy four-year-old (okay, he's 38 but acts like a spoiled brat).

Speaking of four-year-olds: Birth Mom phoned me last week to arrange for us to take the tiny tyrants one day over the weekend. We were so excited and spent all day Sunday with those two wee blondie girls. Chuckie Cheese kept them entertained (and our wallet drained!), the cows were again a favorite walking destination, and pancake supper filled everyone up. It was a grand, grand visit...until the end.

As we began driving them home Z-Monster comments that she doesn't know when her birthday is.

I reply, "Your birthday is in January."

Monster - "No it's not!"

Me - "Yes it is."

Monster - "No it's not!!"

Me - "Z! Your birthday is the same month as Uncle Alan's (other, previous foster daddy)

Monster - (snide voice) "MY birthday is after Uncle Alan's" (eyes rolling)

Me - "Yes, IN JANUARY"

Monster - "No it's not"

Me - "Z, I am finished talking to you about this."

Monster - (muttering in her car seat) "It is not. My birthday is not in January. It's not..."

Her muttering continued until she feel asleep a few minutes later. I looked at beloved and said,

"Eleven months of THAT! It's a wonder I'm still sane!"

Honestly though, the way he smiled at me made me wonder...am I still sane? Hmmmm...

I leave you with pics of the banquet and of the wee girls. Have a delightful day and I hope you are all well and enjoying these crisp fall days!

Before Times Runs Out

We had the pleasure of Master Smiley and the Game Master's company over the weekend. Soldier Mommy had Drill and thus the boys arrived bag and baggage for a couple of days. We hadn't seen the Game Master since late last spring as he had spent some time with his father in California. Imagine my surprise when he walked in the door, looked me in the eye, and laughed.

Yep, he'd grown!

Considerably, I might add.

It was also the first time in a very long time that our Boy was home, meaning we had a houseful!




In other news:

Twenty pounds people. That's right, finally, at long last, I've lost twenty pounds. The amazing diet I'm following? I stopped taking that blasted steroid inhaler and lost three pounds.

The hip, while sometimes still hippy, isn't giving me too much trouble. Lovely. I'm one lap away from running that mile. Sadly, it's not my hip that's stopping me, but my lungs. I hope to overcome this minor set back by building them up and kickin' that mile by early next week.

I'm still trying to grasp being the parent of an adult male. Hmmm...what can I say? New choices, new people, new decisions to be made. It's sometimes overwhelming and I've become very good at keeping my pie hole closed.

Stop laughing it's true.

The coming week brings a four day work week, a meeting with the Chef, and our first week of school.

If you'll pardon me, I need to go iron my cape.

Hand Me My Cane, Will Ya?

The weekend came and went. The downside of Saturday was that I got really sad about something and I’m still having trouble shaking it. I know it’s not a BIG deal, but it feels big.

Yesterday was doctor day, finally! So, for all of you who have been waiting breathlessly for news of the ol’ hip we, not-so-happily, announce the arrival of Bursitis. For all those young uns out there Bursitis by definition means: inflammation of a fluid-filled sac bursa of the body, particularly at the elbow, knee, or shoulder joint. Lucky me, I’ve got it in my left hip joint.

So, while I’m not doing any damage by walking two miles, it’s not getting any better. The hip is a very difficult spot to stretch. High ho, high ho off to physical therapy I go.

The workout at Curves is actually pretty good. I didn’t know what to expect but I have found that if you do it the way you are supposed that you get a lot of bang for your buck.

Speaking of Curves, the homework is going to kill me. This week alone I have to memorize the machines names, which muscles they work, and where those muscles are located. I have pages and pages to read, a video to watch, and work pages to complete.

You know I hated PE in high school and I was never all that crazy about homework. Add into the mix that I’m trying to plan a huge event for 200 people, write for the other site, and I have company in the form of Master W. There’s a lot going on. If I can pull all this off, well, I may indeed be Wonder Woman!

I leave you with some pics of Soldier Girl and her boys. The coming year is going to bring some big changes to all our lives. I hope we’re all up to the challenge!

Woot!!!

Ring

Ring

“Hello?”

“Hi Annie, this is _________ from Curves. How are you?”

“I’m doing well, thanks. You?”

“I’m great. I wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed talking with you during the interview on Monday. I’d like to extend an invitation to you to join our team.”

That’s right folks; I got the job at Curves. I am sooooo excited.

For me, working as a circuit coach at Curves is such an awesome opportunity.

One of the best parts of owning my own business was working the conventions and talking to other moms. I loved encouraging them. Working at Curves will give me a new way to connect to other women. It’s an opportunity to see others improve themselves and I just love that.

I’m excited about the prospect of working out at a real gym. You see, there’s a little seed in my brain that’s been germinating. I want to run a 10K. I know what you’re thinking, “What about your hip?” Well, I’m hoping the doctor will address that issue on Monday. My plan is to deal with the hip issue, then to start training for a 5K. After I complete that and actually run it, then I want to tackle the 10K. Then who knows? Maybe a marathon!

For those of you who don’t know me, these are truly amazing ambitions. I’ve never been much of an athlete but this desire in me is growing. I want this. I want it because I’m forty. I want it because I never thought I could do it, but now I think maybe I can. I’ve lost 18 lbs so far (woot!) and the more I lose the more certain I am that I can accomplish anything!

Of course, bringing home a paycheck is nice too. Encouraging others, working towards a goal, and earning a wee bit o’ the green. It doesn’t get much better than that.

The only thing I’m worried about is the training. My old brain doesn’t work as well as it use to. I know there will be classes, tests, and homework. Yikes.

But I’m not letting that get me down.

I got the job!

Cue the Music

Today was the day. The gauntlet had been thrown down. I had no choice. Today I attempt three miles or die. Now I realize for those of you who are, shall we say physically fit, that three miles isn’t a BIG deal. It’s just three miles. Something that you could do in your sleep, but for a girl like me, three miles is large. Not huge, not monstrous, but larger than say two and half.

I was pretty darn sure I could walk three miles, but could I run it? Could I run part of three miles? Any of three miles? Would my knee rebel and lock in place? Would my hip suddenly plan a mutiny with my thigh and render me wounded and helpless? Would I lie in a pathetic, crumpled heap upon the black recycled tread of who knows how many old tires? Would there be laughter?

Drum roll please



YES! Not only could I walk three miles, but I could jog nearly half of it.

From goal post to goal post I jogged.

My hip hurt and said, “Hey, Idiot Girl! What do you think you are doing?”

I said, “Shaddup”.

My knee said, “Excuse me? Fat girl? Have you forgotten that fat girls don’t do this sort of thing? Wouldn’t you rather have a nice piece of chocolate? Slice of pizza? Starbucks frappe-dappa-mocha chino?”

I said, “Forgetaboutit”

And when I rounded that final lap (lap 12 if you’re counting) I started to smile. I could hear the Rocky theme in the background. My eyes filled with tears. I’d done it. I’d picked up the gauntlet and ran with it.

I am woman and I jog.

HEAR ME ROAR!

For Wen: Hearing Not Included

It’s officially summer here in the Pacific Northwest. That means I don’t have to wear a jacket to go walking in. So, logically, you would think that I would have purchased walking/jogging/running (ha ha) pants with pockets. You’d think that wouldn’t you? Well. I didn’t. Idiot girl.

Instead, I figured out a way to wedge my cell phone between my Incase Ipod arm strap and my arm. Works like a charm. I also figured out that my keys can be oh so carefully stuffed into my sock. I am a walking fashion statement, let me tell you. Red and white Incase with red cell phone scrunched between my dazzlingly red Ipod and my fleshy arm. White and blue Fila’s in which my white sockies fit neatly, one leg BULGING with keys. Hair pulled into a tight pony tail. Yeah, it’s all about the look. I’m one hot mama.

No, really. It’s summer. I’m really, really hot. The hill wanted to kill me today. It wanted me to melt with the black top. Snicker. No way Jose!

So, I’m kickin’ the hill, Ipod urging me on, phone so close to my ear that I would surely hear it. You’d think that wouldn’t you? I didn’t though and missed a call from my new boss (yeah, I gotta boss and she so rocks).

Later I compared notes with another geriatric girl. She’s a girl I've labeled the Singer. She’s also known as the Driver. Personally, I like to call her my Wen. Anyway, The Wen and I laughed about the fact that neither one of us can hear our cell phones.

Now in case you are missing the point here, we are women who could hear a tinker toy plunge through the skin of a child on the second floor of the house before the injured party started screaming. We could hear water drip ever so gently onto rose petals. Bats had nothing on us.

Sadly, our hearing seems to be waning. But what’s most troubling is that unless that darn phone is in our hot little hands, we don’t feel them vibrate either. Huh? In my pocket? Nope, won’t feel it. In my purse at my feet, daughter sitting next to me will feel it, I won’t. So, I purpose to Verizon, Kyocera and all makers of the cell phone that they consider a new line.

A phone for the woman over 40. See, the problem is we haven’t quiet hit menopause, so we’re not snake spit mean (yet), but we’ve lost the ability to hear a train in the distance, a child crying down the hall, or our cell phones. So please, Mr. Cell Phone Maker, make me phone. Make it with a LOUD ring. Make the vibrate option on the phone so strong that Wen in Southern Cal will wonder if there’s been an earth quake. In fact, while you’re at it, make GPS a standard feature for The Stalker with a loud commanding voice so she’ll know where she’s at or where she’s going. Make it artsy and pretty for The Giver. Design it with one of those replicating windows like on Star Trek so that The Writer can get her Luna bar after her run.

And could you make chocolate scented?

What about margarita scented?

Yeah...

The Return of the Girl

Today my dearest blondie daughter returns from camp. I’m so excited to see her. This is the longest she’s been away from home and the quiet (no grumbling - it’s been loads of fun around here) is starting to get on my nerves. I know she’ll be exhausted since they’ve been going to bed between 2:30 and 4:30 every night (morning). The skit/play/epic thing was a huge success and I am dying to see all the pictures she took.

In the mean time, I got to the track a bit before 7:00 and logged 2.5 miles. I realize it’s nothing compared to Patti’s 21 miles she’ll be running this week, but hey, a girls gotta start somewhere!

It’s been two months since I started monitoring what goes into the ol’ pie hole. Two months of walks and jogs. Two months of Pilates and weights.

I FEEL STRONG

I’m wearing a smaller size and I am soooo looking forward to hitting that first 15 pound goal, which I should hit this week as I’ve only got 2 pounds to go. I decided to break the weight loss into 15 pound goals because 10 seemed too small and 20 too big. For whatever reason, 15 sounded just right.

And in other news:

I’ve just finished sanding and texturing the bathroom ceiling. It was high time (no pun intended). Last night we bought a new vanity, sink, and faucet. I can hardly wait to see it all installed. Of course, when I was wiping down the walls, after sanding, I realized that I should really paint the walls too. Sigh. So, as long as Beloved hasn’t given all his energy to his employer, maybe we’ll go buy paint and rip out the old vanity so I can paint everything tomorrow.

Dancing the Night Away

She could have danced all night, if her feet hadn’t worn out, that is. Saturday was the high school graduation of one of our dear friend’s eldest daughter. I didn’t attend since I was working diligently trying to cough up a lung while reclining on the sofa (IE. I have a cold). After the ceremony the seniors had a dance party that consisted of English Country dancing and square dancing. It was well chaperoned and Miss C knew nearly everyone who was there.

For me, the fun part was listening to her recount the evening later that night. Her eyes sparkled as she told me about dancing with one young man, whom we’ve known for at least ten years, who swept her off her feet…literally. This type of dancing has very little physical contact, other than hands, and apparently when the lead (girl or boy) swings their partner around you can literally catch some air.

Her partner, Mr. K, swung her off her toes more than once. She laughed and laughed and I said, “He doesn’t realize his own strength!” She heartily agreed and went on to describe dancing with another partner who was just barely taller than she is. It was challenging to get under his upraised arms, while her arms were raised as well.

She danced with her girlfriends and danced with a few young men and as I listened to her I realized, again, that she is growing up. I thought about the future and pictured her as a bride, dancing at her wedding and realized that I have no idea how to dance and I’d better lace up my boots and figure it out!

Seriously though, the kids had a wonderful time and everyone’s feet ached from too much dancing and isn’t that a wonderful memory for them to have? Most of these graduates will be heading off to college in a few months. Their lives will change in new and divers ways. Old friendships may give way to new ones but they’ll always have that night of dancing.

And in case you have no idea what I’m talking about, here is a video showing English Country dancing. Enjoy!

Kickin' It

So, I kicked the hills butt. Yeah. Kicked it. I ran up it. I ran up it FOUR TIMES.

To be perfectly honest, I should probably admit that my running looks more like a jog. Okay, more like a water buffalo jog. Oh alright! It looks more like a wounded, water buffalo jog.

When I’m not in town making my walking buddy take the hills, I either walk my road which is gravel & hilly, or I torture myself with Winsor Pilates and/or Crunch aerobics. Yesterday was a road day and Beloved, since he was off work and doing nothing, decided to join me.

“I won’t go the entire 45-minutes. I don’t want to,” he smiled.

Whateveh…

My route is pretty simple: walk to the mail box, slap it, turn and walk to the driveway, run from driveway to barn, walk from barn up hill to first telephone pole, and return to mailbox. Repeat. Because it’s a country road it isn’t always very flat. I prefer to walk on the right side of the road because it doesn’t slant.

“Trade me sides,” Beloved says.

“I don’t like the left side. It’s slanty.” I reply

“I know…”replies my Beloved.

Beloved is in pretty good shape but he could afford to lose some weight (his words, not mine). His job is very physically demanding and I knew he could out walk, out run, out everything me. So when he complained about the slanty side of the road, I kinda chuckled. Okay, I laughed, but I switched sides with him.

We finished our second lap and were on our way to the driveway when Beloved said, “Let’s run from the barn to the telephone pole.”

Up hill?

He wants me to run up hill? Is he on crack?

Has he forgotten who he’s married to? I’m short and I’m overweight. I run like a water buffalo, an injured water buffalo.



Run up the hill…

I love a challenge.

So I kicked the hills butt. I ran up the hill Quasimodo style, but I did it. I did it three more times. We ended with a total time of 50 minutes (yeah me!).

This morning as Beloved left for work he said, “Ouch! My calves hurt.”

I just smiled. Poor Beloved. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that mine didn’t.