Monthly Archives: December 2010

Toilet thoughts

We all had the flu recently.  Now I know many people use the flu term lightly to encompass a variety of aliments from headaches and sniffles to muscle pains.  But we had THE FLU as in the old fashion puke – your – guts – out flu.  All of us, that is except my older son who has a super hero immune system that is impenetrable to most foreign invaders.  When my daughter had the chicken pox I gave her permission to cough and snot all over him, which she did so all too willingly and enjoyed it a little too much.  I guess it was pay back for all of his gross boy moments.  Yet even with her body fluid attack, he never got one single pox!  Amazing.

And as if all of us being sick wasn’t evil enough the hubs and I got to experience this joyous occasion simultaneously.  We were side by side on our bed groaning and sleeping away the misery while thinking bad thoughts about the mattress for the back pain.  I usually like to think that there is some adult presence in our home capable of maintaining order and the general well being of our kids.  However, not the case this time.  I moaned helplessly and tried unsuccessfully to move as I heard my 6yr old yell out “I’m hungry – now how do I turn on the stove to make these noodles?” and my older son, who almost burned the house down two times, offer to help him. Both adults were taken out and somehow had to manage until the Calvary (my parents) could come to the rescue.

I haven’t been this sick in a long time. I even flashed back to my childhood flus.  You know how everything was worse “back then.”  The weather, the snow, the chores, child labor, everything was more difficult and painful — including the flu.  So while I was heaving my guts out I remembered how my mom would always awaken to the sound of her puking child. Every.single.time that woman would hear us vomit.  She never missed an episode and would stand along side of us with her arm wrapped around our waist.  She seldom spoke a word during the expulsion of our innards.  But her presence somehow made it all better.  With each retch she held me firm as if to say ‘I won’t let you propel yourself into this toilet’ and that made it more bearable!   

So as I forcefully retched alone in the dark bathroom two thoughts went through my head.

  • Don’t fall in the toilet
  • I want my mom!


And maybe a third…..thank God I just cleaned the toilet!

Eat me is not to be used as an excuse….

Since I am incubating my muffin top (click to see previous post) I decided to do it up right!  I decided to indulge in so many extra calories that I will drip sugar sweat all over my elliptical. 

Today I fired up the oven and cranked out the baked goods like some non-human conveyor belt.  Equally as rapid was the taste testing and oh, was I reminded of how sick one can become after mass amounts of sugar consumption!  I operated like a well oiled machine.  Some on the tray, some in my mouth…Some on the tray, some in my mouth.  I felt like Laverne and Shirley working on their brewery assembly line job, only I remained in my kitchen bathed in flour and dehydrated from sugar overload. 

 Yes, muffin top you have great possibilities this season. 

Laverne and Shirley on the assembly line

 As I was assembling and cooling my goods I happened to notice something.  Let’s see if you can identify the common denominator in these photos…ready?

Photo #1

I spy with my little eye...something....

Photo #2 

I still spy with my little eye…


 See it or should I say her?  Yes, my biggest baking fan and supporter.  She is patient.  She is crafty.  She will wait and attack with perfected table surfing skills which would earn her a 10.0 should she be scored.           
 She is none other than my faithful food driven Lab.  She will sample my creations with or without permission regardless of the final outcome.  Burnt, dry, doughy, or divine it doesn’t matter to her.  Agility and air assault are combined with one big inhalation and the goodies are gone.  Not even a single crumb is left behind as a reminder of what was.  The plate is licked clean and if one would feel inspired to take a closer look (like say, the baker whose goods are suddenly GONE), the streaks of dried canine saliva are evident.                                                                 
The kids, when being piggish, have actually tried to use the table surfing dog as an excuse for vanished product.   However, if these above mentioned canine spit streaks are absent then the dog is pardoned and the kids are judged guilty.  The chocolate stains on their little mouth(s) also helps to excuse the dog from certain doom.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

After the rage passes and a few deep breaths are taken, I must admit that her effectiveness is rather impressive.  She can clear a table faster than anyone or anything I’ve ever seen…and I’ve been to many all-you-can eat buffets and have experienced (up close and personal) the “folk” who frequent these joints.  I think the XXXL adult bibs with personalized food stains troubled me the most. 

Shiver, back to my food stealing lab…..

Eat me!

My children, who have turned into food stealing lab defense attorneys, have launched their case as “Mommy, it’s almost as if the food is beggin’  for her to “eat me.”  And she does. 



Some views are better than others

The Holiday season is [crashing] upon us.  Tis the time of year when we get together with family and friends to enjoy a little bit of laughter, socializing, and drinking.  But wait, there’s one more element….the bonding glue of every social event….(key the heavenly choir)…FOOD!

What do you mean ONE per person?!?

I am continuously amazed at my ability to shovel more calories into the hole underneath  my nose during this time of year than the entire calendar year combined!  So it should come as no surprise when my Ann Taylors begin to get snuggish (one of my many made up words) around the waist.  But I am always shocked to feel my newly formed Holiday muffin top.   “Hmm, now how did that get there?” is the question I find myself asking in total surprise each year.  Initially, I suck it (as in the buldge) in until sucking it in no longer works.  Then I resort to bed gymnastics, contortions and daring physical feats all aimed at maneuvering my flesh mound into the desired outfit.  If I can mold myself into the clothing without passing out or popping off a button, then it is deemed a success.  Who cares if I have to walk like a robot all day, laugh gently and sit gingerly with extreme care…It Was A Success!!! My Ann Taylors Are ON MY Body! 

My Holiday muffin top

Eventually, an intervention must occur and it usually comes months later in the form of physical torture.  It only makes sense that after months of shoving unlimited amounts of  food in, it is going to take some sweat and massive physical pain to burn it off.  Darn you late 30’s metabolism! 
Enter the gym.
I’m sure all of us have been to the gym at some point in our lives right?  We’ve all see the sights…the people and their bodies in various forms of aerobic splendor -some of which are more visually [blinding] traumatic than others.  The smells.  I’ll let the period be a period at the end of the smells.  The grunts, gasps, groans, convulsions, spasms and general gym noise. Ahhhh, now this is the atmosphere of burning calories. 
And yes, while there is nothing quite like the gym experience, I have chosen to eradicate my muffin top in my home with my precious elliptical gym.  You see, home is where I can sweat, stink, become a partial exhibitionist, grunt and groan in my private nirvana.                                                                                                                               
Well, semi-private because of the kids and their tendency to get grossed out easily.  Not that I am concerned with my candid ability to cause their stomachs to churn but I am bothered by the fact that they will repeat the incident to every stranger within ear shot for days, months and years to come.  AND usually at the most inopportune time like when I am meeting the parents of their school friends.  It is during this crucial time of introduction(s) that my darlings will belt “This is my mom and she drips sweat from her belly button!”  Nice.  Just what these parents wanted to know about me and my belly button.   But even given the situation of my privacy being held hostage by kids with diarrhea of the mouth, I am still opting for my home gym.
And besides, where else do you get a view of those suffering along side you quite. like. this???  Taken while I was moving out on my elliptical hence, the blur.
I’m suffering so why are you taking my picture? You sick, sick sadist!
AHAHHHAA!  Let the home gym experience begin, yet again!  Ann Taylor: be prepared to fit beautifully on my bod.

In 2010 there are things worse than coal…

Coal, the dreaded lump of coal.  When I was growing up I lost count of the number of times I heard the old timers threaten us “young whipper snappers” with “You’re going to get coal for Christmas!”  It was a valid threat and we did everything to behave. 

Well, most of us.  You see, some of us did not actually believe that our parents  Santa would place a lump of coal in our stockings.  Some of us possessed unwavering confidence that an enormous pile of presents resembling the likes of Mt. Everest would be under our tree Christmas morning.  Why?  Because NO one had actually ever received coal…at least that we knew of.  We never returned to school from Christmas break and heard “I was bad.  All I got for Christmas was a lump of coal!”  We never saw a coal present.  Therefore, we knew for a fact that the entire coal thing was a hoax.  It was common knowledge that Santa never did coal.  It was just enough to make us giggle, play nice with our stinky brother, and become indentured servants to our parents.  All these behaviors were done conditionally for the ultimate behavioral payday – Christmas Presents!  

While attempting to cash in on some indentured servants of my own, I tried the ‘you’re going to get coal’ line on my modern young offspring.   I had a difficult time keeping a straight face while saying these words because…Coal? c’mon, who says, “you’re going to get coal” anymore?  But desperate is as desperate does – so coal it was.  My futile threat was, as expected, met with looks of “huh?” followed by the “ppfffftt, yeah right!”  Wow, absolutely no effect.  What has become of Christmas in 2010? No coal?  The threat was not even mildly effective.

But ah, as I glanced to the side I realized there are worse things to receive in 2010 than coal.  Things that will send shivers down the spines of my lovelies hurling them back to the 18th century.  Things that will prompt them to inquire if I would like my ‘bath water drawn.’  Things that they know I am dementedly capable of placing in their stockings. 


Happy Holidays.

Be careful where you place your fingers.

Adorable = flying under the radar
I’m in the middle of dinner.  Up to my wrists in cooking stuff.  Pots, pans, flames, bowls, meat, knives…totally involved and totally distracted. 
Enter my youngest with sweet innocence: “Mom what does a contact lens feel like?” 
Flicker of a red flag.  Mentally noting the fact that his sister has a sample pair of colored contacts in the bathroom that she occasionally uses for fun.
I pause to assess the situation while wiping my forehead with my forearm.  Hmmm, his face looks innocently curious enough.  I proceed to explain the texture and feel of a contact should someone touch one.  Then ask if he perhaps….touched one.  No, of course not.  Silly me.
He exits the room only to return a few seconds later with this question “uh, mom?  What would happen if I did touch one?”
Red flag.  Red flag – more than a flicker.  Navigating a pot of boiling water from the stove to the sink  I, of course, use this opportunity to educate him on the over-the-top dangerous occurrence of eye infections, blindness and the like from unsanitary contact conditions like, oh say…dirty hand germs polluting the saline bath water that houses the contacts.  I really laid it on thick given that I had more than a flicker red flag suspicion of where his little hands had been.  He stood frozen and opened mouthed.  His siblings suspiciously echoed  “Did you touch them?!”  NO, of course he didn’t.  Silly them.
He left then returned seconds later “Uh mom? How will you know if someone actually has an eye infection and what will happen to them again?” 
Red flag.  Red flag.  Siren quality RED FLAG!  Everything and everyone immediately and simultaneously stopped.  All eyes were 100%, totally, without a doubt focused on him.  We bore into him with squinted eyes and raised eyebrows until he belted out a tearful  “Ok, OK I did touch them.  I did!!!”  The wails were so pitiful and deeply heartfelt, considering that he almost blinded someone, that his older sister had a difficult time remaining angry with him.  She let him stew in his emotion while I did the parent thing and dealt with the lie.
The tainted contacts were quickly cleaned, an eye crisis was adverted and someone learned a valuable lesson….be careful where you place your fingers!