Saturday, February 27, 2010
"Adults Shouldn't Step on Babies!"
ADULTS SHOULDN'T STEP ON BABIES!!! .........yes....actually a line I yelled in my house earlier this evening.
This isn't necessarily meant to be a man bashing post....HOWEVER, it is no secret that mothers have certain instinctual behaviors that fathers lack. (such as not stepping on their children) Some men will vehemently disagree, and obviously, there are exceptions on both sides.
However, it is obviously a nationwide consensus (at least in Hollywood)...just look at sitcom characters. The roles taken by the mother and father figures...it is most ofter the mother character who is "take charge", and the father character who is getting into trouble by doing "offbeat" things when it concerns the household/children. Just look at Everybody Loves Raymond, Home Improvement, Cosby Show, Roseanne, Modern Family, and so on. Hollywood would not produce such types of characters if the American public couldn't relate, right?
(That said, these fathers are the most fun, and loving dads...and Dave is no exception. The girls make no quams about choosing to live with him when I threaten to move into an apartment by myself....and they often warn him not to engage me in arguments.)
Back to stepping on the baby. This is not the first time this has happened. It is actually the second. (hence the screaming of the above mentioned). I would be interested to see how many mothers have actually stepped on one of their children. (accidentally, anyway)
I don't know, maybe the guy legitimately has NO peripheral vision? In his defense, he was performing another task when both "incidences" occurred. Which will segway into my my next issue of total lack of multitasking capabilities. It seems to me that men can do one thing at a time....period. For example, if Dave happens to be watching the baby, that is ALL he is doing - he wont think twice about using it as an excuse:
"Umm, Hon, the soup I had on the stove boiled over onto the cat resulting in the loss of all his fur, his eyeballs and tail. I think he might be dead. Why didn't you do something?
"I couldn't....I was watching the baby!"
Imagine if we homemakers could get away with this line. There would be no food, no clean clothes, none of the OTHER children would get where they needed to be. I could simply say "I was watching the baby". I could get away with this for at least 24 months or so.
Granted, we do have more practice....those of us who are home 24/7. However, I can look at it from both sides of the coin as I have been a full time working mother for 13 out of the last 14 years of my life. And when I WAS employed, I never stepped on one of my kids. (I caught a hand in my car door...twice in a row...but that's it)
Sometimes I think common sense eludes the male brain when it comes to small children. Just the other day, we were running late. The baby was downstairs wearing only a diaper. I was the last to get ready (per usual because I am usually helping the girls get ready). One might think it would be obvious that the baby needed clothes on. Nope.
It wasn't until I yelled down to get her dressed that it happened. For almost 12 months, Dave has asked me EVERY time where Emmas pajamas are. This time, it was her clothing. "In her drawer" (??) - where did he think her clothes were.... in the bathtub?
At any rate, I told him to grab a one piece outfit from the second drawer. I heard him lovingly telling Emma about her cute little monkey on her shirt.
Now, I know there is no one piece with a monkey face on it. So I run out of the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging from my mouth. They are halfway down the stairs.
"what are you putting her in?" He held up a onesie style shirt, and had no pants.
"umm, its snowing...Don't you think pants might be a good idea?"
I also quite enjoy the denial that babies may awaken AFTER we (he) are (is) asleep. The truth, the baby wakes up EVERY night.
Just the other night, I was meeting friends for drinks. I didn't anticipate being very late as it was a weekday, and the baby had been sick. Just in case, I advised that should she awaken cranky, and with a fever (as she had for the past two nights) she was not able to get her dose of Motrin until after 11:30. His immediate response was "oh, I will be out cold by then". alrighty then....I'll be home in an hour.
I guess I shouldn't complain. Its the nature of the beast. It could be much worse....at lease he tries. He does laundry and washes dishes. He goes to market (even if he DOES use the excuse of "i didn't go in that isle" when I ask why he didn't buy certain items)
He sometimes lacks common sense and I am a bitch who wears ugly underwear.....and that's that.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Game ...35-9
Parent -Child Basketball Game. Tuesday Night. 7 - 8:30
That wasn't the score. Its the age difference. Me, 35. My opponent, 9.
When I read that the parents were invited to participate in a basketball game against their daughters, sheer freight came over me....my back, my lungs - After all, I did JUST have baby. Ok, Jen. Get it together. Its a team full of kids.
First, I have to say, that competition and the need to win in ingrained in my brain. It really doesn't matter what it is I am competing at....I need to win. Take Bunco...a dice game, where luck is really all its about. Just because its about luck, doesn't mean I feel the need to win any less.
Recently, at a Bunco game, I suppose I was a little boisterous as I rolled the dice...a fellow player looked at me with confusion and annoyance in her eyes and said "what exactly are you here for". "Ummm...duh...I am hear to WIN!" What did she think I was here for? I had tasted victory once before and it tasted good...damn good. If I wanted to converse over cocktails I would meet out at a bar or something. This was a game...and games are meant to have a winner and a loser. And I intend on being a winner. (I am unemployed after all, and this could potentially be my only source of income)
OK, back to the basketball game. My neighbor had participated in this event with her child recently. She giggled when I told her, and advised that wear a pantyliner. "Huh?"
"You know" she said. "The fast running and sudden stopping."
I realized that the bladder, after giving birth, tends to not react well in these kinds of situations. Hmm...yet another thing to concern myself with.
I went to the Gap on the morning of the game and purchase a new pair of sweatpants. And no, the 22 pairs I have just didn't seem sufficient. I needed something stylish, yet practical. Ones that would not trip my up during a fast break, or a tough man on man D.
I found the perfect pair of black, rolled top, elastic bottom (just under the knee).
Its 5:30. An hour and a half til game time. I decided I needed a shower so that I could slick my short hair tightly back. Any wisps in front of my eyes could be disastrous.
I instructed Ava to get her uniform on and rest up....she was a bit nervous...well..because she knows me.
I laced up my brown and pink sneakers (which I have only worn during theme park excursions), popped 3 extra strength Advil, and strategically placed a medicated hot patch on my lower back. I doused myself with Bath and Body works body spray so as not to smell like Ben Gay. I didn't want to give these kids the false impression that I was not up to the task.
On the way to the game, I forced Liza to pick sides. She knew she had better pick mine. I told Ava Emma would be on her side.
Time to jump for the ball. The coach had picked me and Ava. There are several other moms on the team who were definitely over 5 ft 8. I knew this would be good for us. Most of the girls playing were around my height...some taller. And, they had been playing several times a week for the past several months. It was these factors that lead me to the conclusion that all I had on these girls was age. As such, I was in "take no mercy" mode.
After the first 10 minutes, my back was still holding up OK. I had made several fast breaks down court to score. I did get stuffed one time by the teams point guard. She is very good...and scrappy....I welcomed her tenacity....and found her to be a worthy opponent. She at one point yelled at me that I was stepping on her sneaker during a jump ball. I fouled Ave twice. Whatever, I had forgotten to take my neighbors advice, and needed to get this game over with.
As the referee called for subs, I dragged my hurting body to the side of the court where Liza wiped my brow and gave me a water bottle. I wasnt expecting this, but my uterus actually hurt...I didnt even know that was possible...but it did...it hurt. (Things you learn.)
Anyway, a mother who was not playing commented that I was good...and that I should play in an adult league. I proudly said thank you...and then I explained I didn't care if my opponent was 9, 6 or 3. I was there to win. (What was I thinking? Why would I say that? What must she think of me?) Oh well. The truth shall set you free.
I sat down and Dave went in for me. I had Emma duty during the quarter. Everyone was cooing at her...the other moms. I looked at her and noticed that something was protruding from the the top of her shirt. I thought my hot patch had come off and had somehow made it into her shirt. While everyone was looking, I reached over and pulled it out....to my horror, it was a bathing suit "cup". I was slightly embarrassed and was going to explain how that happened...until Ava bluntly yelled out: "Liza put it in there to see what Emma would look like with one boob".
SUBS! Ok, I was back in the game. Ava had really begun to get her footing. She was playing me man on man with a vengeance. I had no choice but to resort to arm holding and mouth covering. These kids were neck and neck with us, scoring wise, and we were trying our very best. At some point, my motherly instinct to see my child succeed kicked in. It was very weird for me...but I let up some. I let her get at least two shots off...you know, for her self esteem and all.
The game ended- I am not sure who won, however, I know it was within a few points.
When we got home, I had all I could to get myself to the couch. I popped two more Advil and placed the hot computer charger against my back. The adrenalin from exercising impeded my ability to fall asleep any time soon.
So today, I am lying on the couch, STILL in my basketball outfit. The backs of my legs feel as if someone is holding a flame to them whilst untangling each of my ligaments. The tops or my arms are sore as well...from all the shots I took, and my back is stiff. Couple this with the fact that I have this walking baby to chase around, no diet coke, and no coffee and I have just about hit rock bottom for the week. The only thing that is keeping me going is the fact that Bunco is tonight, and I am going to need to rest up and get ready to roll dice kick ass. Get Ready.
That wasn't the score. Its the age difference. Me, 35. My opponent, 9.
When I read that the parents were invited to participate in a basketball game against their daughters, sheer freight came over me....my back, my lungs - After all, I did JUST have baby. Ok, Jen. Get it together. Its a team full of kids.
First, I have to say, that competition and the need to win in ingrained in my brain. It really doesn't matter what it is I am competing at....I need to win. Take Bunco...a dice game, where luck is really all its about. Just because its about luck, doesn't mean I feel the need to win any less.
Recently, at a Bunco game, I suppose I was a little boisterous as I rolled the dice...a fellow player looked at me with confusion and annoyance in her eyes and said "what exactly are you here for". "Ummm...duh...I am hear to WIN!" What did she think I was here for? I had tasted victory once before and it tasted good...damn good. If I wanted to converse over cocktails I would meet out at a bar or something. This was a game...and games are meant to have a winner and a loser. And I intend on being a winner. (I am unemployed after all, and this could potentially be my only source of income)
OK, back to the basketball game. My neighbor had participated in this event with her child recently. She giggled when I told her, and advised that wear a pantyliner. "Huh?"
"You know" she said. "The fast running and sudden stopping."
I realized that the bladder, after giving birth, tends to not react well in these kinds of situations. Hmm...yet another thing to concern myself with.
I went to the Gap on the morning of the game and purchase a new pair of sweatpants. And no, the 22 pairs I have just didn't seem sufficient. I needed something stylish, yet practical. Ones that would not trip my up during a fast break, or a tough man on man D.
I found the perfect pair of black, rolled top, elastic bottom (just under the knee).
Its 5:30. An hour and a half til game time. I decided I needed a shower so that I could slick my short hair tightly back. Any wisps in front of my eyes could be disastrous.
I instructed Ava to get her uniform on and rest up....she was a bit nervous...well..because she knows me.
I laced up my brown and pink sneakers (which I have only worn during theme park excursions), popped 3 extra strength Advil, and strategically placed a medicated hot patch on my lower back. I doused myself with Bath and Body works body spray so as not to smell like Ben Gay. I didn't want to give these kids the false impression that I was not up to the task.
On the way to the game, I forced Liza to pick sides. She knew she had better pick mine. I told Ava Emma would be on her side.
Time to jump for the ball. The coach had picked me and Ava. There are several other moms on the team who were definitely over 5 ft 8. I knew this would be good for us. Most of the girls playing were around my height...some taller. And, they had been playing several times a week for the past several months. It was these factors that lead me to the conclusion that all I had on these girls was age. As such, I was in "take no mercy" mode.
After the first 10 minutes, my back was still holding up OK. I had made several fast breaks down court to score. I did get stuffed one time by the teams point guard. She is very good...and scrappy....I welcomed her tenacity....and found her to be a worthy opponent. She at one point yelled at me that I was stepping on her sneaker during a jump ball. I fouled Ave twice. Whatever, I had forgotten to take my neighbors advice, and needed to get this game over with.
As the referee called for subs, I dragged my hurting body to the side of the court where Liza wiped my brow and gave me a water bottle. I wasnt expecting this, but my uterus actually hurt...I didnt even know that was possible...but it did...it hurt. (Things you learn.)
Anyway, a mother who was not playing commented that I was good...and that I should play in an adult league. I proudly said thank you...and then I explained I didn't care if my opponent was 9, 6 or 3. I was there to win. (What was I thinking? Why would I say that? What must she think of me?) Oh well. The truth shall set you free.
I sat down and Dave went in for me. I had Emma duty during the quarter. Everyone was cooing at her...the other moms. I looked at her and noticed that something was protruding from the the top of her shirt. I thought my hot patch had come off and had somehow made it into her shirt. While everyone was looking, I reached over and pulled it out....to my horror, it was a bathing suit "cup". I was slightly embarrassed and was going to explain how that happened...until Ava bluntly yelled out: "Liza put it in there to see what Emma would look like with one boob".
SUBS! Ok, I was back in the game. Ava had really begun to get her footing. She was playing me man on man with a vengeance. I had no choice but to resort to arm holding and mouth covering. These kids were neck and neck with us, scoring wise, and we were trying our very best. At some point, my motherly instinct to see my child succeed kicked in. It was very weird for me...but I let up some. I let her get at least two shots off...you know, for her self esteem and all.
The game ended- I am not sure who won, however, I know it was within a few points.
When we got home, I had all I could to get myself to the couch. I popped two more Advil and placed the hot computer charger against my back. The adrenalin from exercising impeded my ability to fall asleep any time soon.
So today, I am lying on the couch, STILL in my basketball outfit. The backs of my legs feel as if someone is holding a flame to them whilst untangling each of my ligaments. The tops or my arms are sore as well...from all the shots I took, and my back is stiff. Couple this with the fact that I have this walking baby to chase around, no diet coke, and no coffee and I have just about hit rock bottom for the week. The only thing that is keeping me going is the fact that Bunco is tonight, and I am going to need to rest up and get ready to roll dice kick ass. Get Ready.
Monday, February 22, 2010
"Sorry...I Have a Bad Cold" (item #8)
HAPHEPHOBIA - the fear of being touched
Anyone that knows me well, knows that I do not like to be touched by other people. I don't mind a firm handshake upon meeting someone new, but that is where I draw the line.
This is not something that just came about, either. Well before the swine flu epidemic, i was avoiding making any kind of physical contact with most people.
Further, and to be clear, it is NOT a germ issue...I will duly admit that it is purely and just simply.... one of my characteristics.
It goes back to my childhood, I suppose. I was that kid who had an extra aversion to the aunt who insisted that she squeeze my cheek upon seeing me. I would break into a cold sweat at thought of company coming over...because I KNEW I was going to be forced to make some sort of physical gesture. I would run and hide under my bed, or in a closet for as long as I could.
It was offensive to me, and I thought it not right that I was forced, as to be courteous, to kiss every tom, dick and harry that walked into my house...regardless of their personal hygiene habits. Even as a small child, my parents were lucky if they got a kiss before bedtime....(even today, I hug and kiss them only prior to plane travel)
As an adult, I continue to find the tradition of people kissing and/or hugging upon entering a house/or room unnatural and awkward. Why do we stop their? Why not get on all fours and sniff each others rear ends? "HELLO and GOODBYE" should be perfectly sufficient. End of Story.
Lets tale into consideration that I have married into a very close, and traditional Italian family. And although the immediate family does not engage in this sort of behavior most of the time, the extended relatives will bestow a kiss on each and every person they can get their lips on. (ok, this may be a germ thing at this point) There can be a party of 100 people and still, the greetings can go on forever. It has become a game to me at family parties...how many kisses can I avoid. They come at you - hands up an open like a vice to grip your face so that you cannot move you head and avoid the kiss. I have had to resort to developing my own greeting which is along the lines of "Sorry, I have a bad cold"
The question is how this has affected my parenting when it comes to teaching my children (?) For the most part, I have taught them that they do not have to kiss anyone if they do not want to. (and believe me, I have caught grief on several occasions because of my belief on the matter)
There are certain members of our family, however, that I set aside this belief and force them to kiss. However, they have caught on to the "I have a cold" line pretty damn well. Liza will follow hers with a couple of good hacks complete with phlegm.
Furthermore, my issues with my personal space does not stop at kissing and hugging as a hello/goodbye gesture. I genuinely dislike any sort of physical affection such as long periods of hugging, cuddling, etc. (with the sole exception of my own children under the age of 4ish...or badly maimed). This makes wakes and funerals especially difficult for me.
In my own home, this generally hasn't been a problem -until recently, when my 6 year old has been consistently harassing me for "cuddle time". It has been a difficult task for me to determine whether or not she is being sincere, or rather testing my loyalty as a mother. It was recently that I had to explain to her why I constantly come up with excuses when she wants to smother my person.
(In trying to make her feel better and that it is not personal, I had her call one of my oldest friends to confirm what it was I was telling her was the truth)
I will kiss them goodnight...however, try and avoid their lips actually touching me. I know, again you think I am horrible. However, my kids have this ridiculous ability to turn their lips almost inside out, so that when they are coming at me, I see shiny, wet, lip innards coming at me. (I am gagging just thinking about it).
(If it makes you feel less bad for my kids, we have made a joke of it, so it is not all uncomfortable....rather funny - at least to them)
I have added this all to my list of "ITEMS TO DISCUSS WITH FUTURE THERAPIST". ...it is number 8 after "hearing other people chew crunchy food".
Anyone that knows me well, knows that I do not like to be touched by other people. I don't mind a firm handshake upon meeting someone new, but that is where I draw the line.
This is not something that just came about, either. Well before the swine flu epidemic, i was avoiding making any kind of physical contact with most people.
Further, and to be clear, it is NOT a germ issue...I will duly admit that it is purely and just simply.... one of my characteristics.
It goes back to my childhood, I suppose. I was that kid who had an extra aversion to the aunt who insisted that she squeeze my cheek upon seeing me. I would break into a cold sweat at thought of company coming over...because I KNEW I was going to be forced to make some sort of physical gesture. I would run and hide under my bed, or in a closet for as long as I could.
It was offensive to me, and I thought it not right that I was forced, as to be courteous, to kiss every tom, dick and harry that walked into my house...regardless of their personal hygiene habits. Even as a small child, my parents were lucky if they got a kiss before bedtime....(even today, I hug and kiss them only prior to plane travel)
As an adult, I continue to find the tradition of people kissing and/or hugging upon entering a house/or room unnatural and awkward. Why do we stop their? Why not get on all fours and sniff each others rear ends? "HELLO and GOODBYE" should be perfectly sufficient. End of Story.
Lets tale into consideration that I have married into a very close, and traditional Italian family. And although the immediate family does not engage in this sort of behavior most of the time, the extended relatives will bestow a kiss on each and every person they can get their lips on. (ok, this may be a germ thing at this point) There can be a party of 100 people and still, the greetings can go on forever. It has become a game to me at family parties...how many kisses can I avoid. They come at you - hands up an open like a vice to grip your face so that you cannot move you head and avoid the kiss. I have had to resort to developing my own greeting which is along the lines of "Sorry, I have a bad cold"
The question is how this has affected my parenting when it comes to teaching my children (?) For the most part, I have taught them that they do not have to kiss anyone if they do not want to. (and believe me, I have caught grief on several occasions because of my belief on the matter)
There are certain members of our family, however, that I set aside this belief and force them to kiss. However, they have caught on to the "I have a cold" line pretty damn well. Liza will follow hers with a couple of good hacks complete with phlegm.
Furthermore, my issues with my personal space does not stop at kissing and hugging as a hello/goodbye gesture. I genuinely dislike any sort of physical affection such as long periods of hugging, cuddling, etc. (with the sole exception of my own children under the age of 4ish...or badly maimed). This makes wakes and funerals especially difficult for me.
In my own home, this generally hasn't been a problem -until recently, when my 6 year old has been consistently harassing me for "cuddle time". It has been a difficult task for me to determine whether or not she is being sincere, or rather testing my loyalty as a mother. It was recently that I had to explain to her why I constantly come up with excuses when she wants to smother my person.
(In trying to make her feel better and that it is not personal, I had her call one of my oldest friends to confirm what it was I was telling her was the truth)
I will kiss them goodnight...however, try and avoid their lips actually touching me. I know, again you think I am horrible. However, my kids have this ridiculous ability to turn their lips almost inside out, so that when they are coming at me, I see shiny, wet, lip innards coming at me. (I am gagging just thinking about it).
(If it makes you feel less bad for my kids, we have made a joke of it, so it is not all uncomfortable....rather funny - at least to them)
I have added this all to my list of "ITEMS TO DISCUSS WITH FUTURE THERAPIST". ...it is number 8 after "hearing other people chew crunchy food".
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A What can Bounce on my What??
"MOM" as one opinionated, critical, and no-filter brain, 6 year old blurts...."a bug can bounce on your butt...you know...like a trampoline...its so jiggly!". "boing boing boing" she squeals with delight as she hoists my butt cheeks up and down as I am trying to wash dishes.
"ya know what? It wasn't always like this....I used to be thin....in shape even. That was before you friggan kids ruined my body. So, before you start insulting me, you should maybe consider writing me an apology letter first".
I struggle, on a daily basis, to decide whether or not I really care about what my body looks like. Clearly, I am concerned about my face....people actually SEE my face. But who really sees my body? Emma? She doesn't really care. Besides, if you wear the right clothes, it doesn't matter at all what shape or weight you are. Its more about presenting yourself well....right?
That's all well and good, except I most often wear sweatpants. Only because they are comfortable. Plus, I really try and put together "stylish" sweat outfits...ones that I think look cute. ( Ok, maybe I am far too old for that, as these are the types of outfits adorned by Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato...etc. )
I am 35 years old.....I have gained approximately 260 pounds over 4 pregnancies. Of course my body is not going to be the same. I no longer smoke my breakfast, and consider coffee my staple dietary need.
I don't want to be one of those woman who are constantly on a diet either...I seriously know people who have been on weight watchers for over 15 years. This is not about diet, or weight. I do not think I am fat. I am just "different" than I used to be. I used to spend 3 hours a day in the gym ...(from 1995 - 1999), I could've been a model in "Shape Magazine". Its not all bad though....I could still be in magazines....in fact, I was thinking I could pose nude....in National Geographic.
If you have daughters, you may know they absolutely LOVE checking you out and making commentaries.... However, you have to be very careful on how you let them see you react so as not to cause and body dismorphic issues as they enter puberty..or before. For example:
child "mom....you have all scratches on your hips"
parent "those are stretch marks... I got them from riding a bike.
child " Wow your boobs look weird with no bra on"
parent: "at least I HAVE boobs"
child: "why does your chunk hang out the top of your pants?"
parent ****smack ****
Now currently, I having been living a sugar free lifestyle....its been working out for the most part....as far as the ease of it.
The most crucial aspect was to furnish the cabinets with sugar free snacks...so as to not ever feel as if I were missing something. Right off the bat, I spent $200 on sugar free cupcakes, cookies, puddings, etc. I cleaned Target out of their sugar free chocolates, and hard candy.
One wouldn't think they would have to read the fine print on the packages...would one?
"Over consumption of this product could have a laxative effect".
OK, so I lost a few pounds straight away....if only for the over consumption of the sugar free products. So now, a few weeks into it, I wrestle with the conflict of satisfying my junk food cravings with whether its worth it to spend a fair amount of time in the lieu the next day. (guess I should stock up on my gossip magazines).
I suppose I will start those pilates dvds I purchase 2 months ago....soon. I will continue to try and eat a normal healthy diet. (minus sugar + sugar substitutes). I will take it one day at a time and welcome any comments from my girls as observations...not criticisms. If this is what it is for me, that is fine. I will through my hands up, buy more sweats and call it a day.
"ya know what? It wasn't always like this....I used to be thin....in shape even. That was before you friggan kids ruined my body. So, before you start insulting me, you should maybe consider writing me an apology letter first".
I struggle, on a daily basis, to decide whether or not I really care about what my body looks like. Clearly, I am concerned about my face....people actually SEE my face. But who really sees my body? Emma? She doesn't really care. Besides, if you wear the right clothes, it doesn't matter at all what shape or weight you are. Its more about presenting yourself well....right?
That's all well and good, except I most often wear sweatpants. Only because they are comfortable. Plus, I really try and put together "stylish" sweat outfits...ones that I think look cute. ( Ok, maybe I am far too old for that, as these are the types of outfits adorned by Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato...etc. )
I am 35 years old.....I have gained approximately 260 pounds over 4 pregnancies. Of course my body is not going to be the same. I no longer smoke my breakfast, and consider coffee my staple dietary need.
I don't want to be one of those woman who are constantly on a diet either...I seriously know people who have been on weight watchers for over 15 years. This is not about diet, or weight. I do not think I am fat. I am just "different" than I used to be. I used to spend 3 hours a day in the gym ...(from 1995 - 1999), I could've been a model in "Shape Magazine". Its not all bad though....I could still be in magazines....in fact, I was thinking I could pose nude....in National Geographic.
If you have daughters, you may know they absolutely LOVE checking you out and making commentaries.... However, you have to be very careful on how you let them see you react so as not to cause and body dismorphic issues as they enter puberty..or before. For example:
child "mom....you have all scratches on your hips"
parent "those are stretch marks... I got them from riding a bike.
child " Wow your boobs look weird with no bra on"
parent: "at least I HAVE boobs"
child: "why does your chunk hang out the top of your pants?"
parent ****smack ****
Now currently, I having been living a sugar free lifestyle....its been working out for the most part....as far as the ease of it.
The most crucial aspect was to furnish the cabinets with sugar free snacks...so as to not ever feel as if I were missing something. Right off the bat, I spent $200 on sugar free cupcakes, cookies, puddings, etc. I cleaned Target out of their sugar free chocolates, and hard candy.
One wouldn't think they would have to read the fine print on the packages...would one?
"Over consumption of this product could have a laxative effect".
OK, so I lost a few pounds straight away....if only for the over consumption of the sugar free products. So now, a few weeks into it, I wrestle with the conflict of satisfying my junk food cravings with whether its worth it to spend a fair amount of time in the lieu the next day. (guess I should stock up on my gossip magazines).
I suppose I will start those pilates dvds I purchase 2 months ago....soon. I will continue to try and eat a normal healthy diet. (minus sugar + sugar substitutes). I will take it one day at a time and welcome any comments from my girls as observations...not criticisms. If this is what it is for me, that is fine. I will through my hands up, buy more sweats and call it a day.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
THAT WAS MY VACATION? FML
Ahh....if we are lucky, we plan, budget, and look oh so forward to the much coveted vacation....
VACATION: NOUN
a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation , or travel.
Now that we know what the word MEANS, any "vacation" with the terms "theme park" in it, should technically NOT be classified as vacation as it does NOT, I repeat NOT, fully encompass the above adjectives as described. (however, to be fair, the word "usually" was included before "rest"....similar to birth control statistics....99.9% effective, rather than 100% effective. They do this so as to avoid any possible legal ramifications.)
Samm Family Trip 2010 - Universal Studios, Orlando, Fla. - 5 nights
Lets begin with the packing. Now, I, in the past, allowed (and trusted) the girls to pack themselves. This, I learned, was not a good idea as Liza included 12 pairs of underwear, and no bathing suit. (we went on a two day mini-trip to a an indoor waterpark).
So, I stand guard and oversee the folding of 7 pairs of underwear, 5 pair shorts, 2 pairs of pants, 5 pair socks, 3 long sleeve shirts, 5 short sleeve shirts, 2 bathing suits and flip flops. I included a written list with check boxes so that NO mistakes could be made.
I did this for myself and the baby as well. I however, packed one pair of jeans, 2 sweatshirts, and several pair of sweatpants (which I have NO problems wearing in public). I also included 5 pair of underwear, my makeup, haircare products, lotions, etc. In my suitcase included all baby items as well. I packed all first aid items, snacks for the plane, etc. All was done 2 days prior to take off.
Now, I am a woman of little patience. When my husband was not packed by 10pm the night before departure, It hit a nerve...how can he be so lackadaisical when I get 5 people packed, and he only has to worry about himself (?)Maybe I was a bit anxious about flying with the baby.....
All goes well at the airport, except my suitcase was 4.5lbs over the limit before $50 bucks was charged. Hell no. I unzipped my bag and removed my makeup bag. Which, incidentally, weighed 4.5lbs. I tried desperately to squeeze it into Dave's bag....we had to sit on it to make it fit- which annoyed me further as only HIS stuff was in there.
OK, girls, lets all go to the bathroom before boarding the plane.
Ava: "I don't have to go...don't they have a bathroom on the plane?"
Me: "Umm, yes, but there is a possibility that the cabin pressure on the plane could cause your butt to be suctioned to the seat, and you would be stuck on the toilet for the whole ride"
OK, let get onto the plane. Southwest does not have assigned seating...we agreed Dave and Liza would sit together, and the baby, Ava, and I would sit together. (Emma was a lap passenger). That lasted all of 5 minutes before I was stuck with all three of them.
The flight has barely been in the air 10 minutes, and Liza and Ava were arguing, Emma was trying her best to crawl under the seat in front of her. I look to Dave for help and he is leisurely sipping on his Bloody Mary. I blacked out for a second and had a flash of pushing the emergency exit door open just enough to suck he and Mary out of the plane. Ok, I'm back. keep it together. We've got 3 hours on this thing.
Ok, we made it. We have made to sunny...err....cloudy Orlando? Holy Shit, its cold. Really cold. We get to the hard Rock Hotel. Its nice.... a lot nicer that the places we usually stay in. As I check in, the girls rush to the ladies room. They cannot get over the plush, round, leopard print sofa in the BATHROOM. They instruct me to take a photo, so I do. "umm, ma'am, you cannot take pictures in a ladies room!" a raspy voice says from around the corner. "Sorry..i didn't know anyone else was in here. My kids don't get out much".
We got to our room, unpacked and and changed. My $50 face lotion exploded in Dave's suitcase because of us having to sit on it. I could either be annoyed that I overpacked, or that Dave didn't have room. (Guess which I chose?)
Because of the temperature, we all had to put on sweatpants and sweatshirts. The walk to the park was approximately 7 minutes. We walked a pathway alongside a waterway. As the kids ran ahead, I shouted to them that at any moment, an alligator could thrust forward, from the water, through he brush, and easily snatch their little bodies. (they would not run onward again)
Ahh...the gates to the THEME PARK. Emma, at this point, it pretty much spent. So am I. My first goal is to get to JAWS. I have been telling my kids for years, that the shark they keep in the lagoon is real, and sometimes you may see it, and sometimes you may not. And that in the 20 years the ride has been open, there has only been one arm amputation. Obviously, Liza refused to go on the ride (at first, anyway).
We did the best we could switching off with Emma, but inevitably, I ended up chasing her most of the time. Dave and Ava would go on to hit every roller coaster, death drop, etc. in the park.
At night, we went to what is referred to as City Walk, and is comprised of clubs, restaurants, and stores. We were there for about an hour before I noticed we were one child short. Liza was nowhere to be found. A nice gentleman told us that he "gave" a little girl with a giant lolly pop and braids to a security guard and asked if she was mine. ( I swear, I only hesitated for a millisecond before answering...not an entire minute...honest)
We found guest services. There were two little girls sitting their crying. One was about 10. (the other was Liza). I quickly, and to the best of my ability, looked over the older child and attempted to size her up. She looked well put together- her clothes matched. She probably came from a good family. Ugh, that ones mine...as I pointed to Liza. She came running to me and was obviously devastated by what had happened.
They next few days proved to be even colder. I had purchased a sweatshirt that I would go on to wear every day (it was black, and unlike the gray one I had packed, didn't show the shmutz consistently left by Emma). I mostly had to wear the same sweatpants as well. It is only embarrassing to the point that each days photos, I am wearing the same outfit).
What's worse, is that I, yes, I, did not pack enough underwear. I didn't take into account, that after showering or swimming, new underwear is required. By day 4, I had to make a decision - Commando, or old underwear worn inside out. (I'll leave this one to your imaginations).
I retired to the room early with Emma most nights. Dave spent his nights in the bar by the pool. I spyed on him with my super camera lens...as our room had an incredible view of the pool area. I took pictures of him talking to the waitress and each drink he was served. (wow...that seems crazy as I "say" it...although it seemed like simple ammo to "bitch" at the time)
Last day, I decided to go on an inside roller coaster, ( because I was assured it was not scary). It was not...except for the fact that it takes off at 0 - 80mph in 2.5 seconds - backwards- and them comes to an abrupt stop. Well, there goes my back. F**k!
I am ready to come home. I had no sun, no relaxing. I did have two beers on two separate occasions. The kids had fun. I got crapped on by a finch in a pizza restaurant.
The flight home was delayed by one hour. While my aggravation was at its highest at the airport, Liza would not stop putting her "tooth hanging from a string" in my face...she was forcing me to touch it...it was bloody and gross. Finally, I had to tell her that they did not allow teeth on the plane unless there were attached to your gums.
The flight was bumpy and Emma didn't sleep. I am happy to be home, with clean underwear and clothes. Tomorrow I will leave for the supermarket (and by supermarket, I mean Chinese nail salon where I will not return for many, many hours.)
VACATION: NOUN
a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation , or travel.
Now that we know what the word MEANS, any "vacation" with the terms "theme park" in it, should technically NOT be classified as vacation as it does NOT, I repeat NOT, fully encompass the above adjectives as described. (however, to be fair, the word "usually" was included before "rest"....similar to birth control statistics....99.9% effective, rather than 100% effective. They do this so as to avoid any possible legal ramifications.)
Samm Family Trip 2010 - Universal Studios, Orlando, Fla. - 5 nights
Lets begin with the packing. Now, I, in the past, allowed (and trusted) the girls to pack themselves. This, I learned, was not a good idea as Liza included 12 pairs of underwear, and no bathing suit. (we went on a two day mini-trip to a an indoor waterpark).
So, I stand guard and oversee the folding of 7 pairs of underwear, 5 pair shorts, 2 pairs of pants, 5 pair socks, 3 long sleeve shirts, 5 short sleeve shirts, 2 bathing suits and flip flops. I included a written list with check boxes so that NO mistakes could be made.
I did this for myself and the baby as well. I however, packed one pair of jeans, 2 sweatshirts, and several pair of sweatpants (which I have NO problems wearing in public). I also included 5 pair of underwear, my makeup, haircare products, lotions, etc. In my suitcase included all baby items as well. I packed all first aid items, snacks for the plane, etc. All was done 2 days prior to take off.
Now, I am a woman of little patience. When my husband was not packed by 10pm the night before departure, It hit a nerve...how can he be so lackadaisical when I get 5 people packed, and he only has to worry about himself (?)Maybe I was a bit anxious about flying with the baby.....
All goes well at the airport, except my suitcase was 4.5lbs over the limit before $50 bucks was charged. Hell no. I unzipped my bag and removed my makeup bag. Which, incidentally, weighed 4.5lbs. I tried desperately to squeeze it into Dave's bag....we had to sit on it to make it fit- which annoyed me further as only HIS stuff was in there.
OK, girls, lets all go to the bathroom before boarding the plane.
Ava: "I don't have to go...don't they have a bathroom on the plane?"
Me: "Umm, yes, but there is a possibility that the cabin pressure on the plane could cause your butt to be suctioned to the seat, and you would be stuck on the toilet for the whole ride"
OK, let get onto the plane. Southwest does not have assigned seating...we agreed Dave and Liza would sit together, and the baby, Ava, and I would sit together. (Emma was a lap passenger). That lasted all of 5 minutes before I was stuck with all three of them.
The flight has barely been in the air 10 minutes, and Liza and Ava were arguing, Emma was trying her best to crawl under the seat in front of her. I look to Dave for help and he is leisurely sipping on his Bloody Mary. I blacked out for a second and had a flash of pushing the emergency exit door open just enough to suck he and Mary out of the plane. Ok, I'm back. keep it together. We've got 3 hours on this thing.
Ok, we made it. We have made to sunny...err....cloudy Orlando? Holy Shit, its cold. Really cold. We get to the hard Rock Hotel. Its nice.... a lot nicer that the places we usually stay in. As I check in, the girls rush to the ladies room. They cannot get over the plush, round, leopard print sofa in the BATHROOM. They instruct me to take a photo, so I do. "umm, ma'am, you cannot take pictures in a ladies room!" a raspy voice says from around the corner. "Sorry..i didn't know anyone else was in here. My kids don't get out much".
We got to our room, unpacked and and changed. My $50 face lotion exploded in Dave's suitcase because of us having to sit on it. I could either be annoyed that I overpacked, or that Dave didn't have room. (Guess which I chose?)
Because of the temperature, we all had to put on sweatpants and sweatshirts. The walk to the park was approximately 7 minutes. We walked a pathway alongside a waterway. As the kids ran ahead, I shouted to them that at any moment, an alligator could thrust forward, from the water, through he brush, and easily snatch their little bodies. (they would not run onward again)
Ahh...the gates to the THEME PARK. Emma, at this point, it pretty much spent. So am I. My first goal is to get to JAWS. I have been telling my kids for years, that the shark they keep in the lagoon is real, and sometimes you may see it, and sometimes you may not. And that in the 20 years the ride has been open, there has only been one arm amputation. Obviously, Liza refused to go on the ride (at first, anyway).
We did the best we could switching off with Emma, but inevitably, I ended up chasing her most of the time. Dave and Ava would go on to hit every roller coaster, death drop, etc. in the park.
At night, we went to what is referred to as City Walk, and is comprised of clubs, restaurants, and stores. We were there for about an hour before I noticed we were one child short. Liza was nowhere to be found. A nice gentleman told us that he "gave" a little girl with a giant lolly pop and braids to a security guard and asked if she was mine. ( I swear, I only hesitated for a millisecond before answering...not an entire minute...honest)
We found guest services. There were two little girls sitting their crying. One was about 10. (the other was Liza). I quickly, and to the best of my ability, looked over the older child and attempted to size her up. She looked well put together- her clothes matched. She probably came from a good family. Ugh, that ones mine...as I pointed to Liza. She came running to me and was obviously devastated by what had happened.
They next few days proved to be even colder. I had purchased a sweatshirt that I would go on to wear every day (it was black, and unlike the gray one I had packed, didn't show the shmutz consistently left by Emma). I mostly had to wear the same sweatpants as well. It is only embarrassing to the point that each days photos, I am wearing the same outfit).
What's worse, is that I, yes, I, did not pack enough underwear. I didn't take into account, that after showering or swimming, new underwear is required. By day 4, I had to make a decision - Commando, or old underwear worn inside out. (I'll leave this one to your imaginations).
I retired to the room early with Emma most nights. Dave spent his nights in the bar by the pool. I spyed on him with my super camera lens...as our room had an incredible view of the pool area. I took pictures of him talking to the waitress and each drink he was served. (wow...that seems crazy as I "say" it...although it seemed like simple ammo to "bitch" at the time)
Last day, I decided to go on an inside roller coaster, ( because I was assured it was not scary). It was not...except for the fact that it takes off at 0 - 80mph in 2.5 seconds - backwards- and them comes to an abrupt stop. Well, there goes my back. F**k!
I am ready to come home. I had no sun, no relaxing. I did have two beers on two separate occasions. The kids had fun. I got crapped on by a finch in a pizza restaurant.
The flight home was delayed by one hour. While my aggravation was at its highest at the airport, Liza would not stop putting her "tooth hanging from a string" in my face...she was forcing me to touch it...it was bloody and gross. Finally, I had to tell her that they did not allow teeth on the plane unless there were attached to your gums.
The flight was bumpy and Emma didn't sleep. I am happy to be home, with clean underwear and clothes. Tomorrow I will leave for the supermarket (and by supermarket, I mean Chinese nail salon where I will not return for many, many hours.)
Thursday, February 4, 2010
My Milkshake Brings all the Boys to the Yard...
.......And when I say "boys", I mean one very stubborn 11 month old girl who can suck the chrome off a fender, and when I say "milkshake", I mean more like "breast milk". (unless I've been playing dance party in the living room before dinner, then its kind of like a milkshake) and lastly, when I say "yard", I am referring to "under my shirt and in my bra".
I want to make it unequivocally clear that I love this baby to death, and she and I are like Siamese twins (it that PC? should I say conjoined twins?)
That said, it is no secret that her arrival into my barricaded womb left me less than thrilled. The last time I was surprised like that was when I walked into my house to my brother gleefully cheering "SURPRISE!! YOUR GOLDFISH DIED!" (I was 7)
Never, ever, in a million years did I think I would be a nursing mother...at least not for more than a couple of weeks. No, I had it all planned out. I had already told everyone to nix the baby gifts and bring me cigarettes in the hospital. I would save them for a months or so, until I could get back to the normal "me" and after building up this baby's immunity a bit. (by the way, nobody took me seriously...I got NO cigarettes....and I had been entirely sincere in my request)
Emma is eleven months old to the day... and I don't know how this happened, but I am still nursing her. (I still have not had a cigarette, by the way)
There are definitely pros and cons to breastfeeding. The cost of formula these days is about $30 to $40 bucks per week. That alone has saved me about $350 thus far. Then, there is the convenience...I have never had to worry about packing bottles, heating them up, etc.
Ok, now that we have a couple of the practical pro's down, lets get to the real benefits.
The boobs. At first, it was like an instant boob job without the cost or the surgery. That first day, I literally could not believe these things that had appeared where my once negative A cups used to dwell. I actually took a photo with my phone and picture texted my new "friends" to most of the names in my contact list which included the caption "like my new porn boobs"?
-
Next, laziness. Some also may call this convenience, but I'll be honest, I am lazy in the middle of the night....most people would be. The fact that I never had to get out of bed to feed Emma during the night was a definite plus. In fact, just the other night I, in my own head, I took it a step further...or at least I wished I could have. I was laying on my back, asleep, when Em began to whine for her boob. I awakened. Lying in the dark, I wished that my boobs were big enough to fall to the side, whereas I could stay asleep on my back, and Em could make her way to the buffet which would be lying on the bed for the taking.
Lastly, and this is rare, but lets face it....in a pinch, or an emergency, one would do anything for survival. There has been TWO occasions when there was no milk or cream in my refrigerator and my morning coffee was made...and I am NOT a black coffee kind of woman. (c'mon, you can gasp in horror if you'd like, but there were actually people who ate their friends after a horrendous plane crash.....does that add perspective??)
As far as the cons, the first would be modesty. For the first couple of weeks I bought into the fact that I had to buy those nursing covers, purchase special shirts, or have to leave the room every time the baby had to eat. That didn't last long. After a few weeks, I thought "screw this". At this time, pretty much everyone I know has seen my nipples at one time or another.
However, these are not my "real" boobs. I assure you, if I flashed you prior to this particular time in my life, you would need a magnifying glass just to see what it was you were actually glancing at.
No, I lift my shirt, pull over my bra and feed Emma whenever necessary. (and I made sure to familiarize myself with state law concerning this just in case any idiot decided to make an ignorant statement regarding the issue) Its not like I am exposing myself....usually, you wouldn't even know what I am doing.
This whole deal is getting a little dragging on me. And what's worse, is that those wonderful, full C cups have dissipated....for some reason, your breasts regulate and go back to their normal looking selves....except with the fact that they can shoot milk across the room (and I have used this super talent several times...its like I have my own built in water gun)
Another inconvenient oddity is that my lactation reflex has developed to unleash itself at odd times. Any change in emotion causes a trickle..or worse. A sudden burst of happiness, sadness, worry....just about anything. Yesterday, I was in Exam Room#3 (again), the Dr. was
preparing to remove a few holy moly's. I lay there on the table -bare chested (as my bra impeded the work space). All of a sudden, like Bonzais Rocket Blast Sprinkler (Target 19.99), my guns were released. I quickly reached for my gown and began applying pressure. "Sorry", and I explained my phenomena. Thank goodness she was pregnant less I be much more embarrassed.
Emma has also learned how to get to her "drink". She attempts to undress me whenever she feels like it. She has no sense of what is and is not appropriate and wants a sip at the most inopportune times. My boobs have been outed on more than one occasion in public because of her violations against me.
She also is bored of the normal cradle hold position. When she is latched on, she contorts her body in all sorts of different positions. We have affectionately named one of her most entertaining position as the keg stand. Because that's exactly what it looks like...her legs and feet are literally over my head. Its a neat party trick.
Emmas 1 year birthday is just around the corner and before she gives me a piercing where I don't want one, I need to begin weaning her. The problem, of course, it how to do this. She is far too young for me to explain to her that there was once baby in the African village of Entespopia who nursed to long. And because of this, her tongue swelled, turned black, and fell off, resulting in her nutrition having to be administered intravenously for the rest of her life. hmm...
I want to make it unequivocally clear that I love this baby to death, and she and I are like Siamese twins (it that PC? should I say conjoined twins?)
That said, it is no secret that her arrival into my barricaded womb left me less than thrilled. The last time I was surprised like that was when I walked into my house to my brother gleefully cheering "SURPRISE!! YOUR GOLDFISH DIED!" (I was 7)
Never, ever, in a million years did I think I would be a nursing mother...at least not for more than a couple of weeks. No, I had it all planned out. I had already told everyone to nix the baby gifts and bring me cigarettes in the hospital. I would save them for a months or so, until I could get back to the normal "me" and after building up this baby's immunity a bit. (by the way, nobody took me seriously...I got NO cigarettes....and I had been entirely sincere in my request)
Emma is eleven months old to the day... and I don't know how this happened, but I am still nursing her. (I still have not had a cigarette, by the way)
There are definitely pros and cons to breastfeeding. The cost of formula these days is about $30 to $40 bucks per week. That alone has saved me about $350 thus far. Then, there is the convenience...I have never had to worry about packing bottles, heating them up, etc.
Ok, now that we have a couple of the practical pro's down, lets get to the real benefits.
The boobs. At first, it was like an instant boob job without the cost or the surgery. That first day, I literally could not believe these things that had appeared where my once negative A cups used to dwell. I actually took a photo with my phone and picture texted my new "friends" to most of the names in my contact list which included the caption "like my new porn boobs"?
-
Next, laziness. Some also may call this convenience, but I'll be honest, I am lazy in the middle of the night....most people would be. The fact that I never had to get out of bed to feed Emma during the night was a definite plus. In fact, just the other night I, in my own head, I took it a step further...or at least I wished I could have. I was laying on my back, asleep, when Em began to whine for her boob. I awakened. Lying in the dark, I wished that my boobs were big enough to fall to the side, whereas I could stay asleep on my back, and Em could make her way to the buffet which would be lying on the bed for the taking.
Lastly, and this is rare, but lets face it....in a pinch, or an emergency, one would do anything for survival. There has been TWO occasions when there was no milk or cream in my refrigerator and my morning coffee was made...and I am NOT a black coffee kind of woman. (c'mon, you can gasp in horror if you'd like, but there were actually people who ate their friends after a horrendous plane crash.....does that add perspective??)
As far as the cons, the first would be modesty. For the first couple of weeks I bought into the fact that I had to buy those nursing covers, purchase special shirts, or have to leave the room every time the baby had to eat. That didn't last long. After a few weeks, I thought "screw this". At this time, pretty much everyone I know has seen my nipples at one time or another.
However, these are not my "real" boobs. I assure you, if I flashed you prior to this particular time in my life, you would need a magnifying glass just to see what it was you were actually glancing at.
No, I lift my shirt, pull over my bra and feed Emma whenever necessary. (and I made sure to familiarize myself with state law concerning this just in case any idiot decided to make an ignorant statement regarding the issue) Its not like I am exposing myself....usually, you wouldn't even know what I am doing.
This whole deal is getting a little dragging on me. And what's worse, is that those wonderful, full C cups have dissipated....for some reason, your breasts regulate and go back to their normal looking selves....except with the fact that they can shoot milk across the room (and I have used this super talent several times...its like I have my own built in water gun)
Another inconvenient oddity is that my lactation reflex has developed to unleash itself at odd times. Any change in emotion causes a trickle..or worse. A sudden burst of happiness, sadness, worry....just about anything. Yesterday, I was in Exam Room#3 (again), the Dr. was
preparing to remove a few holy moly's. I lay there on the table -bare chested (as my bra impeded the work space). All of a sudden, like Bonzais Rocket Blast Sprinkler (Target 19.99), my guns were released. I quickly reached for my gown and began applying pressure. "Sorry", and I explained my phenomena. Thank goodness she was pregnant less I be much more embarrassed.
Emma has also learned how to get to her "drink". She attempts to undress me whenever she feels like it. She has no sense of what is and is not appropriate and wants a sip at the most inopportune times. My boobs have been outed on more than one occasion in public because of her violations against me.
She also is bored of the normal cradle hold position. When she is latched on, she contorts her body in all sorts of different positions. We have affectionately named one of her most entertaining position as the keg stand. Because that's exactly what it looks like...her legs and feet are literally over my head. Its a neat party trick.
Emmas 1 year birthday is just around the corner and before she gives me a piercing where I don't want one, I need to begin weaning her. The problem, of course, it how to do this. She is far too young for me to explain to her that there was once baby in the African village of Entespopia who nursed to long. And because of this, her tongue swelled, turned black, and fell off, resulting in her nutrition having to be administered intravenously for the rest of her life. hmm...
Monday, February 1, 2010
Pavlov's Law(?) and Ava's "A"
In case you are not up on your history, Ivan Pavlov (1849 -1936) discovered that environmental events that previously had no relation to a given reflux, could trigger a reflex. He famously used a bell and a dog to prove his theory.
In pondering this most interesting experiment, it came to my attention that the same theory could be tested on children. (could it?)
Although I am not looking for my reflux to elicit the same reflex, the idea is somewhat similar.
I was certainly not the best student. Truth be told, I was a fair student at best. My parents were happy if I could pull out C's. However, in my defense, I hadn't learned proper study skills.
I am not going to stunt my kids with the same study "shortcomings". I am going to come up with a "trick" if you will, to help them remember what it is they have studied.
As per usual, Ava will be my guinea pig. My 9 year old is a sweet, and beautiful child. However, she needs a little extra help in the studying department. (She tends to lose attention while we study). I had to come up with a way to keep her attention. (a little stress should do it.)
I began with asking her a quiz question, holding up my 10 fingers, and slowly counting down for the answer. The number one would be followed by an arrogant ''buzzzzz".
It worked to a small degree....but we could do better. Hot sauce was next... just a tad, (on the tip of a tongue) for a wrong answer. That didn't work that well due to the fact that like her father, she likes to eat gross things. (the man puts hot sauce on his popcorn)
No, I had to come up with something better........
Let me take you back a year, when my spine decided it no longer wanted to hold my body up properly. (I sometimes think that the good lord afflicted me with this degenerative (and painful) disc disease, so the rest of my life doesn't seem so bad )
I was given what is know as a "Tens Unit". It is a small black, battery operated muscle stimulator. Four sticky electrodes are attached and the stimulation begins. (i wish it was as erotic as it reads). The point is to provide pain relief. (i wish it was safe to attach to my brain sometimes)
There are different dials that control speed, strength, etc. A slow gradual increase to get to the desired strength is the goal. It mostly feels like an an strong tickle. Now, if you turn it up too quickly, the feeling IS similiar to a little electrical shock. (I assume, by now, you all get where this is going)
It's the morning of the big test. Ava is sitting at the kitchen counter....book open. Ok, Ava baby. Close the book. I whip out the tens, sticky pads in hand. She agreed and lifts the back of her shirt. I apply 2 (out of 4) sticky's to her lower back....She is nervously excited to begin the quizzing process.
Question #1. CORRECT
Question#2. CORRECT
Question#3....uh oh....hesitation....umm..umm...umm... i don't know
ah ha..... zzzzzaaaaaaaaaapppppppppppppppp
"AHHHH" She yells (and giggles!)
This went on for the remainder of the studying....or about 20 minutes before we had to pack the books and truck it to school.
Ava came home that afternoon.....excited to run in the house and tell me that she only got one answer incorrect on her history test. She pretended that she was going to be electrocuted if she got an answer wrong.
She now asks for this with every study session. I tell her, "Ava, you are as smart as you are beautiful....and you dont need your crazy mom giving you elecrical shocks to prove it"
"Now hook that sucker up to Dad.....with the first snore...turn your dial to 10!"
In pondering this most interesting experiment, it came to my attention that the same theory could be tested on children. (could it?)
Although I am not looking for my reflux to elicit the same reflex, the idea is somewhat similar.
I was certainly not the best student. Truth be told, I was a fair student at best. My parents were happy if I could pull out C's. However, in my defense, I hadn't learned proper study skills.
I am not going to stunt my kids with the same study "shortcomings". I am going to come up with a "trick" if you will, to help them remember what it is they have studied.
As per usual, Ava will be my guinea pig. My 9 year old is a sweet, and beautiful child. However, she needs a little extra help in the studying department. (She tends to lose attention while we study). I had to come up with a way to keep her attention. (a little stress should do it.)
I began with asking her a quiz question, holding up my 10 fingers, and slowly counting down for the answer. The number one would be followed by an arrogant ''buzzzzz".
It worked to a small degree....but we could do better. Hot sauce was next... just a tad, (on the tip of a tongue) for a wrong answer. That didn't work that well due to the fact that like her father, she likes to eat gross things. (the man puts hot sauce on his popcorn)
No, I had to come up with something better........
Let me take you back a year, when my spine decided it no longer wanted to hold my body up properly. (I sometimes think that the good lord afflicted me with this degenerative (and painful) disc disease, so the rest of my life doesn't seem so bad )
I was given what is know as a "Tens Unit". It is a small black, battery operated muscle stimulator. Four sticky electrodes are attached and the stimulation begins. (i wish it was as erotic as it reads). The point is to provide pain relief. (i wish it was safe to attach to my brain sometimes)
There are different dials that control speed, strength, etc. A slow gradual increase to get to the desired strength is the goal. It mostly feels like an an strong tickle. Now, if you turn it up too quickly, the feeling IS similiar to a little electrical shock. (I assume, by now, you all get where this is going)
It's the morning of the big test. Ava is sitting at the kitchen counter....book open. Ok, Ava baby. Close the book. I whip out the tens, sticky pads in hand. She agreed and lifts the back of her shirt. I apply 2 (out of 4) sticky's to her lower back....She is nervously excited to begin the quizzing process.
Question #1. CORRECT
Question#2. CORRECT
Question#3....uh oh....hesitation....umm..umm...umm... i don't know
ah ha..... zzzzzaaaaaaaaaapppppppppppppppp
"AHHHH" She yells (and giggles!)
This went on for the remainder of the studying....or about 20 minutes before we had to pack the books and truck it to school.
Ava came home that afternoon.....excited to run in the house and tell me that she only got one answer incorrect on her history test. She pretended that she was going to be electrocuted if she got an answer wrong.
She now asks for this with every study session. I tell her, "Ava, you are as smart as you are beautiful....and you dont need your crazy mom giving you elecrical shocks to prove it"
"Now hook that sucker up to Dad.....with the first snore...turn your dial to 10!"
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