Growing Up

There's been a lot of growing up going on in our house recently.  It's ironic it's been happening at the end of the school year as our 9 year old wrapped up her time in 4th grade.  I was finding it very confusing that she could be on the eve of being a 5th grader.  Little did I know.

First up, she decided it was time to get her split ends cut off.  She had plenty of split ends to part with.

Then she started considering taking a few inches off.  Nothing dramatic.  She just figured the hair was getting pretty far down her back and she could spare a few so why not even things off.  We suggested Locks of Love repeatedly.  No, thanks.  We pointed out that summer is a great time for a cut above the shoulder to help you stay cool.  No, thanks.

Tangle magnet mane.

I sent her off to the Super Cuts with her father.  I figured if anyone could inspire a few extra inches to come off it was him.  He could sell ice to Eskimos. 

Color me surprised when I got this text.  No tears.  Just a happy kid getting styled.

Then a soon to be 5th grader came home with my husband.  She kept checking herself out in the mirror and touching her hair. 

And there were no tears. No angst over the hair.  Just smiles and delight.  And a different kid.  And I fell into the well and decided that if she was old enough to handle that like a rational human being then she was old enough to get her ears pierced.

I'd held off allowing this kid to get her ear pierced for roughly 2 years now. It probably had something to do with the fact that I didn’t get my ears pierced until 8th grade. But it mostly had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t interested in cleaning the holes for her.  I figured she could get her ears pierced when she seemed responsible enough to take care of them herself.

Only she’s been ready for awhile. Something inside my soul was still holding back though.  But I was slowly weakening in the face of her above average sense of responsibility. Seeing her with the new haircut was the push I finally needed.

She was delighted.  She tore herself away from staring at herself in the mirror long enough to squeal and grin.  The next day we hit Claire's in the mall.  She tried to tell me Justice pierces ears, too.  I tried to tell her that would be un-American.

My kid got her ears pierced at Claire's and all I got was this crappy bag and two holes that need to be cleaned three times a day.

She was super duper couldn’t believe her luck excited. Off to the mall we trekked. Off to the Claire’s and the 16 year old girl making minimum wage who put a tiny black dot on my kid’s ear lobe to aim at.

Can't believe she's there.  Can't believe it's finally going to happen.

No matter how much I assured her it wouldn’t hurt, my daughter's smart enough to still wonder what it would be like and feel a few nerves. I offered to rescue her and take her home without holes in her ears. Silly Momma!

Bracing for it.

And then it was done. And I took home my soon to be 5th grader. Sigh. 

The face of a happy kid.

We hit the cookie place at the mall on the way out. The soon to be 5th grader thought it was to celebrate. Someday, if she’s lucky enough to have a daughter of her own, the soon to be 5th grader will realize it was to take a moment to breath in the new air of this new kid and wonder where my baby went. It’s neat to watch them grow and bloom but sometimes it leaves you feeling like you’ve lost your footing.  The best medicine is a cookie with some icing on top.

Profile. The better to gaze upon the hole in her ear.

No more growing up allowed this year. My heart can’t take it.

Project 365: Day 119 to Day 134

Holy crap, I'm behind on this.  Let's just agree to not discuss it and do some photo dumping.

Day 119:  Fourth grade outfit of the day.  Pushing the envelope mixing prints.  And bright.  Naturally. Her favorite color is currently neon.  So this is pretty tame is what I'm saying.

Day 120: I'm told these are Yu-Gi-Oh cards.  My 7 year old assures me these are very different than the 340 million Pokemon cards he also owns.  My husband was confused I let him purchase these at Target.  I was confused that my husband doesn't understand that once the kid runs out of Christmas money he runs out of excuses to ask to go shopping again.

 
Day 121: More volleyball.  Sigh.  Still playing up a grade.  Still no wins.   Is it wrong to also still be reminding myself that at some point they will have to run into a team of 5th graders that suck?

Day 122: Her brother loves volleyball practice.  Can't you tell?

;

Day 123: School play.  We were able to score a photo op with one of the stars of the show.

Day 124: April Pop Sugar box.  Eh.  I'm now convinced I signed up for these boxes during some late night depression shopping while my nomadic husband was on the road.  It's fun to open the box to find out what I got.  But I'm such a picky pants I end up not really using most of it.  And then a box of extra crap in the house just seems like an extra box of crap I have to figure out what to do with. 

Day 125:  Stop taking my picture and leave me alone.

Day 126: Mother's Day flowers.  My husband would like it noted that he swiped his credit card to purchase these. I would like it noted that I picked the color and was standing right there when he swiped his credit card.  I'm okay with it.  Pretty flowers are always fun to get.  My daughter stitched the little bear together with her own 2 hands. 

Day 127: Evening stroll wearing the new 12 foot scarf my daughter hand finger knit for me for Mother's Day.  When I commented that it was kinda thin for a scarf she explained that that's why she made it so long.  So you could loop it round and round and round.   Duh.

Day 128: My chauffeur is handsome.

 

Day 129: Talking to Granny on the phone while laying upside down.  As a side note, let's all take a gander at my bed now resting on the floor instead of a bed frame.  My husband and I hate our bed.  In a sudden burst of genius, we became convinced it was the bed frame torturing our souls not the mattress.  Several weeks later, I'm here to tell you the bed frame had nothing to do with it and I'm still sleeping on a bed that's on the floor not a bed frame.  On the bright side, we've eliminated under the bed as a option when the remote is missing.  On the down side, we look pretty raggedy every time I see it.   

Day 130: Daddy's hair salon.  Where the customers get put to work helping to hold the sections of their braid.  I don't think Tabitha would be impressed with the customer service. I love that his nutty clientele thinks it's cool enough outside to justify a long sleeve shirt and yet warm enough for wind shorts.

Day 131: My kid's on the orange team.  Something tells me this game isn't going to go well.

Day 132:  Making out with the world's most annoying dog.  On our mattress on the floor.  Did I mention it's still on the floor? Because it is.

Day 133: My last Popsugar Must Have Box.  I liked the Mindy Kaling game but have yet to play it.  My husband ate the chips.  We had to get new credit cards recently because of some fraudulent charges made on our card.  When the Popsugar people emailed saying I needed to update my card to continue my subscription, I took it as a sign from the universe that I was done getting them.  They're cute.  I just can't handle extra clutter. My life feels like enough of a clutter magnet as it is.

Day 134: A little fist pumping during the car wash. Starships by Nicki Minaj is his jam.  Milkshake is his beverage.

Dinner was great but the note was better

My husband and I recently celebrated our 10^th wedding anniversary.  Anniversaries generally aren't a big event in our house.  By the time we got to anniversaries 8 and 9, we both forgot.  Forgetting 8 shocked us both.  I remembered at work a couple days after and called him.  Forgetting 9 was less of an event.  We realized our mistake over dinner and laughed.   But there was no forgetting 10.

My husband and I have had a running joke for 10 years about the vow renewal ceremony we were going to have on our 10th anniversary.  The vow renewal ceremony my husband made the mistake of committing to while planning our wedding.  His theory being there was no need to go big on the wedding since it was a given we'd be doing another on our 10 anniversary.  

 

My husband isn’t into big fru fru stuff so it surprised me he thought we’d do that.  I mentioned that and he said it again and upped the ante saying he'd plan it.  He also offered to make a scrapbook of knick knacks from our wedding.  He is not a man that scrapbooks.  He was clearly delirious when he said it.

I'm not the least bit embarrassed to report how fun it's been fun asking him how the planning has been coming over the last 10 years.  It's another in the long line of games he and I play.  Highlights include the time we moved and he tried to suggest we get rid of the box that contained the wedding knick knacks he's supposed to be scrapbooking because he didn't even recognize the stuff in the box.

But the vow renewal has been the best running joke that got exponentially more fun the closer we got to  the actual 10th anniversary.  For the last year I've been asking how many days I should take off work and whether or not we'd need passports to get to our destination nuptials.  My husband enjoyed assuring me the planning was seamless.

A couple sweet ladies at work gently pointed out to me that there would be no secret vow renewal.  I gently pointed out to them that I've been married to him for 10 years.  No one knows better than I do that there's no secret vow renewal in the works.  Duh!  But why let that cramp a perfectly good long running joke?

Last year, it was mind blowing that the running joke was quickly approaching its deadline. It was not mind blowing that we ended up celebrating without a vow renewal.

We had something better instead.  A night out alone.  That almost never happens.

Trip to the grocery store alone?  Sometimes.  Walking the dogs around the block before bed alone?  Almost every night.  But sitting down to a meal in a nice restaurant by ourselves after 6 pm?  It’s been years.

Since it was the big 1-0 anniversary, we did it up in style.  I’m not joking.  We went to Morton’s Steakhouse and our bill was a ridiculously pretty penny.  I told my inner cheap skate to shut the hell up and enjoy because you only hit 10 once.

Holy crap the food was good.  Best meal of my life.  My husband and I marveled at how perfectly they cooked asparagus.  It takes very little to impress us but I don't think I've ever had more perfect asparagus.  Every piece I've ever eaten before in my life has either been too mushy or too hard. Morton's does it better.  For that matter, they do everything better.

Special anniversary menus! Don't we feel glamorous?

The bread they give you before the meal had some tasty crap in it, the au gratin potatoes were 52 times better than any out of the box Betty Crocker crap I’ve ever eaten and our steaks were so good it felt like a crime to not shovel the entire thing in my face.  There was even some fluffy lemony thing for dessert.  Nom.  Nom.  I ate the hell out of every single thing they put in front of me.

I also dressed up for the occasion.  At work, I wear black slacks and sensible shoes almost every day.  I also pull my hair back in a bun and am a walking alpha female all day.  With the perfect excuse to break out of the mold, it was fun to take my new figure for a test drive in a dress. My husband was appropriately impressed. 

I love that the paparazzi got our legs in focus but not our faces.  And, yes, those are actual heels.  On my body.  Go figure.

Over candle light, we said sappy stuff to each other.  We waxed nostalgic that for reasons that elude us we seem to like each other more today than we did the day we got married.  Plenty of people can't say that.  It's a humbling thing to realize.  I know for sure we love each other more today.  His smile is more dear to me.  His strong arms give me confidence.  His humor makes everyday more fun.  And he lets the chinks in his armor show just enough that I know he’s human.

Is he perfect?  No.  Hell, no.  But why should he be?  I’m not.  I’m hella imperfect.  To heck with perfection.  Be happy instead.    He’s a keeper. 

So's our life.  And after dinner, this old married couple headed right back to it.  The life that comes complete with a crowded bathroom.  

And kids that take our stuff for their own.

We are blessed with health and happiness.  No other anniversary present required.

Except then I found the hand written note he put together after I fell asleep and left on my nightstand for me to find the next morning.  It listed 15 things he loves about me.  15 wonderfully specific things in his chicken scratch on a silly piece of loose leaf college ruled paper that ended when his hand got tired.  I know because he wrote that on the note, too.

Best. Thing. He. Ever. Gave. Me.  Hands down.  My engagement ring may be worth more at a pawn shop but the note is a priceless treasure of the highest magnitude.   Holy crap every big lug of an Italian Stallion should write one for his wife.  She will go to bed thinking she loves you only to wake up and discover she loves you three times more than she did the night before. 

 

Here's to 10 more years and the scrapbook and vow renewal he still owes me!

Running on molten lava

One of my favorite things about our house is that we have a large master bathroom.   When I say large, I mean it’s three or four times the size of the postage stamp we used to call our master bathroom.  The postage stamp didn’t even have space for a bathtub.  We put an all glass shower stall in it to give the illusion of more space and if someone was sitting on the toilet, the door to the shower could literally touch their face if you opened it. That's a nice way of saying sometimes the door nailed you in the forehead. Crazy small.

We moved 2 ½ years ago.  We love our new house.  We love many things about it.  One of my favorite things about it is the large master bathroom.  The roomy spa tub is above average awesome.  Two sinks so that two grown adults don’t have to share sink space is nice, too.  But the large amount of space is the real perk.   And because of the space, it has somehow managed to become my weight room.

Yes, weight room.  I know.  That’s random.  That’s also the story of my life.

But it has enough space and there are bath mats on the floor if I decide to do some sit ups.  The counter works good for pansy push ups I'm prone to.  And the edge of the tub has been great for dips.  And best of all, I’m right there near the kids the whole time.  They’re generally in bedroom and I can see their goofball little faces goofing off in the next room.  They often come wandering through the bathroom chatting with me.  If I look extra sweaty funkadelic that day, my 9 year old will even take some photos of the cracked out mess.  I feel better squeezing a little something in knowing it doesn’t even take me away from them.  I also like that it doesn’t involve Jillian Michaels’ voice. 

Cracked out bathroom workout caught on camera by 9 year old paparazzi.

I even have a stupid little bucket behind the door I toss the assorted weights into and I now take my running shoes off and toss them on top, too.  So basically, other than the fact that the room contains a toilet, it’s pretty much perfect. 

I had been trying to alternate between bicep curls, shoulder presses and dips (I love how I sound like I know what I'm talking about knowing the names of three exercises!) on the side of the tub.  But I got really tired of counting reps so I’ve been trying out intervals thinking I could just set it to go and tell me when to move on to another exercise. I haven’t perfected the timing since I do require a moment to catch my breath and move on to the next exercise.  I also haven’t mastered mapping out different exercises to do.

 But my husband’s always telling me some blah blah blah about HIIT and your heart being a muscle and needing to work it out like other muscles.  It’s all very over my head.  But I did catch on that it’s good for your overall fitness level and that it ups the amount of calories you are burning.  So I’ve been drinking the Koolaid giving it a go.   My kids favorite is when I pretend I’m a linebacker running through tires but also think I look pretty ridiculous doing star jumping jacks.  They would also like it noted that I don’t do jumping jacks right because there’s no hand clap overhead.  No clap, no credit.  Everyone’s a critic.

The Italian Stallion joins in on the intervals and it’s actually sort of awesome because he can do his own little modified hard as hell version while I’m doing girly sissy push ups or something.  As an example, while I’m grunting around the room with a 15 pound weight that dude’s flinging a 40 pound kettle bell around town.  Holla.  Gun show at our house!

Even our roomy bathroom wasn’t big enough for 2 person interval-ing though so we moved it outside the first time.  Our children stood in the kitchen watching through the screen door as their crazy parents did circuits of squats, push ups and jumping jacks.  My husband insisted the circuits could not be done inside in the air conditioning.  Our dogs insisted they could not be done without them licking the sweat off of us. 

Our children stood in the kitchen watching through the screen door as their crazy parents did circuits of squats, push ups and jumping jacks in the backyard. Let's all agree to not look at my muffin top because the paparazzi didn't do me any favors waiting for me to be mid squat to take the picture. 

Another day, we took it to the bedroom and the kids joined in alternating between attempting the exercise and monitoring the interval clock.  Then the dogs were on the bed staring at all 4 of us.  It was amusing.  It was also the world’s best exercise moment because it was infinitely more fun doing it with all of them.  The new me, the one that’s 60 pounds lighter than she used to be, loves that they are in this with me.   I couldn’t have done it if it meant leaving them behind.

A little hard to see me thanks to the dog licking me during my sissy push ups.

I've also been running.  It is 100 degrees where I live all summer long.  It starts to get pretty warm in May and the sidewalk is pretty much molten lava by July.  I only started Couch to 5K in September.  I have never attempted to run on molten lava.

Bathroom break mid 6 mile run.  Test driving running with a visor.  Above average dorky but not bad. 

The temperature has been rising since the beginning of May and I've started to worry about how it will affect my workout routines.    I am a delicate flower that does not enjoy the heat.  I'm addicted to air conditioning all summer and routinely tell my husband to check the thermostat.  I'm worried that the molten lava will sap my will to live.  Or worse, my will to workout.

The visor really adds to the sweaty cracked out madness.  My husband would also like it noted that he thinks I look like an old lady.

I concluded that it was either the treadmill or suck it up.  Since I hate the treadmill, I was going to have to make friends with the molten lava.   I figured I'd just take more water breaks and run slower when it feels like death.  So it'll be pretty much like every run I've ever taken.

I sweat a lot anyway.  What's an extra trickle running down my spine? Having to run slower was a little disappointing.  One of my goals has been to attempt to run faster.  The temperature has only gotten up to the 80s with humidity of 300 million percent.   But it's already taken my already slow pace of 10:15 per mile down to 10:45 a mile.  It ain't pretty.  But I'm upright and moving.  I'll take it.  I've been successfully taking it on 6 and 7 mile long runs on the weekend.  Go, me.

Since my nomadic husband is no longer nomadic, he's been coming on some of my runs with me..  I pretty much look at his butt for 30 minutes.  Sometimes I get to look at his butt bent over picking up dog poop, too.  Feel the marital bliss.

A blurry glimpse of what I look at running with my husband. 

My husband tends to run ahead of me in an attempt to get me to run faster.  I've suggested to him that I might run faster if he didn't make me wait until high noon to run on the weekend when it's as hot as hell.  Just sayin'.

His canine companion is also out of shape dead weight dragging us down by the 2nd mile.  He is in need of some doggie Couch to 5K stat.  My husband likes to take the petering out dog as a sign that he should head home, too.  Weak.

When we don't have the dog, he's also been subjecting me to wind sprints.  Up hill.  At one point I got to the top of the hill and he had the nerve to ask my why I didn't sprint.  I had to explain to him that he was looking at my sprint.  He's a stallion. An Italian Stallion.  And it shows.  He'd rather we sprint the whole way.  I'd rather live to tell the tale.   So far so good.   Sore, but good.

Linking up with Skinny Meg for Workout Wednesday!

Delight to despair in the blink of any eye

My seven year old is quickly turning into a jack o' lantern after losing his 4th tooth in the last 4 months.  Top two in the middle.  Two on the bottom not next to each other.  However, he seems to be incapable of just losing a tooth and shoving it under his pillow. 

Most of his tooth loss is accompanied by chaos.  He lost one of soccer field and we didn't find it.  He lost another on a soccer field and almost swallowed it.  He lost another in the middle of the night.  Long after I thought he was asleep he strolled in to our bedroom his mouth a bloody mess.  I thought he fell face first into something.  I also thought we should all be asleep.

He lulled me into a false sense of security when his most recent tooth loss took place during waking hours in our house.  I ran in to appreciate the moment and share in his delight.

He was thrilled to hold out his hand to show me the teeny tiny tooth that would soon be scoring him some cash.  My husband entered stage left and opted for some classic father son fake punching.  Here's his blurry hand entering the picture.

It was delight times two.  His father is the fun one.  He knows exactly what he's doing.  And then there was some play kicking.  Because if you're going to play punch, you're definitely going to play kick.  And then Rufus Toofus hit his heel on the wall and everything went to hell in a hand basket.

I like that he doesn't let the weeping affect his ability to display the tooth.  It's important to not let your emotions prevent you from getting the job done.

And then the game wasn't fun anymore.

You disgust me.  How could you:?

And then the tooth hit the floor.  You knew it would.  It was just a matter of time. The kid's holding it out there in his hand just asking for trouble.  And it found him. On carpet.  And that tooth is tiny.  Teeny tiny. 

Cue the flashlight.  Cue all of us on our hands and knees crammed in a postage stamp bathroom feeling around on the carpet. 

Would it kill this kid to just lose a tooth and shove it under his pillow like a normal kid?

Let's get ready to rumble

My husband and I behave like 12 year olds on a regular basis.  I subject him to mandatory cuddling and anonymous heavy breathing phone calls.  He locks me out of the house in the snow.  I host family meetings in the bathroom while he's trying to go to the bathroom.  He performs whole monologues as if it's a psychotic crotch talking.  It goes on and on.   And it's the norm.

One night recently while surfing Pinterest and seeing one too many tall skinny drinks of water doing some crazy difficult yoga pose, I got it into my head that I wanted to see if I could do the bridge pose.

Do not be fooled.  The weight of the upper half of my body is entirely supported by my giant melon sized head resting on the floor.  My legs had the lower half under control.  The wet noodles I call arms not so much.

And if there's a question of physical prowess taking place anywhere within a 1 mile radius, the Italian Stallion is on the scene to demonstrate his proficiency and crush your soul.  I took a good 2 minutes figuring out how to hold my hands and how I was going to leverage my booty upward and what limp noodle muscle was going to do it.  He just pops right up into it and all but back handsprings up out of it when he's done.  We get it.  You have muscles.  Blah blah blah.

Some people might segue directly from bridge pose to some more restful soul searching relaxation type poses.  We're insane in the membrane so naturally we got right up on the bed to get our wrestle on.  Back before we had kids, this was just the stuff of legend we'd laughingly chat about later with friends over dinner.  Now that we have our own personal paparazzi, this magic is documented in pictures while she's laughing at us. She's nine years old and can recognize the train leaving the station for crazytown and that it should be captured for eternity. 

We join our heroes in the midst of battle.  Much like our dog.   

I'd pretend he smelled food or something but truthfully we just have dogs wandering through our lives.  Why should a wrestling match be any different?

My husband is strictly forbidden from using his superior strength against me.  Unfortunately his strength has little to do with his ability to evade which is also above average. This time around he went with the classic avoidance technique employed by children everywhere that involves going limp and sliding down and off the furniture. Well played, my friend.   

I countered with the classic hold on maneuver.   That's cool.  Just enjoy the ride.  Go with the flow.

Your opponent is going to count on you to give up at this point.  But you're already on the train.  Go with it.  Why give in now?  The night is still young!  Use the opportunity to get your arms under and around and lock your hands together to solidify your position.  Because, in your head, you're winning.   And that's what counts, isn't it? 

Then you wait them out.  Eventually they will get tired of their face in the filthy carpet.  When you're standing up, your carpet never looks or smells that gross.  When your nose is literally in the middle of carpet fibers, you'll realize it's time to vacuum. 

This is also a good time to get your hand around his head.  There's a lot of vulnerable places to work with up there.  Exploit them.  Gently. Or not.  He's a man! He can take it!  Kidding.  Maybe!

You're grown adults rolling around on carpet by this points.  And if you're down there anyway, why not utilize the opportunity to get some stretching in?  I am to physical therapy what George Costanza was to Architecture. Which is to say, I like to periodically claim I know what I'm doing.

Lean in to it.  Yes, your knee is supposed to crank to the side a bit.  That's good for it.  Trust me.  I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night. 

I call this the lean into it.  It involves trying to touch his forehead with his knees.  It helps if you have a random dog come by to make out with the patient.

Your patients will appreciate that you care enough to really get into your work.

Finally, just crank the patient's butt off the ground as high as you can.  Feel free to recruit your kids to each take a foot.  This move is excellent for those hard to reach places including your upper lumbar and parts of your spine most trained professionals never think to work the kinks out of. 

The more dogs you have up in the patient's face the less likely he is to notice that you are about to shove him through a reverse somersault.

But remember, kids.  Don't try this at home.  Because you're a kid and you're not supposed to be doing that.  You are supposed to be standing over your parents laughing at what idiots they are.  Feel free to photograph it so the whole world can see while you're at it.