Friday, June 22, 2007

Not dead...

Just wanted to leave a quick note that it's been a helluva week, all-day-through-lunch-and-dinner team-realignment kick-off meetings at work for the past three days, a return of NS yesterday, and now, final preparations for Marriage Reception #1 that's taking place tomorrow and Sunday. Way lax eating (company-paid, though) and no workouts this week, so no FitDay tracking, which is why I know some may have been in doubt of my continued existence. Back to planning and prepping and workouts next week...and news about the Mooncup;>

Sunday, June 17, 2007

If only they were all like this...

Swim Time
So, now that we're all pretty clear on the poor fatherly role models I've had in my life, a lunatic food-nazi who contributed to half my dna, an across-the-board abuser who adopted me as his own only to decide that decision ended with the fact that I deemed my mother the only worthy parent to give me away during my first wedding ceremony, and a stepdad here and there that could never really make it past the peephole viewing of my closed-door to fathers, it might not be terribly shocking to realize that I never dreamed of growing up and getting married and sharing the experience of raising a child with a man.

My plan was to pick the guy sometime around my turning 25 and become a single mom, hopefully to one little girl. But, IFKAMH derailed that plan. Here was a guy with whom I was having a lengthy and involved relationship that didn't involve nightly or weekly shouting matches or objects thrown across a room or police. It's no wonder I deemed him to be the man I would love forever. This meant I also believed he would be a different kind of father from any I'd ever known, one of those involved fathers, the ones who are joyous and excited when their wives are pregnant and could think of few better ways to spend their free time than shoveling jars of mushy food into a gaping mouth or laying on the floor across from a baby and his tummy-time mat and taking countless pictures of every precious moment he was lucky enough to witness.

My mistake was thinking that someone, anyone who didn't make me want to cry in the fetal position was enough to be my partner in life and terrific enough to be a terrific father. IFKAMH did not take pregnancy the way I expected, the way I really thought he should have. While he did dutifully come with me to every appointment (and there were many, from one end of outskirt town of our spacious city to another...twins bump you to high-risk classification, you know), he didn't react with the same level of thrill I did. Not saying he was outwardly resentful or unhappy, but I could always sense some level of reservation with his demeanor.

Then, the boys (two very not in line with my original plan) were born and brought home. Still, nothing was obviously wrong, but I gladly took on most of the baby-related tasks of our life. It started with me getting up in the middle of the night every time someone was needed. At first, this was because I was desperately trying to succeed with breastfeeding and then because I was on maternity leave weeks after he had to return to work, but there was no doubt that I'd have to return to work full-time, too, so it never made sense that it continued to be an only-me thing, but I did it because I was just so happy to have my babies and have them healthy and perfect. I never felt he appreciated their existence in the same way.

It must have been hard for him to finally admit to me that heart-wrenching day in April of 2005 that he just wasn't sure this was what he wanted, "this" meaning the wife, the house, the family with children. As much as it seemed way too late for him to decide this, it turned out to be one of the best things he could have done for his wife and for his boys.

I struggled with whether or not I could ever love someone so completely again, giving my all with hope of a happy life. How could I ever trust my love again? Somehow I convinced myself that being alone for the rest of my life was not the life I wanted for myself, and it certainly wasn't the ideal life to model for my children. I needed to take the chance again if only it meant my boys might be able to witness a healthy, loving relationship between a husband and wife. And so, I signed up for dating.

In those first months of dating, I never would have believed that I'd find someone to win my heart, to truly win my heart in a way it wasn't won before, but it happened, and it happened so subtly that I couldn't even tell you when it happened. There are a lot of contributing factors, such as him not flinching when M and J began calling him "daddy", and probably most notably, when he embraced my pregnancy with Baby Angel so fully, so much the way I thought IFKAMH should have. NS was the man I'd thought I'd had and continually wished I'd had when it turned out I was wrong with IFKAMH. The thing is, I only know how great a dad he is because I had children with someone else first. Turns out there is a reason for everything in life, and we're fortunate if we can figure out the reasons for even a handful of everything.

To my Navy Sweetie, the man who loves me and appreciates my love and who is M and J's daddy, Happy Father's Day.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

The closest thing to humor I can muster regarding my fathers...

World's Worst Dad ContestI was invited to submit an entry for Fenicle's World's Worst Dad Contest. I thought, at the time, that I would have no problem with a week's worth of entries for this contest. After all, I've got a few bad fathers of my own not to mention the ease I'd find in nominating IFKAMH for his failures at fatherhood. Then, I came to understand that Fenicle was hoping this would be lighthearted, stories about fathers doing things we know they shouldn't but can be laughed at now. That made this much more difficult.

My first father, my biological dad, was in my life for approximately 4 years. As I recollect, the last communication I received from him was a birthday card for my 5th birthday. It was sent from prison. We'll not go into the details of the fact that I saw him being dragged away in handcuffs one night outside my mom's apartment after he'd been ranting like a lunatic in the hallway for what seemed like hours and hours...and I could swear I remember the gleam of a knife in his hand. Let's forget that sometime between that night and my 5th birthday he was convicted of some acts or crimes worthy of serving three life sentences. Instead, let's talk about dinnertime while I was in his custody.

For some reason, he believed it necessary for me to eat everything on my plate each night. I guess this was not something unusual for parents to request or even require of their kids in the past, possibly even some still do this today, but rather than just deny me dessert or send me to bed early, presumably still hungry since I hadn't finished my meal, I was punished with spankings. They weren't beatings; they were swats on my 3 year-old behind, nothing painful as far as I remember, but definitely termed as a threat to me by the word "spank". These would generally come after sitting at the table, alone, refusing to eat for about an hour.

I wasn't just penalized for not eating, though. Every Friday night, if I did clean my plate like a good little girl, we'd go to the mall, and I'd get a toy. Rewards for eating everything on my plate to balance corporal punishment for not eating. What a terrific idea! Thank goodness my barely-more-than-100-pounds mother gained custody of me by the time I was 4. Otherwise, I imagine I'd be a bed-ridden 700-pound featured star on the Discovery Health channel because it would be ingrained in my head that I need to eat everything in front of me.

The effects of this training haven't been trampled, though. I still have to consciously make myself not continue eating when I know I'm already full despite there being food left in front of me. I also constantly question myself when talking to M and J about eating, like when I tell them they have to eat all of this food or all of that food before getting pudding or a popsicle. I know it makes sense that they fill up as much as possible on the healthier stuff that they've been given as dinner before finishing off with sugar packaged in plastic, but those nagging voices in my head always say, "Don't force it. Maybe they're actually full." At which point I must remind the nags that if they were actually full, they wouldn't be begging for chocolate or frozen colored syrup as though they were eating for the first time after a 40-day fast.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Silly Woo Trivia...

Miss Zoot tagged the first 7 people to read her 7 random facts to continue the meme, and although I am clearly unable to determine if I was one of the first 7 to read her post, I was one of the first 7 to read and comment, so here we go...

1. My fingers are long, almost-freakishly long. IFKAMH and I have the exact same size hand from wrist to finger tips. Picture putting your hand against someone else's, playing mirror, if you will. His palm? It covered my palm and about half the distance from the base of my fingers to the tip. My finger tips met with his, though. NS and I aren't that far off from matching up, either, but he is 5-6 inches taller than IFKAMH (and nearly a foot taller than me), so it's to be expected that his hands would be longer as well.

2. My thumb is my second thinnest digit, pinkie donning the crown for queen of skinny in the land of my hands.

3. Speaking of odd appendage facts, my second toe is longer than my big toe (on both feet, if that wasn't understood). It's not so noticeable until I flatten the toes out, then you can see that the second toe is a whole nail above the big toe. You know how wearing monochromatic clothing is supposed to make you appear taller and thinner and how you're supposed to avoid belts that might interrupt that clean head-to-foot line? I use the same logic on these toes, which is why I try to break their long lines by snapping shiny toe rings on them.

4. I avoid using the bathroom stall right next to one that someone is occupying. I like to have at least a one stall separation on either side if possible...comforts my neurosis of being heard voiding or defecating by others in rationalizing that the sounds cannot possibly be heard through an entire stall. I also shake my head silently while rolling my eyes when someone enters the stall right next to mine when there are five vacant ones on the other side of that one. My mind shouts at them, "Why? Why would you use the stall right next to someone?!?" Because in my mind, this is the equivalent to sitting on a toilet that is not separated by a partition of any sort, like we could glance over and see what the other is doing and high-five or something. I then leave the restroom as quickly as possible because I also don't like being seen in there by other people.

5. Going along with more of my bathroom hysteria, I cringe when I walk into a stall and see the water recovering from the previous person's flush. It's easier to come to terms with using a public restroom when I can believe the toilets have been cleaned thoroughly just before I've walked through the door. Seeing the woman washing her hands at the sink and the swishing water in the toilet is almost too much for me. We might as well undress and rub our butts together. But, it is too late to exit her stall and use another because she will wonder why I couldn't use that one. I can't give her an irrational fear over what she must have missed that would make me turn away in disgust since she's already used that one; it's just not fair.

6. I would prefer to have my fingers pricked for blood until each one had five or six holes squeezed until dry than to have to have a needle slowly slipped into my veins for an exercise in blood-letting. This may have a lot to do with the fact that those directly-into-my-vein tactics rarely work on the first (or even the second or third, for that matter) try, and I end up with multiple bruises in varying locations from elbow to hand, both left and right, for weeks. Never had an incident with a finger prick going wrong, though. No one ever said, "I just can't get it to work. I'll be right back with {name of wisest, most experienced on the staff, yet most jaded nurse in the hospital}. She'll probably get it on the first try." The prick is super fast - needle in, make tiny hole, needle out - and doesn't involve anyone taking said needle and twirling it under my skin, trying to stretch that hole just a bit further to get to the real source of my blood. I will maintain that if human blood was meant to exit the body like this, we would be equipped with handy valves to open and close.

7. In the reigning territory of my needle phobia, I hate getting shots. Hate. Getting. Shots. HATE. I haven't been up to date on boosters since I was forced to be in order to enroll in school, which was when I was 10. I remember the day of that shot, my MMR (measles, mumps, rubella) booster. I would not sit still. I was fidgety, and then I jumped out of the chair exclaiming that I needed to go to the bathroom right now. I'm not sure how they (yes, they...the doctor, my mom, a nurse or two) got that thing in me without restraints, but I'm sure that would have been the next strategy they employed. I complained for days, weeks, might even have been months and years, later about how they had poked me in the bone with that awful blade of a needle. The phantom hole in my humerus plagued me with twinges of pain. I'm sure I wouldn't be such a wuss with a shot now, not now after I've been poked and prodded and otherwise invaded as the result of being a woman carrying a baby (or babies, in my case), but I'm not volunteering for any injectables in the foreseeable future.

As for passing the meme tag along, I will honor Miss Zoot and advise the first 7 of you to read this to do it, too.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

It's time, once again, to play "How you find my blog"...

This post seems to be drawing some unintentional attention to this blog. Searches related to pantyhose, stockings, and whores, espcially those also referencing boys, seem to land quite a few visitors here every day.

Take a look (and these are just the top 15 search strings; the top 3 were used by several different people):

pantyhose boys
I've got pantyhose, and I've got boys, but I think y'all were searching for something entirely different.
whores in stockings
Must have been so disappointed.
boys in pantyhose
Why? Must we encourage them to keep this torturous item in use?
pantyhose fighting
To the death? Seems much more humane than cock-fighting or dog-fighting.
sexy white whores
I guess that could be a compliment of sorts, but I would have much preferred "ladies" over "whores".
15 weeks pregnant maternity swimsuit
I loved my maternity swimsuit...loved it!
boy pantyhose
C'mon now, really...why?
boy whores
I've met a few;>
five blessing from higher power
Pretty sure I've got more than five, but I don't count because I don't want to miss one and then have it taken away.
jonathan b. angelone
I know you didn't find this person here, right? Thanks for stopping by, though.
photo of stain in back of pants
What on earth do you need this for? Although, had I not lost my camera on vacation earlier this year, I'd have had one of my banana-stained rear.
veruca towel laundry
The only thing I know about veruca is about the band Veruca Salt named for a character in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Not sure what that's got to do with towels and laundry at all. Maybe you were trying to find information on laundering a towel used with a verruca.
twin meaning tattoos
Mine isn't specifically "twin meaning", but the daisies on the same stem are my representation of twins. Any additions to that tattoo would branch off on a separate stem.
garter belt whores
Is this like crack whores? Like they sell their bodies to buy more garter belts?
garter belts and whores
For some reason, I believe you were looking for pictures. Sorry.

Although none of them showed up in this list, I also regulary receive a few hits from people searching for information on miscarriages after hearing a baby's heartbeat or seeing the baby on an ultrasound. Everytime I see one of those, I just want to cry and reach out to them and somehow let them know that they and their babies will probably be alright. I automatically sense they're searching for reassurance, and I'm saddened that they may not feel that way after reading my posts on those topics.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

You need to know what I know...

I've considered and reconsidered whether or not to post anything about this recent discovery, only because, well, others have certainly covered it quite well. But, then I realized that while many of you may be readers of other blogs I read, I can't recall seeing any of y'all commenting at either of the two blogs I visited yesterday that wrote about this, so I will assume you may not have had your imagination get carried away with images of bloody cups...and having to touch them (Oh My God! No!!).

Mommy off the Record pondered over what was a new discovery for her yesterday, the DivaCup. Uh, new to me, too. A hold the fluid...for 12 hours...that you then empty out (presumably into a toilet) and rinse and reuse? Who would ever think of such a thing? Repulsed is probably an understatement for my first reaction.

Then...oh, but then! Andrea pointed us to some lovely posts by Jonniker, one in particular, that were oh so enlightening. And, well, just don't ever say I'm not open-minded because my gullible mind can apparently be swayed in a matter of minutes. To the point that I might just get one. What?!? Yeah, I think I might. As Schnozz so eloquently shouted stated, all products related to periods are gross. I think there was some mention of a mighty pendulum swing amongst those Jonniker comments, and I can say that while rare, I've experienced it. It's enough to catch a girl completely off-guard and make her use unknown muscles to leap from a toilet seat doing the heebie-jeebie dance complete with shoulder and hand convulsions. So, like she said...gross, all of it. Besides, it might be a refreshing experience not having to carry the bright blue and purple box through the store ever again.

It does help that I followed the link from the LiveJournal Menstrual Cup Support* community page to the Mooncup UK site. That picture on their home page, the one of the smiling lady holding her treasured clear, bell-shaped flow-holder, got rid of the images I'd previously had flashing behind my eyes, ones where the thing looks like a 6-inch wide plunger. I've also decided that I don't think the fabricated sounds of thick menstrual goo swirling around inside my body or falling out of the cup back to goodness-knows-where while I sleep will be put to rest if I never try one.

So, I guess I may have officially convinced myself to eat the words of my first MOTR comment yesterday. How about you? Who's a closet cup-user? There are apparently quite a few, many of them singing praises of their cups to anyone who will listen, passing out stickers to strangers in bars. My question about that is how does one work that into conversation? I couldn't even tell you the last time I've had a discussion related to the monthly nightmare, let alone one that might possibly have any context relevant to revealing how I manage my river of uterine-lining shed.

* It's almost something you want to make fun of, but I have a feeling I'll be visiting and talking about all things menstrual cup soon enough, so I just can't.

I apologize to any male readers that were not forewarned of the subject of this post and are now scarred for life, but really, the imagery conjured in my head from this topic was too amusing not to share. Just think of how sensitive women will think you are with all this knowledge.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Burnin' fuel and fat...

even if not in the right places...

Hannah Kozak on fireThere was a comment made the other night about some bone protruding from my behind. I feel the comment, at the time, given the circumstances, was true, but I think when not laying on my side, allowing all the cushion to make a super pillow on the laying down side, it really is anything but boney. At least I hope so. I really don't have any desire to make that area smaller. Now, put it back where it belongs, separated from the back of my upper thighs, that is something I have dreams of seeing once again. But, dimish what's there? Absolutely not. The image of saggy-bottom pants in my future is quite frightening.

Well, anyway, last week for the fitness challenge was definitely more thrilling than the second week, with a 2.4 lbs. loss. I've almost gotten a full 5 lbs. shed now.

There seems to have been a great benefit to the restaurant meal=two meals rule I've been following. Both Friday night and Sunday afternoon involved restaurant meals, and I didn't manage to break 1000 calories either day. Not what I was expecting (and too few calories, in my opinion), but I also didn't do a workout dvd either of those days, and I didn't feel the least bit hungry or de-energized, so I guess it wasn't all too terrible. In fact, I was overly stuffed during Friday's dinner. I didn't even finish half the meal I'd ordered because I'd had a heaping plate from the salad bar while waiting. I managed to finish half the broccoli and half the steak, but I felt like my stomach might actually burst open and paint the place with leafy greens and a few bits of fruit and meat for color and variation. I playfully poked my finger into my protruding tummy to take my mind off of it's aching fullness.

The delicious spinach, strawberry, honey-roasted almond with basalmic vinaigrette dressing salads also made a major contribution in keeping those days in check. For a more-than-filling serving of that, it's barely over 100 calories. I use approximately 1 cup of baby spinach, 1/4 cup sliced/diced strawberries, 1 tablespoon of honey roasted almonds, and 2 tablespoons of dressing. This salad makes me positively giddy.

The weightloss challenges are abound throughout blogland with another one going on at susan's place. I really would love if 10 lbs. disappeared in 5 weeks instead of me waiting out my full, almost-10 weeks, but I'm not going to make any changes to achieve it sooner. Might happen on it's own, though, and wouldn't that be just marvelous;>