Fold My Laundry Please

For most of my life, I was a very skinny person.  Underweight even.  I think I topped out at a whopping 104 lbs in high school.  At 5 feet 6 inches tall (okay, so it’s really 5 feet 5 3/4 inches, but you know how it is), that’s very, VERY thin!  In fact, when I finally hit 130 (the recommended weight for a 5′6" tall woman) at the ripe old age of 23, I kind of freaked out a little bit.  I mean, criminy!  That’s HUGE!  Right? 

*sigh*

By the way…does anyone else think I’m BURNIN’ HOT in that picture?  Not just hot, but H-O-T, HAWT?  I mean, let’s be honest here.  YEEEOWZA!!!  Helllloooooo, 1991!!!

Ahem.  As I was saying.

The last decade has been busy for little ol’ me.  Not only have I gotten married to a wonderful man and given birth to four (yes, four) absolutely perfect children, but I’ve also moved no less than 11 times.  It can all be a little bit stressful.  And if there’s one thing my family knows how to do, it’s eat ourselves back to happy!  And I don’t mean tossing back celery sticks like they’re candy.  It’s more like tossing back candy like it’s celery sticks. 

Understandably, I’ve found myself in a place I’d rather not be right now.  And the problem is not entirely physical.  The stress I’ve been feeling has been building up and let’s just say that I’ve been flirting with depression for the last eight or so months.  (I now dub thee the Queen of Understatement!  Do you dub a queen?  I don’t really know.  Whatever)  One minute, I’m walking on clouds!  I’m 20 feet tall!  I…am the center of attention and I AM LOVIN’ IT!  I’m laughing and joking and the whole world smiles with me!  I’m positively GIDDY, for crying out loud!

Then someone will say something innocent, yet not exactly positive to me, like, "Your shoe is untied."

And I hold myself in check just barely long enough to leave the store or wherever and get to the parking lot before I turn into a sobbing, weeping WRECK!  I must look incredibly pitiful trying to maneuver four small children across a parking lot and into our minivan, mumbling through a flood of tears about, "My shoes!  MY SHOOOOOES!  They failed me!  I failed me!  I’m such a loser…a wuss…a FAILURE!  Why did they have to come untied?  WHY?  And in the middle of WALMART of all places!  I had to squat down, right there, in front of EVERYBODY, and retie them!  The shame!  The HUMILIATION of it!  The laces!  Oh, the lay-hay-hay-haaaaaces!"  I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

But now I feel myself slowly pulling out of that place.  I find myself sitting in front of my computer, indulging in something high in sugars and fats and of no nutritional value whatsoever, and thinking, "Why am I eating this?  I’m not hungry.  And it stopped tasting good to me 20 or so bites ago."  I wake up in the morning and think, "What can I do with my day?"  I look in the mirror and instead of seeing a victim, I see something I can change.  I have begun to feel more like the skinny me, confident and fun to be around.  And I realize that I like me.  I like who I am and I like what I stand for.  I am an awesome human being!

This new found comfort I’ve discovered is a large part of why I decided to start this whole dance video thing in the first place.  (Finally, she gets to the point!)  I mean, feeling the way I do now is supposed to be normal, right?  Clearly, I am average…AMAZINGLY average!  Emphasis on the amazing part.  So there is absolutely no reason in the world why I should be ashamed of putting my ridiculously inept dance moves on the internet, especially if I am keeping good company on there!  Just think of it, a bunch of us, greeting each other like old friends, and dancing as though we do this all the time, only this time you filmed it and emailed it to me so that I can turn you from a group of individuals into a PARTY!

It’s a great idea!  I got tons of positive responses to the idea, so it must be true!

So why have I only received one video?

ONE VIDEO, PEOPLE!!

So far, the whole video is going to be just me and Arpeggio Andy dancing and the rest of you are going to be left kicking yourselves for not joining in.  (And by the way, Andy made a cool little badge for this video project and put it up on his blog.  Thanks, Andy!)  As it stands, there is just ONE WEEK LEFT to get your videos in!  I need them in by July 20th!   Although, if I get enough requests, I could be persuaded to move the date back a week or two.  But don’t bet on it!  Just go right now, capture your essence on film and send your submissions in to foldmylaundryplease@gmail.com and put the words, "Where On Earth" in the subject line.

Remember, I am a mother and being ignored DRIVES ME UP THE FLIPPIN’ WALL!

Don’t make me come back there! 

And in case you were wondering, I am still pushing for Humor-Blogs.com clicks, but the voting on posts thingy they’ve got now doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge my url.  Any suggestions, fellow Humor-Blog-o-philes? 

It was dark and stormy that Saturday morning.  I was on a stake-out at the Silverton Hospital. I’d been working a case for a broad who wanted photographic evidence that some fella was stealing from her.  I’m not only a gumshoe, I’m also a bit of a shutterbug. I’d been sitting around, waiting for the palooka to make a wrong move so that I could get this job over with and head back to my office for a slug of eel juice.  That’s when I saw…Her.  She was about five foot six with dark hair and curves that could make a highway jealous.  No longer caring about some sticky-fingered chump, I turned my camera in her direction.

Dressed like she was in her orange sleeves, yoga pants, and running shoes, she looked like one fast dame. 

At about 8:45 am, the crowd drew in like bums to a soup kitchen.

That’s when some wise-guy decided to throw lead and the doll took air along with the rest of the mob. 

 I didn’t catch sight of that dish for another 41 minutes and 22 seconds.

And when I did see her again, she just walked on by like duck soup.

She looked tired, limping a bit on her getaway sticks, but she was still hittin’ on all eight. 

I thought about saying hello, but I’d bet a C-note that a classy chick like that wouldn’t have any words for a regular Joe like me.  So I decided to scram.  Besides, I was a professional peeper and I still had a job to do.

They call me Rusty Shovel, private eye.

Humor-Blogs.com is nuttin’ but a buncha bindle punks gunnin’ for dutch!

Twists, Slugs, and Roscoes:  A Glossary of Hardboiled Slang

So.  Tomorrow is the big day.  At 8:45 am Pacific Time, I’ll be standing at the starting line of my very first 5K run.  All of the appropriate preparations have been taken care of.  I took the last few days off from the gym this week to make sure my legs are all rested up.  I’ll be eating spaghetti for dinner to get my carbs in tonight.  Andrew has been instructed to take copious amounts of photographs and the double stroller is already in the back of the van.  And perhaps most importantly, I picked out what clothes I was going to run in and made sure they were clean a few days ago.  Now comes the hard part, getting the kids to bed early so that I can go to bed early. 

Oh, and did I mention that I signed up for another 5K next Saturday?  The Keizer Iris Festival 5K!  I think I done lost my mind! 

Humor-Blogs.com can eat my dust! 

I’ve been talking for years now about getting back into running.  Talking being the key word here.  I had always shied away from the "Fun" Runs I saw advertised when I lived in Idaho because I wasn’t sure, but that sounded like a really long distance to run.  One day I did a few calculations (okay, I googled the conversion) and realized that 5K is really only 3.1 miles.  Cool.  I could do that.  I mean, I used to run cross country and track in high school, so this distance sounded very doable.  I resolved to sign up for a few the very next summer.  That was in October 2006, so I figured I had plenty of time to get myself ready.  It was also plenty of time for me to get pregnant, too.  So that plan was scratched.

But summer is once again approaching, and, physically, I have nothing holding me back from trying again.  I looked up 5K runs in my area and found tons of them.  Practically one a week from May through September.  So I really had no excuses left.  And that’s why I signed myself up this morning.  It’s a done deal.  They have my registration fee and everything.  And so, on May 10th, I’ll be trying really hard not to fall flat on my face in front of everyone while I make a fool of myself participate in the 2008 Silverton Hospital Fun Run!  Yay me!  And, since I know there are at least two other Oregonians that read this blog (I’m sending guilt rays your way right now) perhaps they might decide to sign up as well.  Because we all know that the best way to meet someone in person for the first time is when you’re sweaty, smelly, and short of breath!

Right now, I’m in a bit of post sign up shock.  Kind of like buyers remorse, but with more nausea.  All I can say is, "Holy crap!"

Humor-Blogs.com isn’t man enough to run a 5K! 

Today was the day I do my class at the gym.  I really enjoy this class and I’m making some new friends there.  I got there early this evening and was sitting on my step bench talking to the old ladies that usually stand near me.  That’s when another woman walked into the studio followed by her teenage daughter.  The girl was the absolute picture of what you think of when you hear the word, "teenager". 

She stayed far enough away from her mom so as to somewhat disassociate herself from her mother.  She deliberately dragged her feet with each step she took, the heels of her sneakers slapping the wood floor and making a screeching noise as they scraped forward.  (Though she wore a smile on her face, mom’s eye kinda twitched with each screech.)  The girl wore a hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and her head down as though she was avoiding the paparazzi.  She had on sweatpants that she wore pulled up to her knees.  (Which, by the way, is how I wore them my freshman year of high school.  When did that style come back?  But I digress.)  The Teenage Stereotype kept her hands buried deep within her sleeves and when her mom reached over at one point and gave her a quick rub on her back, Stereotype violently shrugged her off. 

The Ladies and I looked at each other and smiled.  Ahh, teenagers!  Those crazy, desperately misunderstood nutjobs!  We shook our heads knowingly and turned toward the instructor as class began.  Soon, everyone in the room enthusiastically stomped, marched, and squatted to the pulse pounding rhythm of techno-ized  rock songs.  (How dare they do such a thing to INXS and Pink Floyd!)  Everyone but Stereotype.  She was too cool to move.  She barely went through the motions and never once even thought about lifting her arms.  Heaven forbid someone might look at her!  How embarrassing that would be!  Occassionally she would glance around at the other people in the class scornfully.  Suddenly, I became the object of her scorn for a few brief seconds; and that’s when it hit me.

I’m no longer cool.

I looked at the "old lady" to my right.  She looked like she was older than me.  I looked closer.  Not much older, but older.  This old lady was probably somewhere in the 35-40 year old range.  I looked at the lady on my left.  She was also close to my age.  Then I noticed the shirt she was wearing.  It was an old, threadbare, high school t-shirt riddled with wear holes and topped by a frayed collar.  I didn’t recognize the school, but I definitely recognized the year. 

1993.

She was the same age as I am.

So now I’m not only uncool, I’m also one of the old ladies.

*sigh*

And so, in a desperate attempt to prove that if not now, then at some point in my life, I was indeed cool, I shuffled through the plethora of photos I keep in a decrepit old shoe box.  All I have left to do is scan them all in, and you, my friends, will be able to experience all of the glory that is me circa 1994…with a few 1988’s and 91’s thrown in for good measure!  So tune in tomorrow, same bat-time, same bat-channel, and discover the "cool" me!

Today was a workout day for Andrew and I.  Monday is the one day of four each week that we spend at the gym where I don’t have some class or other to attend.  Instead of tripping over my own feet and gasping for breath in front of 30-ish other out of shape people while attempting to keep up with the perky instructor, I start my Monday workout with 45 minutes of tripping over my own feet and gasping for breath in front of 50-ish other out of shape people on the stairmaster while attempting to stay on top of the machine. 

Sidenote:  Oh, Stairmaster, why dost thou hatest me so?

After I finished liberally sprinkling the stairmaster with sweat this evening, I headed down to the weight room.  Each day I’m at the gym, whether I have a class or I just make myself look ridiculous in the cardio room, I have an appointment immediately afterward with my Personal Training Na-zi.  I’ve become convinced that this man spends all of his free time thinking up new ways to send me home crying.  He views the fact that even the simplest of household tasks (pushing down the lever on the toaster while heating up some frozen waffles for example) can cause me pain, to be a personal triumph.  Does it matter to him whether or not I actually feel like working on my back muscles that day?  No.  He believes that because my biceps aren’t symmetrical (My baby holding arm has more muscle.  Go figure.) I must work harder, lift more, and quit whining so much.

*sigh*

If I weren’t married to the man, I would seriously think about firing him.  That and the fact that I have now lost an entire inch on my waistline have convinced me to let him keep the job!

I don’t normally do bullet point posts, but I’m short on time and it’s been a while since I told anyone what’s actually going on in my life.

• "The Life Aquatic" - We were hit with a pretty big storm over the weekend.  The wind picked up here in Salem on Saturday and brought with it a ton of rain.  It didn’t stop until Tuesday morning.  Some areas around here had to close the schools because of flooding, but we were fine.  I went about my "normal" daily routine, which involved running ten billion errands before, during, and after Ethan was at school.  (On a side note, why is it that some errands create more errands?  Shouldn’t I be able to check an item off my list without adding three more on?)  We had a small amount of wind damage which the rental people had fixed by the middle of the morning on Wednesday.  And I spent much of Sunday explaining to Ethan that the rest of the house was, in fact, NOT going to blow away.

• "The Life Chaotic" - I am the queen of multitasking!  I am proud to say that I got all of my Christmas cards done…in the car!  I only send out 35-40 cards each year (only…PPFFFFTT) but each and every one was filled out, sealed, labeled, and stamped from the front seat of my car, or as I refer to it lately, The Command Center; after which I dutifully drove them to the post office and sent them on their way.  So while I may be destroying the environment by spending what feels like 6 hours a day in a running vehicle, my Christmas cards will arrive at their intended recipients in a timely manner!  A quick question, is it poor taste to include a plug for your blog inside your Christmas cards?  Hi guys!
• "The Life Genetic" - Sunday was Ethan’s 6th birthday.  Can you believe it?!?!  (I have been changing diapers for six. straight. years.  Not Ethan’s diapers, he’s well past that thank goodness!)  What’s great about his being six is that he is old enough to see the difference between getting few presents and getting many presents, but not old enough to see the difference between cheap thrifty presents and pricey ones!  And I gained about a zillion points as he unwrapped his first set of big kid Legos.  Legos people!  I rule!

• "The Life Symptomatic" - I went to the doctor a few days ago and was finally able to get a prescribed routine with various refillable medicines to use depending on the current status of my eczema.  This new doctor said the same thing I’ve heard a billion zillion times…"This may be a problem that you’ll have for the rest of your life," and, "Do NOT use the strong cream for more than two weeks straight or else it will give you old woman hands," but at least he didn’t prescribe a tiny tube of cream with barely enough medication to last three days.  He gave me scrips for big tubes.  And they’re refillable.  Already, my hands have improved to where they look like I have a small booboo instead of a possible case of leprosy.  Hopefully, I won’t have to see a doctor about this again for a very, very long time.  Did I mention that the prescriptions are refillable? 
• "The Life Hypnotic" - Much to my husband’s dismay, my obsession with LOLcats continues.  Aren’t they just too cute?

• "The Life Energetic" - I have managed to get to the gym at least four days a week for a couple weeks in a row now.  I’m not seeing a lot of progress weight loss wise, but my energy levels have gone up noticeably and I no longer collapse into a wheezing heap at the end of my classes.  More importantly, my husband says he is starting to actually be able to see a positive difference in my body.  I’m gonna go ahead and call that progress. 

So that’s life at our house.  Things are going about as well as could be expected.  The family is healthy and we’re all blissfully unaware of just how busy we really are.  Well, everyone else is unaware.  I’m the taxi driver.  I can’t help but be totally aware!

Keeping motivated has always been one of the hardest things about working out for me.  I’ll start out all gung ho, but about two weeks later I can’t seem to bring myself to get up off the couch anymore much less climb on a stairmaster.  My husband and his friend have been using a new site called Gyminee to keep track of their progress.  I opened up my own account at Andrew’s recommendation when I started working out again.  I didn’t think it would really do much for me.  I thought it was aimed more at serious weight lifters.  Me, I’m not into the weight lifting thing so much.  I prefer the more social type of things, like step aerobics classes, or my new favorite, Group Groove!  On my more anti-social days, I stick to my beloved stairmaster machine. 

However, once I got a chance to look at Gymninee a little bit, I realized there was actually a lot that could help me.  It keeps track of and charts my weight and body fat (which has been steadily going down, thankyouverymuch).  It also keeps track of my workout progress by allowing me to enter in the times, distances, METs, etc. of any cardio workouts I do.  Basically, it’s the charts that I like.  I suppose I could create my own charts, but it’s just so much easier this way.  I just enter in the numbers, and POOF!  Instant chart!  By the time I get done exercising each day, I’m too tired to make my own charts anyway.

And, probably the best part, the site is free!  It’s actually still in beta testing mode, so I’m not sure if it will cost anything once it’s done.  But for now, it costs absolutely nothing for your own account.    I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you need something to help organize your exercising, you should check out Gyminee.  Now if only they would add a feature where you could upload pictures of yourself to keep track of your progress that way.  Maybe I’ll send in an email about that feature.

We went to officially sign up for our gym membership the other day.  We had milked our free passes for all they were worth and it was time to actually shell out some bucks.  Luckily, there is a huge discount for state employees, so it didn’t hurt my wallet too much.  We went over all the paperwork and the guy did his little "Welcome to Our Gym" spiel.  I had noticed that, despite the fact that Andrew and I were  both sitting right in front of him, Gym Guy seemed to focus a whole lot more on me than on Andrew.  At the time, I thought that he might be flirting with me, but the words coming out of his mouth just didn’t match his actions.  He kept saying things like, "We can help design an exercise program that works for you.  Say you were interested in…oh let’s use weight loss as an example." and, "I can help you figure out which classes would work best with your exercise program.  Say you wanted to focus on weight loss…"

When we got out to the parking lot, Andrew said, "That guy sure was flirting with you!"  To which I responded, "If he was, he was definitely doing it wrong!"

To hopefully enhance the benefits of my new life as an Athletic Super Momma, I started taking flax seed oil capsules.  It was highly recommended by my beloved hubby, and since he has done a ton of research about all things exercise oriented, I tend to trust his recommendations.  (And believe it or not, he doesn’t restrict all of his research to the internet like I do.  Sometimes he talks to actual people!  I KNOW!)  The problem is this:  the pills are HUGE!  GINORMOUS, as my 4 year old would say!  They could possibly choke a horse.  No lie.  Needless to say, it sets my gag reflex off just looking at the darn things.

Tonight, after my workout, was the first time I took one of these pills.  I got my great big glass of water and readied myself, water in one hand, pill in the other.  I bent my knees slightly (so as to provide any necessary leverage, you see)  and bounced the pill around in my hand a little bit.  "You can do this," I told myself.  "It only looks big.  You. Can. Do. This."  I glanced up at the members of my family who were seated around the table eating dinner.

My husband smiled at me and said encouragingly, "I hope it doesn’t go down sideways!"  Then he burst out laughing.  It was at this point that the children decided to join in the cheering.  Shouts of "Don’t choke, Mommy!" and, "How are you gonna swallow that?" filled the room.  My personal favorite came when Ethan started chanting, "Go!  Go!  Go!  Go!  Go!" as though I had been magically transported to a college frat house kegger, minus the keg.

I, of course, started laughing at the ridiculousness of the situtation.  This caused me difficulty in my pill taking, however.  As many of you know, it has been scientifically proven that it is difficult to swallow anything when you can’t wipe the smile off your face.  You can ask any scientist.  Go on.  They’ll tell you.  I tried in vain to get over my giggles.  That’s when I decided to duck into the little bathroom just off of our kitchen so that I could have some privacy.  But as any mom can tell you, privacy is merely a fantasy that moms fill their day dreams with while scrubbing poop smears off of the walls, tying their childrens’ shoes, and nursing the baby.  All at the same time.  Moms are nothing if not versatile.

I got myself in the bathroom and closed the door behind me.  I went to turn the lock when I realized I had a problem.  With my water in one hand and the horse pill in the other, I couldn’t lock the door.  Meanwhile, my loving husband had positioned himself just outside of the bathroom door so that I could still hear him chuckling.  He’s thoughtful like that.  And Ethan had begun shouting his chant so that I would still be able to hear it.  "GO!  GO!  GO!  GO!  GO!  GO!  GO!  GO!"  He inherited his thoughtfulness from his father, it seems.  I decided to use my bare foot to wedge the door shut and get this pill taking over with.  Suddenly, from the crack under the door, I heard a little voice saying, "Mommy?  Are you okay in there?"  That’s when the little fingers started reaching under the door and poking me between the toes. 

I jumped back, tossed the pill in my mouth, and downed most of my glass of water, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn’t turn sideways on the way down.  Then door burst open to reveal my family, cheering me on!  I stepped out of the bathroom and raised my arms in triumph like a prize-fighter declaring their supremacy!  Huzzah!  Everyone shouted their hurrays and then we returned to our regularly scheduled programming, already in progress.  And all I could think was that if every mom had this kind of support from their families, the world would be a much more frustrating happier place!