Ready or not, here they come.

A long, long time ago, I wanted to adopt.  To be completely honest, I was 14 and I wanted a baby right then, but knew I couldn’t violate the strict chastity laws imposed on me by my parents and have a baby of my own at that age.  So instead I would create elaborate fantasies of finding a child in the woods or on the street, and for some reason I would be the only possible parenting option.  Crazy, of course.  And no, I didn’t explain all this to my husband when I met him—I know how that would have turned out.  But from a young age I knew that one day a baby in need would end up on my doorstep.

A few years back (it just happens to be a coincidence that this began soon after my husband decided he would no longer allow me to steal his manhood and impregnate myself), I started pestering my  husband to allow us to become foster parents.  I’m not quite sure whether I’m an excellent nagger or my husband loves me tremendously, but regardless, he agreed to go through the training and approval process to become foster parents- which was no small feat.  From there, it was paperwork and background checks and his willingness to be available for home studies.  JMahl was a trooper through all of that.  He would roll his eyes every now and then and say “you know this is crazy, right?”—but he kept moving forward and doing what needed to be done.  Occasionally he’d take advantage of the opportunity to remind me of just how much I owed him—or take payment—but he kept moving forward.  

And then we were a certified foster family.  But just because we *could* foster didn’t mean we *would* foster.  JMahl said “just respite care”, “just short term care”.  And I agreed: sure, whatever.  I’d already accomplished my goal of “being able to”.  I didn’t actually expect to ever get the call.  Similar to being pregnant for nine months—you never quite believe you are going to have that baby.  

But when we did get that call, we had 15 minutes to make up our mind.  Yes or No?  There’s a need.  No one else can take this child.  We’ve exhausted all resources.  Will you take a child into your home?  

And then that baby- -and his 11 year old brother—landed on our doorstep.  And our foster parenting saga began.

I’m going to start off by acknowledging that fostering a 4 month old child and fostering an 11 year old child are two completely different things.  Everyone loves a baby.  A baby is easy to care for (exhaustion aside). A baby is pretty simple to feed and clothe and create rules for.  A baby doesn’t really care who his mommy is at the moment, as long as someone is holding him, loving him, and giving him a bottle.  So, suffice it to say, Baby L is just fine and dandy, even though I forgot what sleep deprivation was and formula is so gosh darn expensive and inconvenient that I’m tempted to figure out a way to breast feed this one too.  

But:  an 11 year old who has just pulled from his family and has never met any of you and may have eaten vegetables for the first time (separate from pizza or cheeseburgers) since coming into your home is a very, very different story than a giggling, bouncy, happy baby.  

My Foster Son, “S”, is a very sweet boy.  I’ll start with that.  One night in he was squeezing us and telling us how much he loved us and how grateful he is to be with us and how much he loves fishing and soccer and hiking.

Two nights in he was explaining that he doesn’t eat eggs or peppers, would really like some juice, and doesn’t really like soccer or hiking, but does like video games.

Three nights in he was begging for candy, detested fishing (broken rod to prove it), a keen user of the word “WHY?”, and desperate for a trip to Wendy’s.

JMahl put it pretty succinctly on the fourth day:  “This kid just doesn’t *fit* with our family.”  And no, he doesn’t.  He has very little in common with our kids.  He’s not used to eating what the family eats or family dinner table or no technology time or not questioning every single rule I make.  He’s not used to sports and being outdoors and being active.  He’s not used to interacting as part of a large family.  Mason is immensely disappointed that the addition of a brother did not come with a fishing buddy and soccer competitor installed, but we didn’t put in an order that DSS delivered per our specifications.  

S is definitely not like our kids, but he doesn’t have to be.  We aren’t adopting this child.  Hopefully, his mother will do what is necessary to bring him home, because he misses her immensely.  So I’m not concerned with permanent fit.  All we have to do is give him what he needs now so that he can feel safe, protected, loved.  One day at a time.  

One week in as a Foster Mother and the first thing I’ve learned is this:  It’s not what we want, it’s what this child needs. 

30 Pieces of Unsolicited Parenting Advice I'd Give Other Parents (if I were allowed to give other parents advice)

True story.  I've been banned from giving parenting advice to my family members.  Actually, I've been banned from giving any advice, but "No Parenting Advice" was the primary issue.  I've been *told* that the problem isn't so much my advice, but my way of presenting the advice, as in "You should do THIS".  Personally, I don't know how else to give advice.  Isn't that the definition of the word?  Telling someone what they should do?  So, suffice it to say, certain in-laws won't speak to me anymore every since I suggested that one year may be too young to potty train (I was wrong- my fourth trained at 1), and others have specifically said "Don't tell me ANYTHING- I'd rather figure it out on my own" as soon as I started with "you know, maybe you should...."  So, I will oblige them and bite my tongue-- and use this forum to say all the things that I want to say but can not say to my sisters-in-laws, various other parents in my family, parents of my children's friends, other parents in the community who just happen to sit down next to me at the library, and all Facebook friends who have children and post related comments that I feel compelled to respond to even though I know it's going to p!ss them off.

1.  Immediately post-birth, everyone is going to say "oh, you look great!".  You may look great; but chances are good that, two weeks after having the baby, you will neither feel great NOR look great.  Just say thank you and smile anyhow.  If you point out your flab, the circles under your eyes, and the sweatpants you haven't changed in three days it will just be awkward for everyone.

2.  It's okay to believe that your child is the most beautiful child in the world.  Probably he's not, but you can believe that he is.  Every other mother is going to be believing the same thing about their child, even though they will probably say it about yours, at least for the first few months.  Truth is, very few newborns are beautiful (mine excepted), but you can believe whatever you want.  Which leads me to point #3.

3. No matter what they say, every other mom you know is judging you.  If you are doing a better job of parenting or your child is exceptional in some area, they will be desperately seeking ways to undermine what you or your child is doing in order to feel better about themselves or their child.  If they are doing a better job than you (or their child is exceptional), they will be gleefully pointing this out to whomever they can find who will listen.

4.  No matter what your child tells you, you know the truth.  You are NOT the World's Best Mom.  Chances are, at least.  I guess someone does have to be the world's best mom, so it *could* be you, but I doubt it.  But that's okay.  As long as your kids think you are the World's Best Mom, it's all good.

5. On the flip side, no matter what you think, you are probably not the World's Worst Mom either... although you may feel that way at times.  Luckily, most kids have short memories.  And Popsicles facilitate forgiveness.

6.  When you get frustrated and call your mom and she says something like "just do what you think is best-- you'll do the right thing-- you're the parent, and you know best".  That's bologna.  There's a pretty good chance that you don't know what's best and that you may do the worst possible thing ever; however, the good news is that you have a long long time to figure it out.  So if you do it wrong today, at least you'll know for next time.  Very few dilemmas in parenting happen only once.  Parenting is all about second chances (and forgiveness).

7.  In that vein, when you call your mom and she says "he'll be fine."  Well, I'm sure at sometime Dahmer's mom called her mom and her mom said the same thing.... so, maybe he won't be, but again, parenting is all about second chances. Just try to do better next time... and hope that he IS fine.

8.  Every time you call your mom crying, your mom is quietly gloating that you are getting your comeuppance.

9.  Every time a friend, a cousin, a neighbor, a stranger compares your children and your child comes up lacking (see #3) just tell them that you will revisit the subject when your kids are 40-- then you'll see who is the better/ more successful/ smarter/ etc. child.  If she actually calls you when your child is 40, well, she's crazy.  Concede defeat just to maintain your own sanity.

10.  The easiest way to potty train a child is to let them run around naked.  It may be the only successful way-- if by successful you mean getting your child on the potty before they've gone "all the way".  If by successful you mean keeping a clean house, well, find another method.

11.  Which reminds me-- it's not necessary to have a clean house all the time. Or clean kids all the time.  Some studies have even suggested that kids who play in dirt have higher immunity and fewer allergies. My kids are pretty darn healthy.  Enough said.

12.  Have lots of children.  The more you have, the better your chances of achieving perfection in one of them.  Michael Jordon (probably) didn't make his first basket.  Bill Gates' first computer (probably) didn't work.  I'm not saying not to expect alot from your first child, I'm just saying that the more practice you have at parenting, the better you'll be.  Theorists have theorized that you need 10,000 hours in order to become a pro at any thing (Malcolm Gladwell), which would imply that any mother of a one and a half year old is a pro, but we've all seen other mothers who ruin that hypothosis (#3 again), so I believe that the 10,000 hours actually applies to each *aspect* of parenting-- discipline, bedtime, school conferences, homework-- which means you're going to either need multiple kids in order to become a professional, or you're going to be keeping your only child around longer than the recommended 18 years.  The other aspect of having lots of children is that "Go spend some quality time playing with your sister.  She misses you." sounds a lot better than "Go away, I need five minutes of peace and quiet!"  Another benefit of multiple children is that you have more kids to clean up the more mess that more kids make.

13.  Don't fight with your spouse/ significant other/ baby's other parent in front of your kids.  HAHAHAHAHahahahahahahahaha (while I'm laughing, I'll add "don't yell at your kids" and continue laughing) HAHAHAHAhahahahahaha.  So after your disregard this advice, make up for it with lots of hugs and kisses and "I love you's"-- both to your spouse/ significant other/ baby's other parent AND your kids.   It really does make it all better.

14.  Make out in front of your kids.  Alot.  They think it's absolutely disgusting and may run out of the room screaming, but that could be a very good thing (as long as they don't run back in-- or you'll be the one screaming.)  If they don't run away screaming, it's a good balance for the times you break #13.

15.  Despite all the baby products that you *think* you are going to need, you will get along quite fine without any of them.  You've got everything you need.  Arms.  Boobs.  Okay, maybe you should get a crib and a high chair, but all the bopees, bepoos, bapas, bouncers, and diaper 1-2-3's.... uhm, it's marketing.  It's not necessary; so have fun getting what you want, but don't stress about what you *need* to have in order to be prepared for baby.

16.  Geeze. Let other people hold your baby.  Unless that person is *literally* sneezing on your child, chances are pretty good that they aren't going to get the kid sick.  And there is nothing worse than the mom who says "uhm... she's going to cry if I give her to you" or "I just got her to sleep."  Really? Okay, then.  I'll give her back if she cries, and if she wakes up... well, what's the big deal?  To say no, well... it's insulting and it's rude.  Very few people have actually ever dropped a baby.  And no one is going to try to steal yours-- despite your confidence in #2.

17.  If you call someone and say "I just can't stand my kid today", they will say "I know how you feel.  I've had that day too" (or something like that).  They will think "I can't believe she said that-- what a horrible mother she must be".  I'm just saying.

18.  Try, at least TRY to have a somewhat natural delivery for at least a few minutes.  By this I mean, let yourself feel the pain.  This is for your own good.  First of all, it's interesting to discover what your body can handle and the lengths to which it can go.  Second, it's imperative that you are able, at some point in time, to look at your child and say "I went through the pain of labor for you, and you can't do *this* for me?".  It's also useful ammunition against your husband at some point.  I'm not going to judge you (although you should probably read #3 again) if you can't make it all the way.  I screamed-- no, strike that-- I *whimpered* for drugs through 3 out of the 4 of mine and got those drugs for one of them (just in time to push).  And I only had four hour labors.  So, believe me, I can't be too judgmental. But at least allow yourself to feel some of it.  Besides, it gives you bragging rights.

19.  Breastfeed.  Not just because it's healthy, but because it's easy.  Whether you're a stay at home mom or a working mom, pulling out a breast or pumping milk twice a day at work is a lot easier than making a special trip to the store to buy formula, mixing that formula, getting the bottle the right temperature, cleaning the bottles, finding the bottles, etc.  You get my drift.  The only downside of nursing is a/ your breasts will change, but it's not like they still look 18 years old anyhow; and b/ you can't send your husband to feed the baby in the middle of the night.  But the upside to this is that now you have an excuse to sleep in in the mornings since you were up 2, 3, 4 times last night with the wee-one.  Use this to your advantage.  And yes, the first 2-3 weeks of breastfeeding are going to hurt like a B!t@h.  Deal with it.  Fight through it.  If you choose not to, I won't judge you (see #3), and I will not judge you if you actually have a medical issue that keeps you from nursing-- I'm not that horrid.  But breast-feeding is not just the best way (all doctors agree) and the natural way (you do have breasts for a reason), but it's the one thing that YOU and only you can do for your child... and there's nothing more amazing than the feeling you'll get from giving this form of love to your baby and feeling their little fingers on yours as they look at you, attached to you, part of you. Yes, I'm biased.  This is my blog.  I'm allowed to be.

20.  Hold your baby.  Someone out there has gotten really rich convincing moms that they need to buy strollers and baby carriers in order to hold a baby.  Uhm... You have arms.  Yes, arms.  Those things were made for carrying a baby.  I guess I just don't get it-- why would you NOT want to hold your baby?  Why would you want to spend more time looking elsewhere than looking into those little eyes that *only* want to look at you?  Aside from the psychological benefits and social awareness strengths that holding a child creates-- I'm sure your kid will get that eventually somehow-- and the upper arm strength you will develop, why oh why would you have a child that you don't want to keep in your arms the whole time you can?  There's nothing better than a sweaty damp cheek laying on your neck asleep... it's the most amazing feeling- and soon enough, they won't want you to touch them, so hold them now while you can.  Suck up that "amazing" while you have the opportunity to do so.

21.  Be present.  I'm not saying you have to follow your kids around. That would drive anyone (most people) insane.  But when your child wants to show you an ugly brown stick figure picture of yourself for the thirty-second time today-- take both eyes off the tv/ book/ computer screen/ ipad and LOOK AT IT.  And tell them how beautiful it is.  How amazing it is.   And after they leave it on the floor and run off to make you a thirty-third, throw it away quickly.  But always look at your kids.  There's nothing like the pain in a kids' eyes (or the strength of their rebellion) if they feel they are being ignored-- especially after they've put all that love, effort, and age-appropriate creativity into a really bad piece of art.

22.  If you just can't be present anymore- it's been one of those days that you just can't handle one more second.  Put down the phone (#17) and get out of there quickly before you lose it.  You do NOT want to lose it in front of your kids-- you will then revert to #5, whether in fact or theory.  Go hide in the bathroom, the garage, the back deck, the laundry room (a glass of wine helps) and give yourself a nice little break.  Believe me, the kids are safer unattended for those three minutes than they would be if you didn't remove yourself quickly from the scene.

23.  Parenting is a lot easier in conjunction with a little wine.  Kids are cuter, their songs make more sense, and bedtime is much easier to handle.  It is okay to have a glass of wine or a beer every now and then.  It is not okay for your kids to see you drunk. One of the many reasons this is a bad idea is because they will go to school and tell their teachers and their friends (who will tell their moms) that you were drunk last night and that's why their homework wasn't finished-- and now we're back to #3 again.   And that could make for a very awkward Parent-Teacher conference and may explain why little Johnny isn't allowed to play at your house anymore.

24.  Getting your child a dog will teach responsibility, compassion, etc.  But by the time your child is old enough for a dog you have probably already learned enough about responsibility, compassion, etc., so skip the dog.

25. Let your three year old dress herself sometimes.  And do her own hair.  And tell her she looks beautiful when she does it.  It's good for her self-esteem and independence.  Are you really that worried about how it reflects on you?  Believe me, it will make your life a lot easier if you just go with the flow sometimes.  This is also the time when people will most often look at your child and say "you know how to pick your battles" (take that as a compliment-- even if YOU dressed her this time, just go with it.)

26.  Recognize that while you may believe you have the perfect child, you don't.  And telling other people you have the perfect child is just going to either A/ annoy them, B/ make them think you are delusional or one of "those parents" who refuses to see that their child is the worst kid on the bus or C/ give them a reason to blatantly search for something/ anything to criticize about your child.  So, even if you *think* your child is perfect, no one wants to hear about it. I'm not saying don't brag on your baby.  In fact, I think you should brag on your child-- even occasionally when they don't know that you know that they can hear you-- but just don't tell other parents that yours is perfect.  Yours isn't.  Theirs is.

27.  Don't get offended when other people give unsolicited advice.  They do it because they care.  Take what you want- leave the rest.  It's like an all-you-can-eat buffet.  You're not forced to try everything, but it's always good to have the option.  Two-thirds of the people who read this will probably be offended by some part of it, and three-quarters of those offended will admit to themselves that I'm right, but still be offended--  but hey, it's advice-- you don't HAVE to take it.  Heck, you don't HAVE to read this (but now that you have, finish, please!)

28. Listen to the advice other people give.  I didn't say *follow* their advice, I said LISTEN to it.  No, they aren't experts, but neither are you.  And if they've already been there/ done that, you just *may* learn something from them. See #6.  And remind them of #6. Listen to them, but... #27.

29.  Say I love you.  All the time.  To everyone you love-- but especially your children.  "I love you" should fall out of your mouth so easily and so quickly that you are embarrassed every time you hang up the phone with a telemarketer.  You should, at least once, overhear your children's friends ask "why does your mom say she loves me?".  You should say it in front of teachers, friends, soccer coaches, and other parents.  As a result, you will look like an exceptionally good parent when your son runs past you on the soccer field, mid play, and yells "I love you" over his shoulder.  No one else's son did that.  MINE DID.  (#26, anyone?)

30.  Pray.  A lot.

Family Friendly Fighting (Optional Title: "I need a medicine ball to throw at my husband, since throwing a baby would hurt the poor child, too."

I have a confession to make.  I am not perfect.  Wait, no, I take that back.  My confession is that I married an imperfect man.  He's close, but it will be a few more years before I've perfected him.  But now, while he's still a work in progress, this causes some problems. Because his imperfections tend to conflict with my perfection, and this means we fight. 

I know, I know.  Those of you who know us are shocked right now and not sure if you want to keep on reading.  You're afraid of losing that image of us as that perfect couple that all couples aspire to be. I understand that, and I admit that it is hard to admit to this "imperfection".  You look at us and think "Wow, they are perfect!  They must never fight!".  And on the outside, we are perfect. We are exceptionally intelligent, cool and attractive-- and the fact that we are an interracial couple automatically elevates our cool and attractive rating (or so I've been told).  We drive silver cars (and only cool people drive silver cars. Boring people drive blue and green and even black cars- I made this point up.).  We have gorgeous children.  (Of course, being bi-racial, they are not only gorgeous- because I've been told repeatedly over the last eight years that all bi-racial children are gorgeous- but they look just like [fill in the name of a famous bi-racial baby or a friend or neighbor's bi-racial baby here].)  And our children are extremely intelligent-- just ask me, and I'll give you proof of this.  And my husband has a great job, and I am a stay-at-home mother for the most part, so we obviously have the ideal life.

And no, I'm not arguing any of this.  I would never want to disavow anyone of this notion, because we are, pretty much, the ideal couple and family.  But, nonetheless, we do, occasionally, fight.  And I must say that over the last few years I've discovered that fighting is not as much fun as it used to be.  Because it used to be a great deal of fun.

Back in the day (pre-kids)- fighting was awesome.  It was stimulating, exciting, and really added spark to a relationship.  Plus, to some extent, it helped work out problems that would otherwise be ignored and potentially infringe on perfection down the road. I admit, I was occasionally known to instigate fights over nothing, but, it's cliche and I hate being cliche, the making up part was always worth the fight. But now, with kids?, fighting is not as fun anymore.

For one thing, you have to whisper-fight.  And whisper-fighting sucks.  How are you supposed to get your point across about what an @$$ your husband is being in a whisper?  [Cue low lights and hushed voices]  "honey... honey... can you hear me?  okay, good.  Anyhow, what you said was really a jerk thing to say.  What?  I said, what you said was a jerk thing to say.  Did you say 'go slow'?  I am going slow... oh, you said 'I know'.  Oh.  I said 'Oh', not 'no'.  Why would I say 'no' when you said 'I know'?  What?  No, I didn't ask you if you wanted juice.  Why would I ask you if you wanted juice?  What sense does that make when we are talking about what you did wrong? I  didn't say... what?  are you kidding?  you don't make any sense.  It's orange febreeze?  What's orange febreeze?"

Plus, cursing in a whisper really defeats the purpose of cursing.  I was raised in a strict no-foul-language-allowed household.  And by foul, I mean my mouth got washed out with soap (literally) for using the word "crap" when I was about thirteen. As a result, I get a very satisfactory and perverse pleasure out of cursing when I'm mad.  And that's very hard to do when you are trying to keep the kids not only from hearing you fight, but from potentially overhearing a very bad word.  So, I tend to make a lot of weird sounds and facial movements that are meant to imply curse words without actually saying them- while whispering. Example:  "ffff....ughghghg... you, you zaaaazzhoooeeouu.  I can't believe you actually fffuuugggg-en said that. I said 'I can't believe you actually fffuugggg-en said that.  Said that!  SAID that!  I can't believe you said that!"  

Yeah, not as much fun.  Nor as much impact.  The other factor of fighting when there are kids in the house is the pretend make-up. When the kids walk in the room when you're at your angriest and you automatically have to pretend that you really love each other at that moment. We've become very good at this.  [cue child walking in the room-- normally to ask for juice]  "you fuuuugg... FUN husband, you!  You want some juice, Mason?  Okay.. here you go.  What are we doing?  Oh, we were just talking about how we want to kiss each other.  See?  MUUUAHH.  Oh, that's gross?  Well, then... just run on back out of here while we continue to kiss.  [exit child]  zaaazzzzhooeeeuuu."  

And for the record, the exciting, cliche "make up sex", well, that sort of goes by the wayside when you have kids, too.  Half the time we're just too exhausted to even think about it, and when we do think about it, the planning of it becomes a little too difficult. "I'm sorry."  "I'm sorry, too".  "I'm turned-on".  "Me, too."  "okay... what time will the kids be in bed?"  "Well, we've got to finish dinner first... what's 'turned on' mean?  Were you listening, Kayton? Oops. Turned on means... uhmmm... happy with each other?  But only when a Mommy and Daddy are happy with each other.  It doesn't apply to you and your friends.   Yes, you may have more spaghetti...  so where were we, honey?  oh yes... well, finish dinner, then family time, then pjs... I think we've got about two more hours until... Mason, get your elbow off the table... two more hours until we can, well, you know..."  Of course, by the time those two hours roll by, well, need I say more?  

Now, JMahl and I don't fight all the time, or even most of the time.  Just sometimes.  And if there's one thing he's learned by being married to me, it's when a fight is brewing. And he's a smart man- not perfect, but smart.  He can sense a fight brewing from the tone of my voice on the phone when he calls to say he's on the way home, and he's learned to diffuse that situation. These are the times he walks in the door with a bottle of wine. He has learned that I can't be angry with him for not picking up milk (especially when I drove by the grocery store four times that day and just never felt like stopping) if he does stop and pick me up a bottle of wine.  One statement that you will never hear come out of my mouth is:  "What do you mean you were too tired to stop and pick up milk?  You had enough energy to stop and pick me up a bottle of wine, didn't you?"  Yes, call me selfish if you must, but the kids *could* drink water at dinner, in a worst case scenario.  And when JMahl can't diffuse a situation (with wine), he turns into a master politician.  In fact, had my husband decided to go into politics, he could quite possibly be under consideration for the next Presidential nomination.  

He's amazing, I must say, at twisting my words, at getting me to say the one thing I swore three minutes before I would never say, and, when all else fails, going into denial mode.  "I didn't say that.  I never did that.  Nope.  Didn't happen. How much have you had to drink?" (or, if it's a morning fight "Have you had your coffee yet?")  This has a tendency to drive me insane, which is when I can no longer keep my voice to a whisper- although I still manage to keep my curse words camouflaged.  [cue screaming]  "ARE YOU FARREEGERING KIDDING ME????"   

But, even in my crazy psychotic screaming, there is still a lesson.  For these are the times (after dinner, after family time, after we've ascertained that there will be no make-up sex) that we are able to tuck our children into bed and explain to them that "Mommy and Daddy fight just like you and [sibling] fight... but we still love each other and always will.  Just like you and [sibling] love each other-- even when you're mad at each other.  And you didn't hear this just now, but when you were up here brushing your teeth, Daddy told me that he was sorry and that he loves me very much and that he was wrong and that I was right and that he is always wrong and I am always right .  Wait, you were eavesdropping and you never heard that?  Well, that's because he whispered it.  Yes. He did.  So, even if you didn't HEAR Daddy say he was sorry and that I'm always right, I want you to know that he IS sorry and that Mommy is always right."    

Because even if you shouldn't fight in front of your kids, it's going to happen.  And while it may not bring the pleasure it once did, at least you are teaching your kids a valuable lesson.  Mommy is always right.

Capes and Exercise Capers

Thank you for reading my posts over the last two weeks.  I'm still not sure if I'm doing this for you or for me, but either way, it's fun to be writing again.  What's not so much fun is reading comments over the last few days (most often subtly sent to my email, thank you) asking me if I'm still exercising every day.  Yes, I am fully aware that I pitched this blog as an exercise blog-- and yes, I am also fully aware that the last few posts have not really focused on my exercise plan.  But honestly, how boring would that be for me to, every day, write a list of exercises I did and then tell you how many inches I have or have not lost?  (I guess that statement answers the question of whether this column is for you or for me, doesn't it?)


But yes, I am still doing my non-medicine ball exercise.  Just this morning, in fact, I did some (maybe 3) lunges with Micah sitting on my knee. Last night, while on my back on my super-soft new rug that we refer to as "the mud" because it is so soft and squishy, I bounced her up and down on my belly. Also last night, I wrestled with a tantruming Kolbie... if you don't think that's exercise, you've never experienced a tantruming three year old.  Angry three year olds are freakishly strong.  And pretty much every time I pick up Micah, I toss her into the air.  And I pick her up a lot.  That's got to count for something.  


And I've been playing a lot of Wonder Pets lately.  (Wonder Pets are toddler super-heros, for those of you who don't have young children.)  And since we all know super-heroes are in great shape and you've never seen a super-hero at the gym, then it stands to reason that super-heroes get in that great shape by running around wearing a cape.  Which is what I've been doing.  When it's deemed appropriate for me to wear a cape, that is.


Kolbie has some very specific ideas about her Wonder Pet-super hero play time.  For example, I'm only allowed to sing the opening line of the theme song, before she picks up the refrain, and I'm only allowed to voice the animal that needs rescuing AFTER she's determined which animal needs rescuing.  I'm not actually allowed to wear a cape very often. I am, apparently, too big.  Also, I am apparently not cute enough.  Nor do I sound the way a Wonder Pet sounds. Kolbie sure does know how to make me feel good.  The voice thing doesn't bother me so much.  I don't mind not sounding like a squeaky four year old.  I mind that I'm seldom, if ever, allowed to wear a cape.  


When I was a kid, my brother Jared and I had this game that we'd play every summer when the bathing suits came out, because with the bathing suits came our beach towels. And our beach towels were actually our super hero personalities.  Similar to how Clark Kent takes off his glasses and is suddenly Superman-- or the ugly girl in the movie takes off hers and is suddenly the hottest girl in school  (no wonder my children hate to wear glasses)-- well, we'd tie the end of our beach towels in a knot around our neck, and suddenly we were California Girl!  and Surfer Boy!  (based on the pictures on our towel, of course).  Chasing imaginary horrible things and climbing trees and, well, I think most of what we did was just run around and yell: "California Girl! to the rescue!' or "Here comes Surfer Boy!".  I know our brother Trent was occasionally allowed to play with us, but I can't remember his super hero personality.  (Sorry, Trent.  For that, and for the corn, and the tree.. and many other things.)  We would spend hours in our super-hero identities, often because the doors were locked.  (My mother's favorite saying was "you have 43 acres to play on- outside NOW!"  I feel you, Mom. I really do. But saying "you have one-third of an acre to play on" doesn't have the same power.)


So when I am allowed to wear a cape (ie, a blanket) and chase Kolbie around rescuing a stuffed animal (normally from the jaws of Dugan), it brings back some really fun memories.  Granted, often Kolbie will allow me to put a cape on Micah (she is apparently small and cute enough to warrant a cape) and run around holding Micah in front of me while her cape flaps in my face, which is close to the same thing, right?  And wait-- that counts as exercise, doesn't it?  See?  This IS an exercise blog after all.


I just wish that I could wear a cape on a more regular basis.  It's freeing.  It's relaxing.  It's FUN.  And if you can't wear a cape with your three year old, when can you wear a cape?  I guess I could try introducing it into my "alone time" with my husband, but unless I've got the whole Wonder Woman thing going on, I don't think it's going to fly.  (pun intended!)  And if my husband came home and found me wearing a cape as a normal part of my day, he's likely to question how much I've been drinking and/or if the Alzheimer's has hit extra early.  So, I guess for now I'll just accept that my cape-wearing days are over- and live vicariously through my little girls- unless Kolbie is in a gracious mood. 

A back-ordered gift does not break any rules.

JMahl and I agreed that we would not be buying presents for each other on Valentine's Day.  We do this every year (agree not to buy presents), so you'd think that by now it would be a given; but I think we both still feel the need to reaffirm the commitment, just in case.  Since the present I ordered him was on backorder, I actually followed the rules this year.  Of course, he still showed up after work with a bottle of wine (which is more of a staple than a present) and gave me a full-body massage (should be a staple, but is not; therefore, I didn't mention the lack of flowers), and I provided him with a clean house, quiet, well-behaved children, and a fabulous dinner and desert.  (like every night, of course).
Granted, the house was a few steps further than just "clean", because in the spirit of Valentine's Day- and since the gift I bought him was on backorder, remember- and "just in case" he decided to buy me something anyhow (which he did not), I felt it necessary to, oh, just get a few things for around the house.  
By a few things, I do mean a relatively large purchase of a 3 inch pile area rug for our living room, and when I am going to spend a large sum of money, like a good wife, I run it past my husband first. 
Our conversation yesterday morning, then, went something like this:
JMahl:  What are your plans for the day?
Katryn: I'm going to take the kids to the park (a beautiful day for February), and maybe stop by Home Goods.
JMahl:  What are you planning on getting at Home Goods?
Katryn:  We need a rug in the living room.  Every time Micah falls she bumps her head--it's dangerous.  (See?  This isn't about me, it's about the children.)  Besides, it's Valentine's Day. 
JMahl:  I thought we weren't getting presents.
Katryn:  We're not!  (item on backorder doesn't count, obviously)  This is for the house.
JMahl:  Do we have the money for that?
Katryn:  Of course we have the money!  How could I pay for it without money? The cashiers at Home Goods are all women, so my cleavage isn't likely to get me far.
At this point, JMahl rolled his eyes, sighed, and kissed me goodbye. End of discussion.


Now, had JMahl actually put his foot down and told me no, I would have listened, but I've come to a realization over the last few months.  My husband never tells me no.  I would like to say this is because he loves me so much and can't stand to see me unhappy (which I'm sure is what he would say), but I think what it really comes down to is that he has no idea about our money.  He makes all the money, but I handle the budget, pay all the bills, and pretty much make any and every financial decision.  He knows this, I know this... the only ones that don't know this are the home estimate people who insist both of us be present in order to give us a free estimate.  I've tried telling them countless times that if I say we are going to get new windows and siding, we're going to get new windows and siding, but they don't want to believe me.  "I'm sorry, we need both spouses to be present."  (and there's no way JMahl is going to talk to a salesperson after work-- not since that incident with the Kirby vacuum girl that he won't let me forget.  But it wasn't my fault!  I grew up in the country- we didn't get door to door sales people! I didn't know!)  So they insist on husband being present, and at first this really annoyed me, and I would get in arguments with the sales people.  NO, my husband does not have to be here!  Just give me the free estimate already!  Now I use it to my advantage to get rid of them-- oh, you require my  husband to be here to make the financial decision? Well, it's unfortunate, but he's out of town on business for the next 12 weeks.  No, that's not my husband you just saw ducking under the window.  That's..his... brother.  Yeah, his brother.  And no, he's not authorized to make financial decisions for this household.  I'm sorry.  You heard the kids call him Daddy?  And me Mommy?  Well.. it's a sensitive subject, and now I'm offended.  Good day.  
I've also started using this method with Jehovah's Witnesses.  I do admire their evangelism, but I am solid and secure in my faith and have no need to be converted to another.  Unfortunately, I've found that they (and the local Baptist church, oddly enough) don't agree with me on this.  So, I'm now telling them that No, I can not make any religious decisions without my husband present.  Last time I did I ended up with a sister-wife and a ban on birth control, and neither of those were as fun as I was led to believe.  
I also don't give to charity, buy from door-to-door meat packers, or buy orange glo product anymore (that stuff does not work!), but since I'm horrible at saying no to these sales people, I've now adapted a "scared face, pull my shirt closely around me, and edge the door shut with a quick glance behind me, saying with a whisper "my husband won't let me talk to people... "  It works.  The only thing I will buy door-to-door are pizza and cookies.  JMahl and I have a mutual understanding about those items.  
But back to the point-- I don't want you to get the impression that my husband does not wear the pants in the family.  He most certainly does.  He, ultimately, does what he wants to do, regardless of what I say about it; while if he were to ever tell me not to do something, I would most assuredly listen.  It's just that he never has told me not to do something, while I, on the other hand, have told him not to do many many things-- which he just goes ahead and does anyway.  So, he really is the boss around here.  Which brings us back to yesterday's conversation.  He never told me not to spend any money.
So to Home Goods I went to buy the most wonderful, thick, soft, ahhhh! rug I've ever felt.  And some new pictures for the wall.  And they are lucky that Kolbie was begging to go to the park, or I would probably have spent quite a bit more.  I'm actually surprised that stores haven't realized yet that they would double (at least) their profits if they provided coffee and daycare the moment a woman entered the store.  WalMart is close- they have a greeter at the door and an arcade.  But they don't have the greeter handing out coffee, and they don't have a babysitter in the arcade.  If I could shop undeterred and undistracted for an hour?  What joy!  Some one really needs to get on this idea, and I prefer it be Home Goods, since I happen to love that store. Although, I'll be honest and admit that it's not so bad shopping with my kids since I can expect at least one compliment every other person I pass, and Yes, I am vain.  I love receiving compliments on my kids.  
So, I have to say that for Valentine's Day I made out pretty well. Beautiful re-decorated living room (and a rug I could (and will) walk barefoot on for hours)- see my FB for photos-, a bottle of wine, a full-body massage, quiet kids, good dinner and dessert.  My husband?  Well, his Valentine's Day present will get here when it gets here.  They say March 2. 

Yoga Bare

No, no... before you start wondering if this is "that" type of blog, I was not naked.  My husband insists that I could make quite a bit of money if this were that type of website, but I tell him we should revisit that subject at a later date when my body is back to its former stellar form (My memory is surely biased.)  And by "revisit this subject" I do not mean to imply that there will ever be such a website out there-- especially since my mother, brothers, and various other relatives out there may be reading this-- but sometimes with husbands I've learned that a "maybe later" (especially in the realm of husband-wife exercise) is a lot better received than a resounding "No!"... often followed by a "Who do you think I am? What type of woman do you think you married?  I'm your wife, not some girl you picked up at a college party."  The things we do for love (in this case, let them believe there's a slight chance out there that that particular fantasy might come true...)


So I was not naked, but both of my exercise buddies were.  (and are, as I type this).  Kolbie is going through a phase (if phase can be defined as going on two years now) in which she likes to be naked.  Oh, she'll put her clothes on, but slowly, throughout the morning, they start to come off. Then, after a few hours of me: "Go get dressed, Kolbie" and her: "No, Mommy.  I don't want clothes", she'll put a new outfit on, only to begin slowly shedding it over the next hour or so.  
This morning she started out in a cute little pink dress with purple stockings, but by the time we started our exercise, she had used the bathroom once (and who wants to put back on your stockings after taking them completely off to use the loo?) and within twelve seconds of exercise she discovered that her cute pink dress was getting in the way of her flexibility.  So off it came.
I wish I could strip naked and have increased flexibility, but I think that only works at her age...


Being the good mommy I am, and recognizing that you may be getting bored on day three of the same old exercises, I asked Kolbie what exercise she wanted to do.  Her answer:  eat cereal.  So that we did. Hey, breakfast is important.  By this time Micah had already eaten four breakfasts, so she was impatiently waiting for us.  So I distracted her by giving her breakfast number 5.  But she got distracted during the feeding, turned her head, and breakfast landed all over her pjs.  Which explains why she was naked.  She, at least, was wearing a diaper.


After Kolbie had eaten the standard four bites of her full bowl of cheerios (I will never learn), I repeated my question.  She actually thought about it for a second before opening the game cabinet (which is really the bottom half of the $1100 tv cabinet that my husband fell in love with and insisted on buying about six years ago before middle-class-peons such as ourselves could afford flat screen tvs.  Soon after the purchase, flat screen tvs became affordable, and I have since listened to JMahl complain constantly about why we can't get a wall-mounted flat screen for the living room- to which I reply "because you insisted on buying an $1100 tv cabinet and, by golly, I'm going to get my money's worth!)  and settling on, of all things, yoga.  And before you question how yoga fits in the bottom half of my tv cabinet, I will explain.


You may be already aware that our seven year old son, Mason, was born with bilateral clubfeet.  (Bilateral means Both).  We discovered this via ultrasound when I was 20 weeks pregnant.  If you've been through something similar, you will understand the immense pain, to which little else compares, of knowing that the child you are bringing into the world will be crippled.  All the doctors telling you that "this can be corrected" does not make up for the crushing fear and pain- and guilt- of knowing your child is hurt in this way. You know how when your baby is born you can't help but do the cliche "count fingers, count toes- Perfect!"?  Well, with Mason we didn't get to do this.  Within an hour of his birth (and due to his prematurity, he was whisked away after a quick peep to prove I had a son) his feet were in casts- starting the journey of his lifetime. Literally.


Fast forward through years of casting, minor surgery, bending, braces, more casting, more bending, etc., when Mason was five, we decided to go ahead and try some physical therapy.  We checked with our insurance company and found a local pediatrics PT clinic.  I'm going to name neither the clinic nor the PT, but suffice it to say, it was quite a waste of my 3 day a week, $20 copays.  But, before learning this, I was in the throes of "this is going to help him!" and when the PT suggested we try yoga, I went out and purchased Yoga Pretzels flash cards.  Now-- for the purposes of yoga, well, I guess that's more my fault than the fault of the cards.  But for a fun game with the kiddos- yoga pretzels is the best.  Basically, we take turns picking out brightly colored flashcards of fun yoga positions like "Warrior", "Lizard on a Rock", or "Plank", and having the other person do that position.  Kolbie loves this.  She has better flexibility, but I'm the only one of us that actually follows the step-by-step instructions on the back of the cards.  We intersperse the stretches with relaxing cards like "Elephant Breath" and "Like a Rainbow", and don't really get much exercise or stretching done.  But for the purposes of this blog, it counts! 
(If you prefer exercising with your spouse and don't have yoga cards, the Kama Sutra will work just as well.)


While Kolbie and I opened our minds and released our bodies according to the instructions on the card, Micah crawled around gleefully throwing the flashcards this way and that.  I think her exercise was called something like "scatter the cards as fast as you can before Mommy can get out of that position and pick them back up".  Made for quite the fun time... and messy living room.
Yup- -still some cards under the couch.


In conclusion, I did take some measurements this morning (two days down, I was optimistic), and I have lost 1/2 inch around my waist.  Or maybe I was sucking it in...


P.S.  Since the time of the waste-of-time PT, Mason has gone through major corrective surgery on both feet-- determined to be successful by Dr. Stephen Tuck of Shady Grove Orthopedics-- Strong recommendation!  -- and has been undergoing non-waste-of-time Physical Therapy with Mr. Kelly Sykes of Touchstone Therapy and Wellness.  If you're looking for a great PT, give him a call-- although, he has not yet recommended yoga as a cure for clubfoot.  

The morning after...

I was surprised to wake up this morning with a sore stomach.  Yes, I know.  You just realized that I only did 2.5 minutes of exercise (and that's 2(point)5,  not 25) minutes, and I am sore.  This should serve as your reminder about quality over quantity-- or at least give you more proof of just how out of shape I am.  So my stomach muscles were sore, but I consider this a good thing, since that means my 2.5 minutes were beneficial.  Yeah!  


It took me a while to get around to my exercises this morning.  Primarily because I was reading a relatively good book (L. Pitts, Jr. "Before I Forget"), about a man struggling with his diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's and trying to get things right with his family before he forgets (see where the title comes from?  such smart people write books.)  Alzheimer's, as most of you know, hits home for my family. Some people have cancer, others have diabetes and heart disease-- we have Alzheimer's.  And it's a B$#TCH, I tell you.  Less so for me than for my mother, her siblings, and my grandfather, but not easy at all.  To see a person you love forget that you love them... that they love you.  That they even know you.  It's a hard thing to watch, and I constantly remind my mother that she'd better be good to my father now.  She in turn reminds me of the same.  I believe JMahl (my husband) is taking notes and at some point down the road will sit down with tea and gold-rimmed reading glasses.  He will have grown out a full beard at this point because he thinks it makes him look distinguished.  He'll remove a thick binder of notes from his mahogany desk drawer and, speaking mostly to himself, say "ok, she made dinner every night, but no credit for experimental recipes.  Deduction for not ironing my shirts with starch the way I like them, but credit for me always having clean underwear.  Credit for sex and for children... deduction for four children total.... The nagging costs her some, but overall, she was a good wife... so....I think she's earned a moderate to nice Alzheimer's home... wait, not covered by medicare?  Well, she did constantly throw my socks in the big basket with all the kids socks which I told her not to do... so I can definitely justify putting her in gov't assisted care."


This reminds me, I need to start cleaning as soon as I'm done with this post...
But back to my exercise regime.  I finished the book and immediately took up position on the floor with the kids.  Micah was already giggling by this point; Kolbie just wanted to play Scrabble.  (By play, she means take turns reading the letters on the tiles and putting them haphazardly on the board-- where SHE wants them of course.)


First exercise was bum crunches.  Feet up on couch, Micah placed giggling on my belly, and I began to lift.  Reps of 14-11-15-5.  Because that's how many I could manage each time.  Sometimes because I was tired; sometimes because my baby was falling off.  50 total.


Next exercise was crunches.  Still on my back with my knees touching my chest, I lay Micah across my shins, holding onto my knees, and I did 30 crunches.  To do this exercise properly you have to either kiss the baby's head or stick out your tongue or yell boo or something to that effect every time your face approaches hers.  Which, if you are properly crunching, should happen.
That was fun.  But tiring.  I have a feeling I held my neck wrong and will probably have a sore neck in the morning.


Last floor exercise was a double whammy.  I placed Kolbie on my shins (where Micah was previously) and lifted Micah in my arms. I extended my legs out as far as I could (keep in mind, Kolbie is almost 30 lbs) while extending my arms over my head-- while holding Micah.  This one is fun for the two kids to kiss and head butt and yell boo at each other.  Keep in mind, though, the more excited the kids get about this exercise, the more likely the chance of A/ one of them falling and B/ you getting a mouth full of happy drool.  Be prepared to move quickly either way (in which case the drool will just drizzle down your cheek and neck) or suck it up.  Literally.  Not recommended.  
I can't remember how many of these I did- I think only 15.  I was tired.


And then, because we all know that you can only firm up so much-- sometimes you've got to get cardio involved, I decided to go for a jog. With Micah held longways, snuggled against my chest.  
Now, for some reason I've found that the house shakes less if you jog on your tippy toes.  So, for three minutes, I jogged around the downstairs, on tippy toes, holding Micah with both arms tightly against my chest.  Holding her this way accomplishes three things:  1/ it fulfills the unstated necessity to have a child involved in each exercise; 2/ it removes the risk of shaken-baby syndrome; and 3/ I was not wearing a bra.  
Now, to the third point, this may have not been ideal, since she was being held in breastfeed position with only a thin t-shirt separating her from the source of life's purpose (to her).  This meant that I was constantly pulling her little hands away from my shirt, which was moving upward at a miraculous speed, and trying to remove her nose from beneath my shirt- little pug nose that knows how to get where it needs to be-- all while jogging on tip-toes.  But I don't include THAT as part of this exercise- unless, of course, some hoity-tv doctor comes out and says that nursing while exercising will quadruple your rate of weight loss.  In which case, you heard it here first!