I AM a Curves Quest Conqueror

2 posts in 1 day. Go me. Really, they were on 2 totally separate topics so I thought I'd split it up in order to maintain my direction.

Last year hubby, baby and I spent Christmas at my parent's house in Virginia. Since we got married (3 years ago) we developed a system (sucky but fair) of going to Thanksgiving at one of our family's houses and going to the other one for Christmas and then reversing it the next year (we grew up on different sides of the state, therefore impossible to attend both family celebrations for one holiday). So we were with my family. When we are at my parent's house we always attend Midnight Mass. So there we were at Midnight Mass... in the middle of HIGH SCHOOL REUNION part VII. You see, I moved away from the town I grew up in 5 years ago and have only visited since and really don't keep in touch with any of my "friends" from high school (with the exception of one or two) because they are not friends and therefore not worth the time, effort or heartache. I guess you could say if there is anyone I don't smile and say hello to it's most of my high school class. lol. I usually pretend they aren't really there. But anyhow - there I was... thinking I was looking pretty good (I mean, I had just had a baby 14 months ago (who was I really kidding??? 14 months???) and if I didn't look as good as I did the last time they saw me I didn't think I really cared. Hubby loves me no matter what. So as I sat there suffocating and in pain for my girdle like object jabbing me in the ribs and my fat roll expanding over the top of it (yeah, I'm sure that was hot) I looked around (I know, I know... it's Midnight Mass - not really the H.S.R. part VII) and began to feel more and more like s.h.i.t. There were others that had babies. There were others that looked fabulous and I sank. I thought I had done pretty good without even trying or giving effort to it but perhaps that was my "light bulb on" moment. My "tada" in which I realized I didn't feel good about myself. I didn't even really feel like me.

It was then that I began to think that maybe the whole of the 58 pounds I had added to my 5'1 frame during my pregnancy wasn't just going to fall off all by itself and although my body is forever changed (those that have had babies will know EXACTLY what I am referring to) perhaps there was something more I could or should do. I wasn't so delusional that I dreamed I would ever be the same size I was in H.S. - fly on the cheerleading squad but Hello - the remaining of the 58 pounds doesn't scream healthy, does it?

So - after pondering and pondering and a few commercials later, when we returned home I decided I would join Curves. Yup - you know the one. The Curves that the 60 and 70 year old ladies work out at. The Curves that couldn't possibly be a work out... I mean come on... It's just that ring of machines and walking platforms - better know as "The Circuit" 30 seconds on each one - are you kidding??? Well I am here to tell you - many inches and pounds lost later that "The Circuit" is EXACTLY what you make of it.

On January 5, 2007 I marched myself into Curves and said I wanted to join. Owner, Lisa, looked and me and laughed saying she could tell I was going to be a very hard sell. I got myself all signed up and have been going 3 times a week (sometimes more faithfully than others) since then.

I don't think I've ever stuck with any other exercise plan this long. I appreciate that "The Circuit" is exactly what you make of it and while the other ladies march and barely puff along I can sweat my eyeballs out. I appreciate that I now have many 60 and 70 year old friends. Oh the wisdom that I have found there within those walls. They've done it, they've seen it and they are more than willing to talk about it (you'd really be surprised).

I was afraid I would be looked at funny, that they would wonder what I am doing there and I think sometimes I am. Sometimes, when women are there that aren't usually at the same time as me they ignore me, probably wondering why I've brought my 26 year old body in there to torture them. But for the most part, I have found a sisterhood, a love and friendship that I never could have imagined. We are measured monthly and the owner will tell the others that are in there working out how many pounds or inches the other has lost (they don't tell weight, just the amount lost) and we clap for each other. When I am in a bad mood or feeling sorry for myself, I go anyways. They are expecting me, they will be happy when I walk through the door. We cheer each other on. We love each other. It is wonderful. I love that place.

So... for the month of September there was a contest - Curves Quest. Each week your goal to stay on the island (to complete the challenge) you had to come 3 times a week and complete one other challenge (like wear a Hawaiian shirt or do a crossword puzzle). I know it doesn't sound hard but getting there 3 times a week can be tricky for me. I can only go MWF because they are closed during my lunch on TTh (and after work I have to get my baby). One time I missed because of lunch with my boss (so I went on Saturday out of town in VA) and then this past Monday I missed cause of the "sounds of summer in my wall - aka the crickets" - had to go home during lunch to post the eviction notice. So - yesterday I pulled my tired tail out of bed and drove the 30 minutes down to the Curves I go to (it's near my work) and got my 3rd workout in for the week. They are only open from 8:30 -11:00 on Saturday but I MADE IT and now - due to my dedication - going 3 times a week - No matter what and completing my challenge each week I AM A CURVES QUEST CONQUEROR. Although I'm talking about some corny contest at my Curves where I go and do a work out that many perceive to be nothing (but I promise you it's something) I am so proud of myself (and I really hope I won the t-shirt). Next month (can't believe tomorrow is October) we will be climbing "Curves Mountain". Wish me luck! Here's to a safe trek and another successful month!

The Pizza Delivery Boy

That's right... this post is about the Pizza Delivery Boy. I have to admit that I really have a crush on him, although I also must admit that its really something more than that.

When he comes to my house I can't help but to think about the wad of $1.00 bills he has in his pocket and the places that I could spend them or the bills I could pay with them. I only wish that I had the money to eat pizza more often. He may smell like pizza and other things of that variety, but it doesn't bother me to say the least. He has a full-time job and he's said that this is his part-time gig to get the job done, to get the bills paid and to help carry his family through rough times. Now that is what I call a man! A man so dedicated to his vows, to what he promised to do that he is willing to do what it takes to bring home the dough (hahaha) to support his family. Should I ever be so lucky. So there you have it, I'm in love with a married man but I think I'm probably prettier than his wife....

Wait a minute... I AM his wife. That's right folks, this is a tribute to my most wonderful, darling husband who has picked up a part-time job as a pizza delivery boy. Perhaps, when he's not delivering pizzas, he'll stop by and see that I love him, adore him and think that he's way more of a man that I could have ever dreamed of marrying and calling my own.

I love you Joebaby!

Hmmm...

Today I am compelled to write about one of those things "I think about blogging about during my day". I think we probably all do that although usually when I find myself thinking of something I want to blog about I play it all out in my head, word for word and that works it all out for me, leaving not much of a reason to blog about it or make attempts to sort my feelings out. But I'm just so baffled by what is going to appear below that I will blog although I've already pondered and pondered:

I was up to the Courthouse the other day. Don't worry, nothing unusual for me as in real life I am a assistant/secretary of sorts to an attorney that concentrates in Admiralty/Maritime and Personal Injury cases. So there I am, getting ready to go into the door to the Civil Division to file something and headed towards me in the hallway/foyer area are a guy and girl, of Mexican decent (or so I assume and would think it's safe to do so). As I had my hand on the door knob I hear the guy say to the girl something in spanish. Having taken spanish for 3 years (mostly coasting through) I pick up on some words and often times can figure out the gist of the conversation. He said something about 'punta', motioned toward me, and promptly she turned to me to ask me where they needed to go to pay their car taxes. I directed them accordingly and then proceeded in the door to the Civil Division. Upon entering, Michael, one of the deputy clerks asked me what was wrong as I looked pissed off. I told him, in my cheerful yet normal ditsy and kind of slow sort of way that I was just confused because some guy had just referred to me as 'punta' out in the hallway. I said "that's a bad word, right?". He laughed and said he thought so. Hmmm...

This evening after work I was going into a gas station. As I approached the door 3 young men, of Mexican decent (or so I assume and would think it's safe to do so) approached the door at the same time. They were looking at me, one says something about 'punta' and another held the door open for me. Hmmm...

I tell you. I am not making this up.

What I don't understand is this: why is it okay to talk about people, in front of their face in a different language and ASSume that they will not understand?

I'm not at all making the argument that they or anyone else that speaks another language needs to speak english, because you see, that's just not my point. It's not that I care that they were speaking spanish... that's honestly fine. It's just that I wouldn't go to Mexico or France or Africa or Timbuktu and call some random man a dick or some random woman a bitch in english and ASSume they won't understand me (and if I did I especially wouldn't ask them for directions after I did so).

So do tell... why do I keep getting called a 'punta' as I'm busy minding my own? (I feel the need to mention I am usually minding my own in a cheerful sort of way. I almost always smile at people and often I add in a "hi" or "hey".) I work on the philosophy of attempting to spread cheer, being friendly and I always try to be kind to others I meet (even when its really hard) as I TRULY believe that each of us is fighting our own battle. But even if each of us is fighting our own battle how does that make me a 'punta'?

I don't suppose I really expect an answer to what is more of a rhetorical question - I'm just smiling and confused in my normal ditsy and kind of slow sort of way.

Here's to days when I am not referred to as means things in languages other than my own...

Being a Mommy

Being a Mommy is perhaps the most wonderful, fulfilling adventure I have ever been given the gift of. However, there are times, thankfully few and far between when I have to admit that I do not want to be a Mommy (or maybe I just wonder if I can really really handle it). I know, I know, that's terrible but the times that I am referring to are the times that my baby is sick. Those are the times when I feel so completely helpless, perhaps incompetent, when I would do anything to take it away from her and give it to myself, no matter the ailment. I can not stand the feeling of watching my baby, the heart outside my body, suffer and feel bad.

She's only 2, so hopefully we have many more ailments, colds, fevers and other whatnot to come, due to the fact that the alternative would be life without her, because fact of the matter is that children do get sick and as my Mom would so endearingly say, the alternative is the "big dirt nap" (of which I am also terrified).

So I'm sure you are wondering what on earth is wrong with my baby to make me say all this. Honestly, just a cold for the past 2 weeks and a fever that she had when I picked her up from preschool this afternoon. I have watched stuff pour out of my darling's nose for the past 2 weeks, which I hate so much for her, for obvious reasons. I found myself wondering tonight how her head feels and although she has been acting like her usual darling self until tonight I have wondered if she has been as annoyed by the "stuff" as I would be if it were my head or if that is more of a "learned behavior" to be so aggravated by it. And now, the fever. She didn't even want to eat dinner and I tell you this child has a very healthy appetite. Looking at her you'd think she never misses a meal... and believe me, she doesn't when she is feeling well.

I held her for the longest time tonight because I didn't want to put her to bed with her head on fire as it was. Held her for a good couple of hours and finally, a little while after giving her the tylenol she began to cool down a little and doze off. It's funny too, that I know, because she wants to be cuddled that she doesn't feel well, she has never been a cuddle bug, which has always been sad to me, however, nice at bedtime because even as an infant she always wanted to be put down and left alone to fall asleep. No endless hours of rocking and soothing as she has always wanted to do this on her own. I tell you what... she's Miss Independent.

In her short little life she has been a reasonably healthy child and I do indeed count my blessing for that.

Before we left the hospital 2 days after she was born we were visited by a pediatrician from the office I had selected for her care. She had come to release her from the hospital so we could go home. The pediatrician said that her bilirubin levels were kind of high and that they would let me take her home if I immediately called their office when I got home to set up an appointment for her to come in the following day. Of course, I agreed and did so. The next day we went into the office to have her bilibubin levels rechecked. Results? Levels were higher. So, the next day we did the same. Results? Levels were higher. This continued over the next few days with the same results. There was talk of admitting her to the hospital for light therapy (as was done me when I was a baby) but the hospital where she was born did not allow babies to be admitted back to the nursery after they were discharged and they did not have other facilities. That left us with the option of a children's hospital "over the water" or about 45 minutes from home. Doctor's didn't want to do that so they contacted a home health agency to bring us a "biliblanket" (a unit about the size of a greeting card with a long cord attached that goes on the baby's back and gives light therapy). She stayed on the biliblanket non-stop except for diapers changes and rare occasions for the next 2 weeks, during which time, every morning a home health nurse came and pricked my baby in the heals to test her levels. The levels went up and down, up and down. Doctor's were confused but decided the blanket was ineffective and to discontinue use while letting nature run it's course (after sending us to the children's hospital for a complete hepatic panel). Then, 1 night it was little my baby's body rid itself of the jaundice in a matter of hours (through a series of really odd looking diapers) and my nightmare in which I worried about liver function, brain damage and other terrible things was over as quickly as it began.

Last year we went through a major rash over ear infection of a 7 month period of time that resulting in hubby and I making the decision for her to get T-tubes in her ears. The thought of anesthesia was terrifying to me... although the whole procedure took no more than 5 minutes total and she was back in my arms within 20 minutes I AGONIZED over it for MONTHS before I convinced myself that it would be for the best. Since last December, when she got her tubes, she has had 0 ear infections and I realize that my agonizing made my baby suffer longer, leaving me feeling incompetent yet again.

Other than the jaundice and ear infections we have been so blessed and thankful. I live this life without the question "could it get any worse?" because if we don't all know, we should know, it can and it will.

So... now I'm questioning as to whether or not I should post this entry in which I admit that there are times that I do not think I can handle being a mother. Truly though I always feel like I manage to keep my composure and comfort and soothe even if my heart is hurting so bad while my head spins with feelings of incompetency. Please do tell... do all mothers feel this way?

For now, here's to having enough tissues and tylenol.

Sweetness

Daddy is gone for work until Thursday so Ashley and I made him this video and sent him it to him via email... I had to share (hope it works!)

Just a simple request...

KILL THE BASTARDS. By "the bastards" I mean the sound of summer that is in my bedroom walls. Over the course of summer, from time to time I have heard crickets chirping in my daughter's bedroom wall. I never thought too much of it because it doesn't wake her up... well, if it does, she doesn't cry and I am unaware.

Last night around 3:30 I was awoken by the sounds and movements of hubby climbing out of bed seemingly pissed off. Of course, 1/2 asleep I asked what was wrong. His reply 'you don't hear that cricket?' (I'm pretty sure profanity was thrown in there, however, I don't remember the exact choice word and even so it probably won't be appropriate since I've already said bastard 2... oops... 3 times in this post). Before he hurled himself from bed and thrashed about I hadn't really noticed our little cricket friend chirping away in the wall and then... it was all I heard and sleep was done for the night. Apparently a cricket or two have taken up residence in the siding on my house, as the bugman has told me they sometimes do in the fall, and has proceeded to chirp his little legs off all night. Finally, after realizing sleep was no longer going to occur I hurled myself from bed and went to the living room to browse the internet. Guess what... the sounds of summer were in full effect in the exterior wall of the living room as well.

First thing, after arriving to work nearly 30 minutes late (I managed to fall back asleep 30 minutes before I needed to get up and then slept right through my alarm), I called the bugpeople that do our annual termite inspection. A cheerful voice answered the phone. The first and only thing I said before pausing for her response was "I have crickets in my walls". She was a little puzzled but said she would have the technician call me. I asked how long she thought it would be before he could come to my house and she said he would have to call me but it could probably be some time this week. Well I'll be shitted and damned. Sometime this week(???) and in the mean time my walls and singing and chirping. I figured that was the best answer I was going to get and told her thank you. Just an hour or so later I received a call that the bugman could come and spray in and out (I guess so the crickets don't get mad about spray being on the outside and decide to come in instead of go out) at 2:00 today. I live 30 minutes from work and only have 1 hour for lunch for I knew I'd be longer and later but I asked my boss if I could take a late lunch anyhow. He's a good guy and of course said that was fine. I called and scheduled my appt. 2:00 bugman came and sprayed... very thoroughly too. I don't see many bugs in the house and I've never seen a cricket in the house but I figured it was best to let him do his thing. He was there about 45 minutes spraying his little heart out (even sprayed some of my fire ant hills).

Before the bugman left he told me if I still hear my little sounds of summer within a week to give them a call back and he would come bait them around the perimeter of the house. Good stuff. So today, Ashygirl and I came home from work and on the front porch I found my first twitching cricket. As I watched him laying on his back... I gave an evil, evil laugh and didn't think much about it the rest of the evening. I fell asleep on the couch around 8:30 or 9:00, woke up around 12:00, made Ashley's lunch and walked back to the bedroom to listen for a minute. I cut the light on and stood in SILENCE and then... guess who got the last laugh? Apparently the brother of the twitching cricket on my front porch that has since been killed. I told him I'd get him but I'm not sure he was listening cause he still hasn't packed his stuff and left yet. Perhaps he's waiting for me to call him a cab.

So maybe, hopefully, pray for me, he and the rest of his crew will be gone within the week.

Wikipedia has provided me with the following information:

In Barbados, a loud cricket means money is coming in; hence, a cricket must not be killed or evicted if it chirps inside a house. However, another type of cricket that is less noisy forebodes illness or death. (Forde 1988) In Zambia, the Gryllotalpa africanus cricket is held to bring good fortune to anyone who sees it (Mbata 1999).

Crickets are popular pets and are considered good luck in Asia, especially China where they are kept in cages (Carrera 1991). It is also common to have them as caged pets in some European countries, particularly in the Iberian Peninsula. Cricket fighting as a gambling or sports betting pastime also occurs, particularly in Macao.
The folklore and mythology surrounding crickets is extensive. [1]
The singing of crickets in the folklore of Brazil and elsewhere is at times taken to be a sign of impending rain, or of a financial windfall. In Brazilian history, the sudden chirping of a cricket heralded the sighting of land for the crew of captain Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, just as their water supply had run out. (Lenko and Papavero 1996).

Crickets are omnivores and scavengers feeding on organic materials, as well as decaying plant material, fungi, and some seedling plants. Crickets mate in late summer and lay their eggs in the fall. The eggs hatch in the spring and they usually hatch in groups of 2,000.[

SHIT. I have evicted the crickets that began chirping 1 night after hubby and I figured out we could and are going to be DEBT FREE w/in the next 36 months. Oh what have I done? Perhaps, if I'm lucky, they've mated in the wall and the eggs will hatch in the spring in #'s close to 2,000! YIPPY!

Here's to hoping the windfall comes our way despite the eviction notice...