It's rare I get one child all to myself; usually I have all four kiddos or some variation of the majority of them. So it was a pretty awesome discovery to realize that it was just Hosanna and I going to hear the Voices of Liberty inside the halls of the American Adventure at Epcot during our Disney vacation.
A quick note about Hosanna: she is by far my quietest child, but when she is alone with mom or dad the girl does.not.shut.up. It's like she's saved every scrap of every thought she has had since the last private conversation and unleashes it wildly without a breath or beat to spare. This is both precious and exhausting. It is hard for me to process so much input in such a short amount of time, which is why I concentrate on being an attentive listener, which is just a fancy way of describing how I let Hosanna deliver her monologue uninterrupted while maintaining eye contact and nodding to encourage her. (Parenting: nailing it.)
Our American Adventure Voices of Liberty date was no different. She chattered away, telling me all about the television show she had been watching recently. It was a reality show on TLC about a family who wanted children but had trouble having them because "the dad was missing something...or didn't have enough of something... (oh.my.lanta. MOVING ON) but then they found a doctor who found someone who had enough of what the dad was missing and the couple was able to have not only one baby but FIVE babies!" Hosanna told me alllllllll about this family as we waited for the a Capella group Voices of Liberty to sing*.
*Nerd Fact= I majored in music. Specifically, voice. So I may have been a little pumped to finally hear this renowned group sing in the space especially designed and known for it's perfect acoustics. What are acoustics? Acoustics are the way sound behaves in an enclosed space. Some acoustics will deaden sound, some will carry it. The acoustics in the dome of the American Adventure were designed so that a group of eight singers could sing patriotic songs without microphones and be heard perfectly all around. Translation: sound carries fabulously and vibrantly.
Voices of Liberty? Were dope. We sat right inside the domed shell and enjoyed every single note. Yeah, I found the girl that sings my voice part and yeah, I could have fit in her costume if I had boobs, so I'll definitely have that job someday. (I'm pretty sure that's how they cast those parts, right?) Hosanna kept leaning towards me to tell me something in between each song, but the flow was pretty steady, what with it only being a fifteen minute concert, so she never managed to get it out. She was almost bursting out of her skin as we listened to the final song, desperate to tell me the one last little thing that was on her mind.
She held it in as the last notes died and the applause began, and, to her credit waited until the applause stopped and I was wiping the tears of emotion from my eyes (because I love a Capella music and 'Murica) before blurting, "IT WAS *SPERM*, MOM. HE WAS MISSING HIS SPERM."
And the perfect acoustics of the perfect dome in the perfectly magical land that is Disney carried that sweet little message to everyone in the room.
One of the great ironies of vacationing with children is often that you need a vacation to recover from the vacation once it is finished. We arrived home last Tuesday night after ten glorious days at Disney World and spent the next three days doing laundry and getting back to normal life. (i.e. consuming copious amounts of water and vegetables that the children were begging for.)("Begging for" is the new way I'm describing "being forced to ingest" as they whiningly requested the mac and cheese and chocolate chip cookies that comprised the majority of their diet for the preceding week and a half.)
We also resumed homeschool bright and early Wednesday morning, which was as enjoyable as you can imagine returning to the real world after doing ALLTHEFUNTHINGS could be. Thankfully we returned home to find our internet was out, so we were forced to school at the public library where we could steal their wifi the fear of an audience of strangers kept the children from completely melting down in their defiance of learning.
On Wednesday and Thursday I hit up the gym because as wonderful and all-inclusive as my Disney experience was, it lacked greatly in the powerlifting equipment area, and I was itching to grab a hold of the barbell. On Wednesday I deadlifted and did back and biceps, and on Thursday I benched and did upper body.
That's when I admitted something was going on. (*enter dramatic suspense music*) This is how it went down:
Me to Ironman Sarah who works in orthopaedics: Dude, my shoulder is being all weird. Like, it totally hurts when I shoulder press. When I'm lifting, once I get it passed my ear I'm totally fine but from my shoulder to that point it totally hurts. I even lightened my weights in front of ALLTHEBOYZ because I was scared I was going to really hurt myself.
Ironman Sarah: It sounds like your rotator cuff. I'll check it out later and be able to tell for sure.
Me: Cool.
*Later on, as I was checking in with Powerlifter Sara and her trainer, Trainer Corey*
Me: So is it cool to lift normally if I have a messed up rotator cuff?
Trainer Corey who specializes in rehabilitation training: HELL NO YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING FUN OR PRODUCTIVE HERE IN THE GYM UNTIL YOU HAVE A SPECIALIST LOOK AT YOUR SHOULDER. I FORBID YOU AND BAN YOU FROM DOING ANYTHING AND YOU ARE PROBABLY GOING TO GET TOTALLY FAT AND LOSE ALL YOUR STRENGTH WITH THIS INJURY.
(Ok, so maybe that is more of what I heard. What he actually said was something like this:)
Trainer Corey: Nope. You need to see a doctor. You could really hurt yourself. If your rotator cuff is torn you could need surgery. If it's not torn but just inflamed and you don't let it heal it could tear. You could be setting yourself up for a lifelong problem if you're not careful. So don't lift anything until you know for sure.
Kelly: THIS IS BS. I HAVE TO LIFT. ME ME ME ME ME ME ME. THAT IS ALL THAT IS IMPORTANT. ME. TRAINER COREY, WHY ARE YOU RUINING MY LIFE???!!!
(Again, maybe this is more of how I was feeling. The actual conversation was something like this:)
Kelly: *stares incredulously* But only shoulder press hurts. Can I bench? *Corey shakes head negatively* *Kelly's voice goes up in pitch* Can I squat? *Corey's head again denies* *Kelly's voice goes even higher* Can I deadlift?
Trainer Corey: Not until you know for sure. You could really hurt yourself.
Kelly: I hate you right now. Why do you have to be so good at your job? (Yep. Verbatim.)
This blog gettin' all medical.
The next day I visited Ironman Sarah in her office where she examined me and declared my rotator cuff was not torn, but was indeed inflamed. I got a prescription to deal with the inflammation, and some worksheets full of rehabilitation exercises to do. That night I trained with Kemper. I'll write a full report of that later (because some FANTASTIC things happened there) and he did more of his voodoo magic manipulations and determined the rotator cuff injury was specifically affecting my Supraspinatus muscle and one other muscle. (I only remember the first one because I was all, "Trust me to hurt my SUPERspinatus muscle because I'm so SUPER," and Kemper was all, "It's SUPRA, Kel.")
Right now drugs, ice, and yes, upper body rest are my besties. I hate it. But you do what you gotta do, you know.
Saturday I attended (as a spectator) my first ever powerlifting meet. I drove a few hours to see Powerlifter Sara compete in the Michigan APF Fall Open. I saw 53 competitors of all ages and sizes squat, bench, and deadlift their maxes. Two days later and I'm still out of superlatives to adequately describe how it was. It was a very good thing. A game-changer, if you will. I will also write a full report on that experience, because the pics alone are worth your time even if you hate powerlifting. Trust me.
Yesterday we went to church, ate a special family lunch at Moe's (dem burrito bowls doe), and, after we settled the kiddos in bed, watched the much anticipated return of The Walking Dead.
It has been a crazy three weeks around here. I had so much fun, but I'm glad to be home. *clicks my Dorothy heels together* Happy Monday!
Stephenie Meyer built an entire empire based on a dream. Not an idealistic Martin Luther King, Jr. dream comprised of a desire and vision to better the world, but a literal dream. While peacefully at slumber she experienced the meadow scene from Twilight when Edward and Bella declare themselves to one another. She turned that scene into a four novel series that spawned a career as a Hollywood producer. Whaaaa? The lesson we can all learn: your billion dollar idea is on the other side of consciousness so you should take every opportunity to sleep.
Because I've always suspected my genius was buried deep within (and consequently mostly inaccessible), I now sleep with a pad of paper on my bedside table so I can record any brilliance a nocturnal muse might deliver. This has been a fruitless endeavor thus far. (With a brief exception of an idea that garnered so much enthusiasm in my reposing brain it carried over into wakefulness. It was only when I was describing my idea to Brian that my revelation of stupidity was achieved.*)
(*Okay, twist my arm. The idea? I'm still not entirely sure. But you know how "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" is a thing? Well, I totally dreamed that Bradley Cooper and I were going to start a "Bradley Cooper Photo-bombing" thing. I'm a little fuzzy on how this makes me a billionaire, and I hadn't yet worked out the logistics of how I was going to convince Bradley to give up acting to, you know, go into professional photo-bombing, but for a solid fifteen minutes I was pretty sure my idea was golden.)
But the other night I had a legit idea as I was trying to go to sleep. I was reviewing my Black Friday purchases in my head (because it makes me way happier than counting sheep) and thinking of the amazing memory foam bath mat I scored from JCPenney at over 80% off.
This bath mat? Is amazing. I'm pretty sure the "business time" spent on the john in our house has increased ten-fold because no one wants to remove their feet from the coziness underneath. As I was remembering the way my feet were enveloped in the heavenly comfort I thought, "Duuuuuuude. That's it."
(This is when the angel choir sang and Keanu's face (in my head)(I don't know Keanu personally) was all, "No waaaaaaay," because he was astounded by the magnificence of the idea before him.)
Because I'm a good wife, I thought I'd give Brian a heads up that our lives were about to change forever.
Kelly: Hey, Babe. I had the best idea ever.
Brian: Yeah?
Kelly: Seriously. We are going to make so much money. We'll finally be able to afford to move to Disney World so I can front a cover band that performs in all the parks.
*I already feel like this title has been beyond played out, but stay with me while I explain the relevancy. Here in southern Michigan it has been raining for almost a week. Solid. Big stormy rain, the type with thunder and lightning and no hope of your yard being dry enough to mow. I have been surviving this near constant deluge by allowing the children to watch a liberal amount of television in the form of movies from the library. The kiddos were first introduced to the Star Wars franchise back in October at Disney World, and I finally got the original trilogy for them to watch this week.
It was going extremely well. Then it wasn't.
In a house full of little girlies, matchmaking and wedding planning are some important happenings. So imagine the absolute disgust and horror at the revelation of Luke and Princess Leia's shared biology. I don't know if they've fully recovered yet.
Brian and I at Disney World. Awesome.
I'm not a big 4th of July person. Don't get me wrong, I love me some liberty and I fully celebrate all the day stands for, but as far as holidays go, The Fourth rates somewhere around "meh" for me. This might be because I have a ginormous aversion to the average Joe having access to exploding pyrotechnic projectiles but also that I question the merit of encouraging a child to hold a flaming stick named because it shoots off a shower of sparks to wave said wand of death around to "write your name".
The man I married, on the other hand, feels it is our God-given right as 'Murican's to purchase and combust as many rockets (or roman candles, or sparklers, or firecrackers, or mortars - what?! did I stutter? yes, mortars) as possible.
This is why I returned home from the gym Wednesday night to find the population of our neighborhood in our front yard (ok, just Chris and Stacy and their brood from down the street) gleefully awaiting nightfall so they could watch a fantastic display while I held my breath waiting for someone to blow off a limb in the process.
"Never, ever play with fire. Unless I ok it in celebration of our liberation from the Brits. Then, throw that fire in the air and wave it around like you just don't care. But watch out for your brother."
Look at the boy's face; I'm totally having a Beavis and Butt-head moment here - "Fire! Fire!"
Man Heaven Partners in Crime.
Watching our daddies "blow stuff up".
Everyone (and their limbs and digits) survived the night unscathed, so I went to bed that night to the sound of everyone else in my suburban town shooting off rockets, blissful that it was finally over at my house.
Thankfully my children have listening to the Madagascar 3 soundtrack forty million times and can sing Katy Perry's Firework ad nauseum, so the day after this impromptu block party we were able to recall the memories of such a fantastic night of potential dismemberment and maiming.
On the actual Fourth of July I took the girlies to see Monster's University. (Totally worth seeing.) It was a surprise to them. We "took a walk" and ended up at the theater a half mile away. It was awesome to watch them freak the heck out when they figured out what we were doing. *Collects her Awesome Mom Points*
*if you don't count the intro or any captions or disclaimers I may add.
I feel like I've been a bit absent lately. I didn't post last Friday, and I haven't been able to keep up with/ comment on any of my favorite blogs. I'm hoping this week settles the heck down. Seriously.
Here are some pics to update you on all the exciting things going on. I'll start with the basement. (Which flooded Thursday.)(Again.)(I know.) I took these pictures back in November when I was motivated to clean and have a triumphant "Before/After = Look At How Amazing I Am At Cleaning" post.
Before
Just remember, however you judge me Jesus is gonna judge you. Think about it, son.
Don't hate. You know you wish you had Mickey and pals on your basement walls.
For those of you who are questioning my self-proclaimed organization prowess, please note there are paths.
Then, a sort of utopian middle ground, taken Friday night. Should I call this "During"?
"Kelly, whaaa? Dang, gurl, where's all your crap?"
Please note the fans, mop, and bucket.
Aaaand After:
"Um, wow. You think maybe you took that cleaning thing a little too far? I mean, I think the walls are supposed to stay." Normally I'd agree with you. Generally I like to keep the walls up when I clean. I make exceptions for the BLACK MOLD we uncover when we discover the root of years of leaking. Don't worry, at this point we are bringing in the professionals. But Mickey is sadly evicted.
So that was Thursday, Friday, and part of Saturday.
This is a picture of me.
This is me sitting in my car.
On Saturday.
At around 8:30 a.m.
This is about the same time I should have been conquering mile three of my 10k.
In another city.
Miles away.
"Kel, what the heck happened?"
Double ear infections.
Damp weather.
Cooooold.
(Also, I finally started treating my double ear infections. Apparently I've only seen amoxicillin given to infants because when I went to pick up my prescription I was all, "Where's my pink liquid?!") This is a picture of the spider that attacked my face late Sunday night.
Do you see it on my kitchen window sill? Imagine that it is 11:00 p.m. and you are shutting the house down for the night. All the lights are off except for the light over the stove which is illuminating this spider that is brazenly parked in your kitchen. Your hubby, who is formally charged with killing things like this, is already in bed, so the task falls to you, oh Brave One, to save your family from this arachnid. You reach for a paper that is sitting on the "needs to go to the recycle bin" pile and use it to whack the creature with all your might. The creature ricochets off the paper and hits you in the face and you scream like a little girl but not too loud because all the kids are asleep and Dear God, don't let anyone wake up.
Upon closer inspection, you see that the spider is really this:
I think it's pretty rude, Random Screw Being Kept on the Window Sill By My Husband Just in Case We Need it for Something Someday, to pretend to be a spider. Also, because I am a responsible adult, I keep band aids in my purse for when I scrape my hand on a chair at Bible study. Because I am a mom, that is why it is a Dora band aid. Also, the screw is balancing on my hand in the weirdest position possible because Hosanna was my art director for this shot and this is how she posed me (so we could include the band aid.)(You try to fight an eight year old with artistic vision.)
And finally, to end on a sweet note:
Vegan Strawberry Cobbler, yo.
On Friday night our friends Asako and Derek dropped by to give me ice cream sandwiches, a pineapple, and two pounds of strawberries because they knew I've been sick. How awesome is that?! It made me feel soooo loved, and it was all delicious. (I love me some pineapple.) Everyone in my house was super excited to put the strawberries to use in some cobbler. (Because of Hosanna's allergies she can't have fresh strawberries but she can have them cooked. She is also allergic to milk and eggs so everything we bake is vegan.) I hope you appreciate this picture, because at this point all that's left of that cobbler is the sweet memory.
There ya go. I think my Wordless Wednesday totally lived up to it's name. Now I'm off to read some blogs. Have a wonderful day!
If you ever visit Disney World, do yourself a favor and travel to Fort Wilderness. Most people visit the resort for the Chip ’N Dale’s Campfire Sing-a-long, or to experience the Hoop-Dee-Doo Musical Revue, but I'm here to tell you to make your way to the Meadow Swimmin' Pool.
Scene of the crime. I may or may not have exercised my mommy bladder here. But I assure that if that did happen, it was totally an accident.
Once there, do not get in the waterbecause I peed on the water slide. Instead, find the women's restroom by the snack shop (totally stop first and eat if you feel like having a Mickey Mouse shaped rice krispies treat)(refuse to share it with your children because *they* have their own snacks and *you* are on vacation). Also? Make sure you are wearing your bathing suit.
This is of vital importance.
Wearing your bathing suit, with a tummy full of rice krispies treat, step inside the women's restroom, veer to the left, and check yo'self in the mirror.
This will probably be the most defining moment of your life.
Because.
This is the moment that will chart your course in life. This is the moment you will question exactly how deep your convictions run. This is the moment you will count every cost, weighing the importance of your identity and good name against the prospect of getting caught stealing the most flattering mirror in the history of the entire planet Earthand probably the rest of the solar system as well.
You will decide not to steal this mirror, but go ahead and spend fifteen five minutes checking yourself out from every angle. Check your butt. Do it. It looks fly. Arms? Sha-zam. Mama Gut? No kiddos up in herebecause you are wearing a "skirted" tankini. (Like a momboss.) Your thighs are soooooo cute. Adorable, even. YOU are adorable. And thin. Almost tiny. Pixie-like. I'm pretty sure you could be Tinkerbell's body double.
You might start to think something like, "Dude. This is amazing. I know I don't really look like this but there has to be some scientific reason this mirror works this way. Something to do with light and reflection and refraction (you are vaguely remembering 7th grade science and also a recent trip to a hand-on museum with the kiddos so some of the vocabulary is still fresh in your mind). I wonder how hard this would be to duplicate synthetically? I mean, this is the 21st century.
(Maybe you will take a second to figuratively google 'What century is it in 2013?' because you are in the restroom at Disney and have no literal access to google but can't quite remember if it's the 20th or the 21st.)
Isn't there an app that could make me look like this to other people all the time? Or an eye implant? Or I wonder if we could determine the angle of the light and figure out how to move the sun ... no, that would be impossible. But maybe we could build a dome and position a new fake sun so that it shows us in the skinniest position possible and then we could all move inside the dome and look thin forever. It would be just like Biodome! Pauly Shore ... Stephen Baldwin ... Dude, Buuuuuudy."
At this point it may occur to you that living inside a man-made biodome in order to look a tad smaller is probably a lot harder than, say, watching what you eat and exercising. So you resign yourself to a life of better food choices maybe not on the remainder of your Disney trip and daily working up a sweat, knowing at the very least this mirror exists. There is a tiny spot of heaven on earth, and it's in central Florida. By the time you finish up your vacation with one last trip to visit the mirror, you will be convinced of one thing:
Disney *is* the most magical place in the world.
Pretend I have fairy wings. Just like Tink, amIright?
This is totally what I'm doing tonight. Except replace all
these hip people with my kiddos and my in-laws. And then
swap the balloons and streamers and party atmosphere with
the interior of our local Chinese restaurant. But otherwise
pretty much the exact same thing.
How did it get to be New Year's Eve already? WTHeck, Time? Slow down you animal; there are children aboard.
I loved this year. 2012 did me good, y'all. (That sentence was a grammatical mess, and, to be honest, made me wonder if people would deduce I was trying to hint at innuendo but failed miserably because I'm not really a Master of the Sexy. Which is why it was up to Justin Timberlake to bring sexy back and not me, which is good because apparently he succeeded and sexy is totally back.
2012 was a kinda a big year. If I had to sum it up in one phrase it would be "The year that Kelly turned into a Bagel BELT and Iced Capp because: you are what you eat." (Not having Tim Horton's sponsor my blog is one of my major fails in life.) I may or may not have received four TH gift cards for Christmas.
Um, yeah that's my husband. *Swoon*
Sadly, this is the year that Joe Stillwell left Needtobreathe. I am still very, very blue about this. If I was a teenybopper, it's Joe's poster that would be on my wall. Because I maybe have a thing for musicians and he is, after all, a drummer. But since I'm a grown woman and my husband won't let me I don't have any rock star's picture over our bed. (But I'm just sayin' if I did it would be Joe, which is why I'm so sad about his departure.)
Rock of Ages ... don't hate.
This is what I would be like as a rock star.
Except I'd wear a shirt because I'm a lady.
I did get into some new music this year. I fully jumped on the Mumford & Sons bandwagon. I love me some rock and roll banjo. I also discovered Fun and a bunch of other stuff I never would've given a chance if it weren't for needing a good running playlist. Neon Trees, Foster the People, 30 Seconds to Mars, and Bon freaking Jovi topped some of my playlists. In my most awesome moment ever I confessed I really wanted the Rock of Ages soundtrack for Christmas. In an even more awesome moment that trumped my confession I actually received the CD because my mom loves me.
Her Majesty.
I also had fun on the Internets. My favorites this year included Honest Toddler - on Twitter and his blog, Ghetto Hikes, and of course The Bloggess. (Jenny Lawson is my Stephenie Meyer. You know, in the sense that she's an average woman who makes a ton of money writing hilarious nonsense.) I've also been extremely blessed to enter the blogosphere and "meet" some fantastic people. I'm thinking of Katie at Nested and Stephanie at That Loud Redhead.
To finish my 2012 review, here are my Top Five Gamechangers of 2012. These are the things I never saw coming that changed my life. All of them. In one year. It's been a ride.
1. Sarah - Can you believe that I only met Sarah in February? We met at a triathlete swimming class offered at my gym. Sarah was an actual triathlete while I was a wannabe who didn't know if I could do it. For some reason she still wanted to swim with me after the class ended and she wasn't forced to because she paid to be there. Our swim times grew to include bike times, practice triathlon times, and finally just hang out and have fun without killing our bodies times. Our Christmas gift exchange was rad as she spoiled my whole family rotten; she got me because I wanted it so badly Ezra this:
If you listen closely, it's totally a Kris Kross ripoff which I love. Now I get to hear Tigger rap, "wiggity-wiggity-wiggity-wiggle!" all day long. Pooh is so hood. 100 Acre Woods, y'all! (Yeah, I totally just threw up the midwest gang sign.) I got her some footie pajamas. And? They have shark feet.
Sarah's are aqua, and can you ever go wrong with shark feet? Answer: NO.
2. Pinterest - Laugh all you want but Pinterest has changed my life mainly because it reminds me that I will never have my act together enough to make miniature sushi shaped like a penguin and that's more than okay. Pinterest is teaching me how to dress, one accessorized outfit at a time. It is teaching me how to combine desserts into hybrid dessert recipes that would make Keegan-Michael Key freak the heck out because they are that good. (Why stop with brownies? Why don't we make brownies with a pretzel crust and fill them with oreo cookies? They also probably need to be topped with cookie dough.) It is where I first discovered that some children, whose parents love them, have rock walls in their bedrooms. Mine have to settle for climbing the fireplace. They are so deprived.
3. Sublurban Mama - I thought about doing this blog for a while. I started it in June and the response has been overwhelming. I'm so thankful for each and every one of you who read it. (And comment. I'm a nerd about loving people that comment.)(And all of you that are Sublurbanites and follow me on Google Friend Connect - I might yell "SOMEONE ELSE IS FOLLOWING ME!" to Brian whenever it happens. It's totally like on It's a Wonderful Life when Zuzu Bailey says, "Teacher says, "Everytime a bell rings, an angel gets his wings." But you following me is the bell, and me screaming in excitement and maybe on accident peeing a little is like an angel getting wings. Or something.)(We won't even talk about what happens when another blog links to me.)(Have I mentioned that I can still do the Roger Rabbit and it might be part of my happy dance when those of you that love me refer me to others who then in turn follow me on Google Friend Connect or Facebook?)
So this blog was a bit of a game changer for me.
This is just me. Being a triathlete. No biggie.
4. Triathlon - Did I mention I did a triathlon this year? Oh, I did? I forgot how many posts I wrote about it but here is the recap. Triathlon is a monster of a sport. Can you imagine getting race ready for three different sports? The equipment needs themselves are staggering. I was pushed out of my comfort zone every day (for four months!) as I prepared for the big day. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.
5. Disney World - I feel a titsch silly with this one, but I finally get what the Disney hype is all about and I will totally be going back at some point. What made this trip so special was that it was thrown together pretty last minute by the in-laws, who are so good to us. It was to be our last big family time together before Brian's parents move from 3 miles away in our little Michigan town to Malawi for a year. Yep. Africa's Malawi. It's gonna be rough. Rough for me because I love them and will miss them. Rough for them because Malawi doesn't have a Tim Horton's. I don't know who will have it worse.
Happy New Year everyone! Stay safe tonight. I'll see you next year! (I had to do it. It's a tradition, right?)
I'm not gonna lie. I weighed in at 156 today. That is a turr-ble number, which causes a turr-ble feeling, because my goal is 148 by Christmas and that ain't gonna happen unless I get the stomach flu. (Also, I totally don't want the stomach flu, Jesus. Please and thank you.)(And Santa, if you are thinking of bringing it to my house, well, our chimney has wasps. Go ahead and try.)
Honestly, I'm happy I've maintained my three pound Disney World loss, because Christmas time food opportunities are no joke. It's not even that we have that much crap around our house (we don't; I caught Brian eating marshmallows the other day because we have nothing good lying around, poor husband of a Wife who Needs to be Careful All the Time), it's simply that we have so many extra "food" events that I have not been handling responsibly. I'm not bingeing, but I am not restraining myself, either.* But I am maintaining in the month of December, and I'm going to focus on that.
*Wednesday was one of the most delicious days of my life. I took the kiddos to the mall during the day. (It's sad to me when Santa needs a sponsor, but apparently the Ice Age movie franchise is paying him well enough to include it's movie themed interactive wait in line and continually falling rice paper snow before you even see Santa. Which guarantees my kiddos will want to see Ice Age ASAP. Jokes on you, Ice Age, I got it at the library for free. Snap. However, they are not paying him so much that he thinks it's wrong to forbid you to take your own picture but charge you a price-gouging $21 for a 4x6 print. Whatever, Santa. Thanks for the Ice Age notebook give-away.) We ate Sbarro for lunch (admittedly, horrible food) but I had some of the white pizza with broccoli and red pepper and it was really good. Or I was really hungry. Probably both.
That night Brian and I went on a real date with Other Adults. These Other Adults have grown children, which made it so we didn't even talk about potty-training once. We ate at an Italian restaurant that Jerry and Nancy picked out, and since they are Really Italian I figured it would be good. Brace yourselves; I had calamari. (Seriously I did, Mom.) I never, ever eat seafood. Like, ever. I've been trying to challenge myself and nothing says "outside my comfort zone" quite like tentacles. I also had Linguine Carbonara and it was (in your best sing-song falsetto) *ah-may-zing*. My mouth is watering in memory. Because I totally finished it for breakfast lunch.
In other news, my calf is still healing. I've been swimming and doing the elliptical, but each time my calf reacts the next day. I'm going to try to ride the most boring contraption known to man stationary bike at my next workout to see how that goes. I've been doing a lot of lifting and also the Plank Challenge. Today's time:
Just in case you missed it, that's TWO MINUTES AND FORTY-ONE SECONDS in plank position.
I found this video on the internets and it makes me cry every. single. time. y'all. Watch it. This man ... I dare you to tell me you can't after you've seen this.
(And my personal addendum: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. - Philippians 4:13.)
I hate when this happens. Sometimes you really need a pickle.
There are times when it is polite to treat people like they are invisible. I've discovered, with some concern, that recently more people are ignorant of what used to be the unspoken rules of invisibility. Which is leaving me no choice but to review a few here on my blog because I care about the future of a society in which I am raising my children. I can't imagine leaving them to inherit a world full of people that aren't practicing the rules that provide an opportunity to be open-minded and compassionate. Otherwise, what kind of world are we leaving them?
Rule #1: People are invisible while they are in their own cars.
When one is in their own car, minding their own business, and makes the responsible decision to keep their hands on the steering wheel at ten and two because they are being trailed by a cop and are slightly tense because they might be 1. missing a taillight and 2. have a speedometer that frequently spontaneously quits, it might occur belatedly that they've rendered themselves unable to accurately communicate through dance how they feel about the music on the radio. This is when the more creative members of society (or those with a Can-Do Spirit) explore other means of expression. Including, but not limited to, conducting the music with one's nose*.
(*Before you hate on this and shrug this off as a non-option, consider that the nose sticks out of the body much in the same fashion as an arm or leg. It's almost/kinda like another appendage. Plus it can wiggle, scrunch up, hold up your glasses, and even houses one of the five senses as a conduit for smell. In fact, the nose is probably way more useful than your right elbow which you use all the time when you dance and it's time to rock out a lasso. Not so much a stretch now, is it?)(Also supremely underused? Eyebrows. And since I'm not one to discriminate I employ both of mine as often as possible.)(When I'm alone.)(I try not to be too much of a spazz in front of others.)
Actually not as hard as you would believe. Because windows are already clear.
But just because people understand the availability of the nose for rocking out doesn't mean they will accept it when they see it happening. However, those with any sense of propriety will observe the situation, make sure that the driver is not having a seizure but just dancing with their nose, and turn away and giggle at the spectacle. Because the unspoken societal rules clearly indicate that while one is in their car they are in a bubble of private personal space and are therefore clearly invisible. And for no reason is it copacetic to blatantly stare and silently judge. (It is okay to take a picture if you are not driving and can do it in a subtle nature.)
Rule #2: People are invisible if it is dark-ish.
Like, maybe you're spending a week at Disney World. And maybe you've been walking around all day and you're super tired and even the trip back to your cabin was sidelined by a stop for dinner at another resort meaning that you still have an additional boat ride back to the bus stop that will take you back to your cabin. (First World Problem alert!) And maybe the Disney meal plan allows a dessert with your dinner and so you order an awesome looking granola cookie bar thing to take with you because you are sufficiently full now but will totally be ready to indulge later.
However.
On the boat ride home you make the mistake of taking one little bite and discover that the granola cookie bar thing is the most delicious thing you've ever eaten in your entire life. And so you keep taking minuscule bites for the duration of the ride because you're holding a wiggly two year old and trying to eat without getting crumbs in his hair because you don't want to bathe him that night trying to be a responsible eater. (But then you remember that you're pretty sure the chocolate in the bar is dark and the coconut is organic, and probably the whole thing was handmade on some kind of free-range farm by free trade workers*, so it's totally just like health food.)
The clippings are a breeze to clean up.
When the boat docks, the best husband in the world takes over the care of the two year old, leaving you with two free hands to dedicate to mowing this dessert. Since there is about a two hundred yard walk to the bus stop, mainly on barely lit paved pathway, and it is late at night and therefore very dark and less populated than in the light of day, you feel okay about eating with less decorum than usual.
(Have I mentioned how good this granola health food made by rescued baby seals and wrapped in biodegradable plastic wrap tastes?)
And maybe in your haste to finish it before you reach the bus stop, you may literally break off more than you can chew and some will fall from your lips (not chewed yet, chill out) and slide down into your bra (take a minute to thank the good Lord it won't be wasted). This is when you automatically reach down into your bra to dig out the cookie bit that fell from your lips into your bra. You might need to embark on a bit of a search as it is dark and the morsel landed among crevasses. Once you have procured the crumbling chunk, you, without any delay, eat it. At that exact moment of the boob to lip return you will look up and catch the eye of Disney Dad of Dastardly Deportment, the fellow that not only watches you remove food from your bra but sees you eat it as well and doesn't even have the decency to look away and pretend he didn't see it. He's either the rudest person at Disney World or it's like he doesn't even know the rules of invisibility.
This situation is clearly a time when you are invisible. Let people grope themselves for snack food in peace. Duh.
IS THAT A TIGER? It's like invisibility of a whole 'nother level. Welcome to the jungle, Kitten.
In conclusion, there are probably more than two rules of invisibility, but that's all I have time for today. So remember, next time you are witness to some "I can't believe I just saw them do that!" moment, ask yourself, "Are they actually invisible right now?" Let's keep America kind.
* the only proof you have of this is your own assumption.
The number one keyword search that brings people to my blog by a wide margin is "David Letterman". I owe the man a lot, people. I mean, first he set me up with a fairly lucrative correspondence position on his showwhich doesn't really exist, and now he is boosting the ratings of my personal blog that I do in my spare time for fun. What's next, Dave? Are you going to send me to Disney World because I'm pretty sure I could be an amazing Disney Princess*?
*I've given this some thought. And by that I mean it's occurring to me right this second that I would be an awesome Disney Princess. I could be "Kelly - the Disney Princess who Lost 100 Pounds After Having Four Kids" (we might need to spend some time thinking of a pithier alternative title - totally open for suggestions). I would be a Disney Princess aimed at the Mom demographic, which has to be an astronomically huge contributor to every Disney dollar spent. Genius. You're welcome, Disney-Pixar. You better hurry up and call me because I'm in high demand.
Today especially Dave is keeping me busy. In fact, for the next two days I have signed an imaginary agreement to stay off Facebook in order to preserve my opinions solely for The Late Show audience. I will be in frequent communication with Mr. Letterman to discuss my feelings on the four hundred billion updates/last ditch effort campaigning/telephone and poll solicitations that will be barraging me as the day progresses. That way I won't feel the need to reply to the political posts on Facebook by people I consider friends that are forgetting they know me and are tearing apart everything I am with public blanket statements that personally attack my character because of who I want as a president. (That? Was probably the longest sentence in Sublurban Mama history.)(Sorry, Dave; I've got to work on my sound bites.)
So, because this is my public platform and I'm the boss of it, here is one piece of election advice. Think carefully about the people in your life that you love, respect, and admire. Pick a few that believe the opposite of you in all things. If there is no one you love that believes differently than you, you need to seriously stop everything you are doing and go find a friend like this. Now, every time you are tempted to spew voice an opinion that is not at all about an issue but more a personal attack on an entire group of people, consider if you would say any of those things to the people you love. It shuts my mouth most of the time, and my friendships are the stronger for it.
Happy Fitness Friday! (Fitness Friday? The heck did that come from?) I know, it's like I'm the master of the bait and switch. Y'all were expecting another Foreign Language Friday, where I explain some of the terminology used in the Fitness World. Recent Foreign Language Fridays have defined burpees, plank position, mountain climbers, and a bunch of upper body strength and conditioning exercises. But today, fresh off a week long vacation at Disney World, I think instead Imma update you on my fitness. Or, lack thereof.
Remember my sour cream and cheddar epiphany? The one where I discovered I gained ten lovely pounds after I finished my triathlon training? I took some time before the great Disney pig out vacation to get my food intake under control and really planned out my workouts at the gym. I stopped just showing up and going through the motions and started working out to a systematic plan that pushed me a lot more. And, as expected, it paid off. I lost five of those pounds before the trip.
Turns out that this was a good thing, because in one week at Disney I gained six pounds. (Which? Technically is only one pound, right? Because let's pretend I didn't lose those five. To gain six more on top of that would put me up 16 from my triathlon weight. But really, I'm only up ONE teensy little pound from my weight three weeks ago ... which is actually up 11 from my triathlon weight. So, yeah, I don't really buy it either.)
How does one gain six pounds in a week spent mostly walking all.day.long? Well, first invest in the Disney meal plan. Then decided early on how you are going to handle temptations, check out menus to make the best choices, and finally, when you get there, abandon all prior planning and rationale because "DUDE - I'm on vacation." (Blame it on the ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cheesecake.)
Also, set completely reasonable vacation running goals, set your vacation alarm clock to start your day with a lovely Florida sunrise run, and discover that just because it is 40 degrees warmer than it is at home doesn't make it any less dark at 6:30 a.m. As much as my schooling in the D (that's Detroit for all you non-Michiganders) prepared me for being a tough girl while I run alone, it taught me to beware the Scary Raper Dude, not the Too Tame Wildlife that Disrespect My Spacial Boundaries that reside in the resort we visited. (Totally not saying I expected to get attacked by an alligator.)(Although I read they're not fast if you run in a zigzag.)(But that's probably something Floridians tell Mid-westerners so we'll look ridiculous when being chased by alligators.)(Which probably happens more than you think.)(Because Mid-westerners are impressed by that sort of thing.)(Wild alligators, not running in a zigzag.)(Although we do play Dizzy Bat, so, yeah.)
(*I may have just taken a 45 minute blogging break to watch Dizzy Bat videos on YouTube. Hardcore giggling ensued. I'm counting it as an ab workout tonight.*)
My point is that it was just too dark to run in the woods in the morning. And by the time we got home from the parks, it was too dark in the evening. So, a huge exercise fail on my part.
So what's next? Am I just going to chill out with my extra eleven pounds? Heck no. This is the plan:
1. Stay within my calorie budget and be accountable using my food journal. I've talked about this before but I follow a zigzag calorie plan (not because I'm a Mid-westerner who likes Dizzy Bat)(they're totally not related at all) which allows me an average of 1600 calories a day. I change up my daily calorie totals so that my body is kept guessing; my body is all like, "Dude, I was expecting her to eat 1600 calories yesterday but she only ate 1300, and today she pounded 1900. WHAT IS GOING ON?" But I know in my head that I have averaged 1600 calories a day, and if I do this I will keep myself not only from plateauing but also from going on a binge. Everybody wins. Especially my poor, confused body.
2. Make an exercise plan to make sure I get my training in with Eve for the Turkey Trot, but also commit to more strength training, because since my triathlon season is over my guns have taken some serious hits. I also noticed last night that Sarah is seriously kicking my tush in the pool. She is training for her full length IRONMAN and she put in 2700 yards this past Monday. I put in nothing for almost two weeks. I was happy to be done at 1300 yards. Delighted, even. And Sarah is so much faster. I need to add another swim day so I don't lose all my hard work. So here is my tentative workout schedule:
Monday: Boot Camp and Ab Lab (or swim if Brian gets home too late for me to make Boot Camp)
Tuesday: rest
Wednesday: Run with Eve; strength training
Thursday: Weight Workout and swim with Sarah
Friday: Run with Eve
Saturday: Ab Lab, swim? (I don't know about this yet. Our Saturdays are so busy right now.)
Sunday: Run with Eve; strength training
I totally want to dominate those eleven pounds before Christmas. I want to enjoy the season and all, but not so much that I begin to look like Santa Claus, youknowwhatI'msayin'?
In conclusion, Disney was delicious, but now it's time to return to reality. And I have to realize that the return to responsible eating will be just as rude as the return to 45 degree weather. What do you do for damage control? Let me know, I appreciate any help I can get.
"Kelly, dude, SERIOUSLY RECONSIDER
what it is you are about to do. I'm GARY
SINISE - I wouldn't lie to you."
I've always considered myself a strong person. I generally do what I feel is right and don't worry too much about what other people are thinking of my life decisions. (I save my insecurities and caving into peer-pressure for the important areas of life, like fashion and my knowledge of pop culture.) But something happened on vacation that took me by surprise. It happened so quickly; I had no ready defense. And I saw how easy it is to cave to peer-pressure.
This is my story.
Eve: Mama, you're like the best Mama. I'm so glad I'm at Disney World with you. I want to be paired with you because you go on all the good rides with me.
Eve: Mission: Space. It's where we pretend to be astronauts.
Kelly: Sounds good. I think Papa, Grandpa, and Hosanna are also riding.
We all make our way over to Mission: Space, and discover there are two versions of the ride; Green - the pansy version, and Orange - the HARDCORE THRILL SEEKER / TOTALLY NOT A WUSS version. Brian, Dad-in-law, and Hosanna are all card-carrying pansies, so Eve and I wave goodbye to them in superiority as we enter the Orange line.
This is when I saw the first warning:
This might be a good time to mention that I totally suffer from motion sickness. I can't even ride the teacups on the Mad Tea Party (not a political statement) because I will puke everywhere. But I took one look at Eve's face, all super excited to ride this ride, smiling at me with a hero-worship smile that communicated that she was so thankful to have such a partner in crime, me, a totally cool mom, that I decided, "It really can't be all that bad."
But a nagging thought sat in my brain, asking me to weigh exactly how much I wanted to do this for Eve vs. how potentially miserable I was going to be during this ride. I was doing pretty well keeping it at bay (using the popular techniques of denial and distraction) when the audio warnings began. They went something like this:
"You will not die on this ride, Sublurban Mama, but you will probably feel like you would welcome death if it came. Because this ride will make you cuh-razy sick.* You may choose to opt out of this version of the ride at this point."
*I may be paraphrasing slightly here. And it may be a paraphrase more of what I heard than what was actually said. All I know is that yeah, it was a dire warning.
I put on my brave face and charged on in the Orange line, because a Navy Seal would not back out on a mission, and I sure wasn't going to start on one as important as this one. A mission that carried with it the opportunity to be the sole person on this vacation with the ability to delight my child. Who's hardcore?! MAMA IS HARDCORE! Hoorah!
I wavered a bit at the second warning, because this one came straight from a prerecorded video of Gary Sinise. Since he was in both Apollo 13 and Mission to Mars, he obviously knows what he's talking about when he warns of the motion sickness that could result from intense G-forces like the ones we were about to be subject to. This warning also offered a time and place to step out of the Orange I'M SO TOUGH line and scurry over to the Green line to experience the pansyslightly less intense version of Mission:Space.
I looked over at my awesome kiddo who just happened to be rolling her eyes at the thought of opting out of the maximum thrill available. Dude. Now it was a matter not just of her personal disappointment if I stepped out of line, but of the essential obligation I had to maintain my status as The Currently Most Awesome Parent.
I was nervous as we entered our seats. I noted with increasing concern that even though we were secured in every possible manner, the thoughtful ride designers had still managed to build a barf bag holder within easy reach. With all the restraints already in use that could not have been a simple thing to implement in the design plan, which made it seem an even more vital addition to the ride.
The ride? It was agonizing.
I did take advantage of the bags offered. The first one had someone's freshly used gum inside (dude) and the second I gripped tightly in my hand as I chanted, "Don't throw up," for the duration of the ride.
Orange totally delivered on it's promise. It was a "highly turbulent motion simulator thrill ride that spins and creates G-forces and includes intense maneuvers that result in nausea and dizziness." At the end I wobbled out of my seat and wore my "if I concentrate hard enough I won't puke" face to the exit.
No one had any idea how I felt until I finally sharply declined a bite of the space ice cream Brian purchased for the kiddos. (*gag*)
Let it be known I maintained my "Coolest Mom in the Universe" status ... until I had to sit out Ellen's Energy Adventure because it was in a moving theater. Ezra, at two years old, handled it like a champ. Until the giant dinosaur roared and he flipped the heck out and when he joined me in the lobby I had to snuggle him on my tumultuous tummy. (Thankfully the giant cheeseburger I pounded after that restored my stomach to rights, and the rest of Epcot was sublime.)
So, in conclusion, even as a completely secure adult, you are still privy to caving under peer-pressure. (Although since it was pressure from my kid it was more like heir-pressure.)(Which is a hilarious homophone because it was the air-pressure of the G-forces that actually made me sick.)(Heir/Air?)(*giggle*)
I just love me some Epcot. It really is my favorite park in the Disney Compound. There is just so much to see and do while you are there. I could spend a whole week exploring the different areas.
On our second day in Epcot we kicked off our adventures by riding Spaceship Earth, the ride that is inside the iconic giant Epcot ball. This is a slow ride that brings to light the limited resources on the planet and how we can best work together to preserve them and still flourish ourselves in the process.
You ride on this ride in pairs, so I linked up with five year old Esther. We climbed in our little car and shut the door, then turned to enter the dark abyss in front of us.
Spaceship Earth begins with a steady incline as you travel to the top of the ball. Unlike most rides where they take your picture, on SE you actually have some warning (about five seconds) that a camera is about to capture your expression, so I immediately turned to Esther to prep her to throw up a gang sign and put on her "tough girl" face. Her face was spot on. Her hand ended up raised in some sort of thrusting position that made her vaguely resemble one of the Hitler youth. Which? Was better than what ended up happening to me.
In my haste to prepare Esther, I did not have time to fully commit to any gang sign myself. But the camera did capture me perfectly mid-pose with my "tough girl" face and my fingers contorted under my chin. And it just so happens that my fingers ended up contorting with only one sticking up. Yep. The middle one. Epcot captured me sitting next to my five year old and flipping off the camera. On Spaceship Earth. In Epcot. A Disney park.
I rule at parenting.
It gets better. The end of the ride is an interactive game where you design your own individualized future world. The use the cropped photos they took to show you living in this world. So Esther and I got to watch a thirty second clip of our very own Hitler Youth and her "Eff You" Mama riding bikes and growing their own food because we are compassionate about the world.
When you exit the ride everyone's pictures are on a giant screen in the middle of the room. Each picture zooms to the part of the world you are from and then fades away. This is how I ended up explaining to my mother-in-law why I flipping off the camera while next to me Esther saluted Hitler. Thankfully (or sadly) she knows me, so this all made perfect sense to her.
So, the moral of the story is: You know how on airplanes, when the oxygen masks fall you are always supposed to secure your own before you help a child? This is just like that. Secure your own gang sign before you help a child secure hers. The rest of humanity will thank you.
