Stress Eating, Meningitis, and Taking It Back to 1990

Monday's post was meant to be the beginning of a weekend update, but I tend to forget that I'm a tad verbose and needed to cut it off at my Friday night wardrobe descriptions. So instead of offering the minutiae of the rest of my weekend, I've changed gears and now want to offer a completely helpful post about how I handle stress.

This weekend was a tad bit stressful. I fully handled it with an ample supply of tortilla chips and salsa at a Mexican restaurant while on a rare day date with Brian. I followed that Food That Didn't Count with three hard shell tacos and two diet Cokes. I totally felt better for the hour I was there.

Later that evening, when Chris and Stacy came over with their kids even though I had mistakenly planned that it was our turn to go out, (and consequently was completely unprepared for four extra kids after being out all day long) I soothed with a hot dog, dill pickle chips, and some diet Cherry Pepsi. Also, cookies.

At that point, I was all in for March Nosh Fest.

In the spirit of "Go Big or Go Home", I continued my streak on Sunday with iced coffee (of course I did), a microwaveable breakfast burrito, a Hot Pocket with a pretzel crust and filled with cheese and bacon tomato, and ice cream.

It was a lovely and delicious two days. Then I remembered my Monday night weigh in with Kemper.

Call me a lot of things, but I'm not a liar. I do however, joke about hard things in order to alleviate tension.

*minor tangent*

(*Case in point* One of the hardest things this weekend was that my sister was hospitalized for meningitis. The first three days of her admission were spent waiting for the labs to get back with us about what kind she had. I visited Saturday afternoon and did the following things:

Hey girl, this mask you need to wear to avoid
sickness could never mask your beauty.

1. I immediately renamed her day nurse. This was because when I showed up I was greeted by the signage covering her door filled with horrifying doomsday proclamations about her condition and the precautions I had to take in order to enter. I went in search of her nurse so I could get the run down on contagious diseases and the mask I needed to don. I was waiting at the nurses station when her day nurse walked up. At first I thought I was being punked because it was like JACKSON FREAKING AVERY was talking to me about medical type things and surely someone was messing with me by trying to convince me I was living in Grey's Anatomy.

I'm just sayin' the boy was attractive.

When I finally saw Cassie, I commented, "Dude, he's not too bad looking." She replied, "Oh, Dan?" I answered, "Dan? You mean D@mn, as in 'D@mn that boy is fine," which is probably my favorite joke of the whole weekend. We even varied it, calling him Lieutenant D@mn before dissolving in fits of giggles like twelve year old girls.

2. After several nurses commented on what an easy patient my sister is, I decided they were not complimenting her. Clearly, these statements were veiled attempts to communicate that she needed to up her game. So we put together a game plan to be the most fun patient ever that probably involved a lot of jokes about poop. It was hysterical and inappropriate and exactly what we needed to get her through to her eventual diagnosis of Aseptic Meningitis which was the kind we all wanted. Phew.

*end tangent*

So, back to dealing with stress by joking. I tend to get away with some things because I joke about them. On Monday night when I found Kemper to weigh me in, I didn't lie at all. I said my planned greeting of, "Dude, I totally ate this weekend like it was the only way to get into Heaven." I expected Kemper would laugh and give me a psuedo-serious lecture about good decisions and having a plan for dealing with stress, but instead he looked crestfallen and said, "What happened?" before drilling me about everything I ate and how I exercised. He actually groaned when I mentioned my Mexican Feast. I started haltingly editing my verbal food diary as he looked more and more upset. I felt like I'd let down The Master.

The damage wasn't as bad as I expected. I gained a half a pound but also 1.6% body fat. Kemper spent close to a half hour talking with me about my goals (it totally felt like I was back in high school visiting with the school counselor) (except I'm a 34 year old GROWN UP and Kemper is 22 precious years old*) before offering to train me (FOR FREE) on Tuesday because he really felt like I needed to "lift heavy". (And I, of course, am just as skeptical about "lifting heavy" as I am about this high protein/high fat diet that works amazingly well when I follow it.)

(* this is how I know Kemper is 22. When I was being scanned for weight and body fat percentage I made a joke about feeling like I was in Total Recall, and Kemper looked a little blank. I was all, "Tell me you've seen Total Recall", and he was all, "I saw a few scenes of the remake," and I was all, "Dude, that will not do," because the original Total Recall was so terrible that it is amazing. I was all, "How old are you?" (did you totally just think of Twilight and read that in Bella's voice because if not you're doing it wrong) and he said, "22," and I died a little inside when I did the math and realized I could have babysat him. He was nine when I got married. Because I was then fully off my game I voiced those thoughts out loud before stammering, "I mean, I don't mean I could baby sit you now... I meant back then, you know, when you were a kid ..." before trailing off in stellar fashion. Kemper smirked, so I punched him on his baby fine skin. (Sike.)(That never happened.)(The punching thing, I mean.)

I'll write next on my experiences "lifting heavy" in a post I've titled "I thought I was in labor but I was just lifting heavy." Y'all come back now, 'ya hear?

Reasons I haven't blogged in a week

Ohmylanta, I can't remember the last time I took an unscheduled week off from blogging. (Please tell me you noticed.)(Or at least lie to make me feel better.) Here are the official Reasons I Haven't Blogged in a Week.

1. This dude ...

"Yeah, I'm two and a half and that's a nuk.  Try to take it away and I'll cut you."

... got pinkeye.  This manifested first as swollen eyes that I diagnosed as allergies and treated with Benadryl. Then sweet baby boy woke up crying during the last ten minutes of Safe Haven starring Josh Duhamel, which dictated I pause the movie to check on the kid, discover the telltale eye goo, and dose him with the leftover pinkeye medicine we keep on hand because I am a good mother who would totally notice right away if our pinkeye medicine expired in January, and not after I'd already administered two doses.  (Good thing I also have no shame when it comes to committing the cardinal sin of parenting as is involved with pediatric medicine.)(Otherwise I would have felt terrible asking our doctor to have a "quick look at Ezra" during Eve's ten year old check up appointment.)(What I really meant was "can you please just prescribe some more medicine for this awesome case of pinkeye we have going on?" because by the fourth kid you do not need a degree in medicine to know conjunctivitis.)

Normally pinkeye would not affect this blog in the slightest except that Friday morning is prime "finish writing so I can post" time, but Ezra was committed to using my time otherwise. Ezra's plans included Mama "sleeping" in his bed while he spent the next hour and a half kicking her in the arm pits.

Mama: Dude.  That's enough. Go to sleep.
Ezra: *giggle* No, no, Mama.

It was an awesome night that did not include much sleep. I chose to sleep in rather than blather away incoherently here.  You're welcome.

2. This girl ...

Me and Cassie.  She has handcuffs and a gun.  Plus she was totally recognized for her squad car driving skillz.

... is now fully 5-0.  My baby sister graduated from the Police Academy!  So what I'm saying is that you shouldn't mess with me.  Because I know people that could mess your shizz up with parking tickets.

Cassie's graduation ceremony was Friday night, and my mom hosted a party for her on Saturday. My brother Steve came in from Chicago for the weekend and he brought his lady Natalia (who is awesome and brought all the kiddos presents from her recent work travels to India and Dubai).  I ate waaaaay too much pizza and one and a half pieces of cake. Plus Cassie's mom-in-law made this amazing salad that I convinced myself was healthy because it was loaded with veggies (and maybe a tiny bit of dressing)(you know, where "tiny" means "the peas are floating in it").

Me, Brian, Steve, Natalia, Cassie and her husband Andy

3. Mother's Day ...

I'm a mom.  That's why I am grocery shopping at 6:00 a.m. on Mother's Day.

... totally happened.  I did not sleep in or get breakfast in bed which is tradition at our house (although I totally bought myself Tim Horton's so don't worry, the tummy was taken care of) but I did get some sweet cards with a lot of homemade coupons (including one for a bike tune-up = score!) so I made out okay.  The best part of Mother's Day was that after church we got in the car and drove to OHIO.  (Awww yeah.)  Why Ohio?  Because that's the home of Kalahari Water Park.

This ride is called the Cheetah Race.  You ride this whole thing face first on your stomach while laying on a mat.  It has a lot of enclosed tubes that start five stories up and circle around on the way down before that drop at the end.  I went on this once.  It involved me getting stuck at the top and the teenage lifeguard in charge of telling us when to go shouting, "STAY ON YOUR BELLY" while everyone in line watched me try to propel myself down the chute by flopping around on the mat.  It made me feel vaguely like I was in a porno and I never rode it again.  (P.S. I didn't know how to spell "vaguely" and it autocorrected to "vaginally" which was at least in the ballpark with the other words in that sentence.)(Well done, Autocorrect.) 

We spent two days frolicking in the water.  Ezra and Esther loved the baby pool and the wave pool and Eve and Hosanna loved the many slides.  I loved the Lazy River because I'm a thrill seeker like that. I will write more about Kalahari later because I have seen too many awesome things to sum up in a little blurb right now.  (Just try to imagine the tattoos I've been exposed to this week.)

Sorry I've been MIA, but it's back to normal life from here on out. I'll see you Friday!

Chi-Town, Mangina, and the JCSS Cover Band - Part Two

We left off with my brother ruthlessly denying me my one true dream by rejecting my classically trained, college degree endorsed* Mary Magdalene skillz for his Jesus Christ Super Star cover band which doesn't even exist.  It's like he had all the power in the world to grant me a tiny slice of happiness but was totally a glutton and hogged all the happiness for himself.

*I'm pretty sure that my Bachelor's degree in music education covers any formal training I may have needed to be in a JCSS cover band.  If not, I'm sure I can find some on-line university to endorse it for the right price. (*exaggerated wink*)

Natalia, Steve's girlfriend of many moons whom I've never met, got off work and met us at the restaurant.  I'm sure it wasn't intimidating at all to meet her boyfriend's entire family in one fell swoop.  (And while many might consider Cassie the threatening one, what with her gun and career in law enforcement, I find that I'm the one to look out for because sometime's I pee when I laugh too hard I'm the oldest sibling and might be out to defend my self-proclaimed status as the most important member of our family.

But alas, Natalia is really sweet, super pretty (not to sound too much like we are checking out horses, but her teeth are amazing), and she is 100 percent Polish and articulates her words much cooler than the average Midwesterner.  I could listen to her talk for a while, which says a lot if you know me because I'm someone who really likes the sound of my own voice, youknowwhatI'msayin'?

When Steve asked what we wanted to do, my only criteria was that I wanted to ride something.  Cassie threw out the idea of going to the Navy Pier, but Steve emphatically informed us that "the Navy Pier sucks."  End of discussion.  We settled on taking the train (YES!) downtown to see the Bean.  Or, as it is formally known, "Cloud Gate."

Waiting for the train, A.K.A. the First Form of Public Transportation I've ever taken. (Unless you count the buses at Disney World.  Which I don't.) I was strangely disappointed because I kept looking around to see crazy people and/or poop, both things I've heard can be experienced on public transportation, but none of which I encountered.  

Cloud Gate, A.K.A. The Bean.

It was a little rainy.  We passed a wedding, peeked into the Pavilion in Millennium Park, and walked down the Magnificent Mile without stopping in any stores because Steve believes in passive aggressive forms of torture.  I did get to see his office building.  (He does something entirely brilliant and nerdy that I don't understand involving genomics.  This involves DNA and a lot of other scientific words that sound like "blah, blah, blah" to the untrained ear.  Every so often I encroach upon the internets to find me a science-y joke to email to Steve because he loves spam so that we can share a moment that involves his brains and career.)(I usually don't understand the joke at all.)

One Chicago gem I would be remiss not to share?

"Hey Kel, is that the building from the movie Adventures in Babysitting?"  "Um, yes, it is.  And no, apparently they don't just let people up to the top to try and reenact the scene where Sara slides down the slanted glass windows.  But you can sing 'Babysitting Blues' with gusto out on the street."

When the sun started to set we flagged down two cabs to take back to Steve's house.  Cassie, Doug, and I went in one.  My mom, stepdad, Steve, and Natalia went in the other.  The cab ride was thoroughly uneventful until this:

Super Quiet Roommate Doug said out of the blue, "Does that vanity plate say MANGINA?"
(A brief pause while Cassie and I checked it out.  Then an internal dilemma ensued.  Because it totally didn't say Mangina.  Was the proper response then to correct this person you barely know who has thrown out a word like "mangina", or do you go along with it and agree that it's crazy that someone would pay to have "mangina" on their license plate, or do you bite your lip so freaking hard so you don't explode with the giggles that are going to eventually leak out in spontaneous bursts that you will try to cover with coughing and/or accidental duck noises because you can't believe "mangina" just showed up unexpectedly?

The answer is: Doug realized it didn't say "Mangina" but instead said "Mangia". (Because probably the driver is Italian and likes to eat.)(I totally figured that out using my noodle.)(Noodle? Italian food?*giggle*)  He said, "Oh, it's missing an 'n'," and went on with normal life because he is a mature grown up, but I spent the next few minutes reminding myself that I am also a mature grown up and repeating, "Don't laugh out loud," in my head, but it totally didn't matter, this was just like when someone farts in Ab Lab.  It is hilarious.

Back at Steve's house we took a preventative pee break, shared heartfelt goodbyes, and headed back to Michigan.  Our Super 8 motel was about two hours away.  Most of this travel time may have been spent in quiet reflection of the day interspersed with gut busting laughter whenever Cassie or I said out of the blue, "Mangina."

And the Super 8?  Totally had a continental breakfast.  With waffles.  So yeah, win.  Plus it was on the second floor so it totally had a view:

Behind those trees?  The highway.  You can't pay for convenience like that.  (Actually you can.)

Thank you, my dear family and the great city of Chicago, for a wonderful trip.

Chi-Town, Mangina, and the JCSS Cover Band - Part One

I have a brother.

Here we are at Warrior Dash 2011 being sexy.

His name is Steve.  (Although, as children we used to refer to him as "Little Laura.")(Because our mom hoped thought it was another girl and that's the name she picked out.)  Steve is the younger of my two siblings.  He's the baby of the family and got away with murder growing up.  (Spoken like a true first child who had a rule for everything and totally isn't bitter about the way her parents chilled out for children #2 and #3.)(Cassie and Steve, you can totally thank me later.)(Preferably with some kind of extravagant gift.)(Wrapped in actual wrapping paper, Stephen.)

Steve moved to Chicago a few years ago and I had yet to make a trip out there to see him.  So when my mom called me last week and asked if I'd like to take a last minute all expenses paid trip to see him without my kiddos in tow I was all, "Twist my arm why don't you."

We left my house on Saturday around 9:00 a.m. Michigan time.  We drove to Chicago in record time if you subtract all the pee breaks that were necessary due to someone's incontinence issues.  We arrived in Chicago at the same time as some torrential rain.  And traffic.  A lot of traffic.  The rain and traffic coalesced to form the most amazing version of bladder torture.  Both Cas and I were all, "we're totally not going to need another pee break before Steve's house,"  and then the traffic and rain were all, "Ha-ha, don't count your chickens just yet, dude."  (I don't even know if that expression works here, but I was thinking of my bladder, which made me think of my ovaries (obviously), which made me think of eggs, which made me think of chickens, so, there you go.)

The closer we got to Steve's, the tighter we held our legs together, and the more tense we became. (Because Cassie is awesome she sent Steve a text hinting that the bathroom should probably be available the nanosecond we arrived at his house.)(Steve is also awesome and texted back that he was thinking about pooping and hadn't yet decided, so we'd have to wait and see if there would be a bathroom ready.)(Because I am awesome I told Cassie she could go first when we got there.)(But only because the unspoken rules of Potty Dibs clearly indicate that the person to first mention the need to pee officially has primary bathroom rights.)(And that just happened to be Cassie.)(This time.)(I won't be so quiet next time.)

We arrived at Steve's house around 12:30 Chicago time.  It's much bigger than I thought it would be, and also (sadly) much better decorated than my own home.   I mean, the man has a Tinkerbell shower curtain.  Steve lives with two roommates named Doug and Billy.  Doug and Billy have known each other forever, mainly because they are twins.  They are also Toledo boys, and I've been there a few times, so right away we were able to discuss the awesomeness of the Toledo Zoo.  (In hindsight, I can't believe I didn't bring up The Toledo Mudhens, because I occasionally attend their minor league baseball games, and one time I saw Crystal Bowersox there.  That's kind of an impressive name to drop, so I can't believe I missed that opportunity.)

We walked to a restaurant called the Boiler Room where you can get a piece of pizza, PBR, and a shot of Jameson for $7.50.  This is one of Steve's favorite breakfasts.  I had the "Purist" - pizza with fresh mozzarella, basil, and a balsamic reduction.  It was delicious.  I also had a Diet Coke, and totally stayed strong while my alki brother tried to get me drunk.  (Not really.)(But he did offer me his extra shot.)(Because he was raised to share his alcohol. Because we are Irish.)

Cassie and I at the Boiler Room.

I'm going to end Part One here, but not before I tell you about my newest musical venture.  It turns out that Steve has found kindred spirits in his roommates when he discovered they each harbor an intense appreciation for the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar.  Over lunch, Steve and Doug were discussing the possible formation of a JCSS Cover band, and I figured this was totally my moment. I, too, can belt out some JCSS at a moment's notice (or even without any warning) so I figured I was totally in to be Mary Magdalene.  I mean, my brother is going to be Judas.  And Doug was going to play Jesus, and I was sitting right next to him, so just by the rules of proximity, I was the obvious choice to cast in the only female singing role.  But when I volunteered my services, Steve was all, "Yeah ... we'll see."

Dude.

This may have been the second time in my life I've been rejected from a band that doesn't even exist. This is probably how the Beatles felt when Decca Records turned them down.

Stay tuned for Chi-Town, Mangina, and the JCSS Cover Band - Part Two.  There will be redemption. And a Super 8 Motel.

"I just want to ride something." - Things You Shouldn't Say Around Your Little Brother

I took a little road trip this weekend.  And by "little" I mean it was a 27 hour round trip.  Ten of those hours were spent traveling.  Of those ten traveling hours, about one hour was spent taking pee breaks.  But?  Totally worth it.

I will elaborate on this trip later, because today I am worn out.  And super behind on my daily life responsibilities.  So I am a slacker blogger today.  But don't hate, I'm going to present you with this loveliness:

Yep.  It's me and my sister Cassie.  Just hanging out in Chicago, riding a metal bull.

A whole 'nother angle. (Plus this one looks like Cassie is photo bombing me.)(Which is rad.)

When my little brother (whom we were visiting) asked what I would like to do on my trip into the city, I answered, "I want to ride something."  I totally meant some form of public transportation, because I'm from the suburbs and go everywhere in my minivan.

While I would've been completely satisfied with the train, this pretty much made the trip.  Thank you Chicago.