Make Lemonade

Yesterday I rambled about all the reasons why this summer has been a bit rough and challenging, so today it's only fair to present the other side of the argument.  All problems aside, we did have a fun summer overall.

Before I actually start making lemonade, I do need to add two additional lemons to the pile.  The first is an update: they let his truck pass inspection yesterday, but he has to take it back on Thursday to get the brakes done.  It turns out I misunderstood him on the phone.  It's not just the front brakes, he needs rear ones, too.  And the second lemon I simply forgot to mention: my laptop sounds like a jet engine and will probably blow up before I finish this post.  Given our current situation, I may be facing a few months without a computer and quite honestly I'll go crazy. 

Now, let's start juicing these little suckers before I lose my mojo.  Or my laptop bursts into flames.

We managed to make it to Knobel's twice this summer and that's one of Punky's favorite places.  Memorial Day weekend we went with my sister and her family, and even though it ended on a rough note when a sudden torrential downpour left us stranded on back roads for three hours on the ride home, the kids still had a great day.  Then, a few weeks later on the way home from visiting my dad when he was in the hospital, Punky and I stopped and spent the day at the park.  Just the two of us.  And I have to say I think it was my favorite day of the summer.  It's really important to me to have one on one time with her once in a while, and she loves our girl time.  We also spent a day at a local park where we had a picnic, played at the playground, went swimming for a few hours, played miniature golf, had ice cream, and she rode the handful of kiddie rides they have over and over again.  She's already lined up a bunch of things she wants to do next summer for our special days, as she calls them.

I took a day off a few weeks ago to go with Punky's school on a field trip to the county fair like I did last year.  Her dad joined us after work so we spent the whole evening there as well.  I sneezed my face off as we made trip after trip through the barns to see the cows, horses, sheep, goats, chickens, pigs, and rabbits.  We watched a gross reptile show with far too many snakes for my taste.  Punky participated in sack races, relay races, and other events that were set up for family day at the fair.  She did a 4H project where they made seed balls to take home and throw in the yard to make fall flowers grow.  And, of course, we rode the rides, played games, and ate far too much greasy, fattening fair food.

We spent a day at Dutch Wonderland in Lancaster with my mom, sister, niece, nephew, my sister's new beau, Punky's godfather, my aunt, my cousin, her husband, and their daughter.  The park is really targeted for little kids and they all had a blast.  My nephew, niece, and Punky are all seasoned riders, they've been visiting amusement parks since before they could even walk, but my cousin's little girl had never been on any rides before and they were a bit nervous about how she'd handle it.  We were all amazed to see not even an ounce of hesitation as she tackled ride after ride.  From the carousel, to the whip, the kiddie roller coaster, log flume, tilt-a-whirl, and even bigger, faster, spinning rides, she enthusiastically rode them all and couldn't get enough.  My cousin's not a rider whatsoever, so her daughter obviously got her dad's genes in that department. 

Our trip to Dutch Wonderland also brought a milestone moment for my six year old nephew: he rode his very first grown-up roller coaster.  My sister was egging him on all day, but he was too scared and refused all our attempts at bribery.  Then, after four trips in a row on the kiddie coaster, he quietly mumbled, "Mom, I want to ride the big one."  In a mere seven seconds flat we dumped the other kids with my mom and literally ran with him as fast as we could to the big coaster.  We weren't taking any chances on him changing his mind.  Thankfully the line was short and we boarded almost immediately.  He did great!  He absolutely loved it and rode several more times that day.  We were all so proud of him and happy to add yet another roller coaster junkie to the family!

My sister and her family came up to visit one weekend where we just hung out at here, drank wine, played stupid dice games, and watched the kids destroy the house.  Then, they came up again a few weeks ago and we took another day trip to an amusement park in Rochester.  It was another park aimed more at younger kids, but they had a water park as well and the kids had a blast riding the slides, shooting people with water canons, and standing under huge buckets of water just waiting for them to dump gallons on everyone below.  Given that it was a balmy ninety-nine degrees in Rochester that day, the adults enjoyed the soak zone just as much as the kids.  Punky has already chosen this water park as a destination for one of our special days next year.  It was definitely her favorite experience of the summer.

My mom came up last Thursday and brought my niece and nephew along for five days.  We went to one of Punky's favorite playgrounds one night, and swimming the next afternoon.  Then, that evening, we went to a parade and carnival in the next town over.  They had a great time gathering handfuls of candy thrown at them during the parade and they ended up with an entire shopping bag full by the time it was over.  We had a relaxing Sunday at home before they left on Monday.  It was nice having them here; I don't get to spend nearly enough time with them.  The kids bounced back and forth between playing nicely and trying to tear each others ears off.  My niece got the worst of it.  She's the youngest and you know what they say about shit rolling downhill.  And Punky isn't really good with other kids touching her stuff because the opportunity doesn't happen that often.  She was trying to watch a show Sunday evening and, after repeated interruptions by her cousins, she turned to me and as serious as a heart attack she said, "Mommy, I'm ready for my house to be back to normal now."  

I can't wait till they all get over this "first" stage.  The fights over who gets to do something first, who was playing with what first, who said something first, who finished their food first, who gets to take a bath first, and so on.  It was endless.  I was waiting to see which one of them ended up tied to a tree first when Grammy lost it a bit on Sunday night and threatened to bang their heads together.  There were intense moments, messy moments, loud moments, and crying moments, but ultimately I'm so glad they came up for a few days.  And I'm also glad I stopped at one kid.

We had our first camping trip in June with the new camper and we have another one planned for Labor Day weekend.  We had to cancel two others we hoped to take due to all the crap tossed our way, and we almost cancelled this one coming but ultimately decided it is the last hurrah of summer and we'll find a way to pull it off.  Plus, the annual family corn roast is on Sunday that weekend so we would be traveling that way anyway.  We leave on Friday morning and won't be back until Tuesday.  Five days of fresh air, camping food, and relaxation.  I can't wait.  I know what lies on the other size of labor day; it's all downhill from there.  I plan to enjoy every single minute of this trip before we're stuck in the house for months until spring finally breaks next year.  

And in between all these fun summer activities, we spent a lot of time at the local community pool.  I can't believe I didn't even know it existed until almost the end of June.  It's a great place and Punky loves it there.  It isn't very crowded which truly surprises me because it's very clean and it has a great kiddie pool.  It's about 12 ft. x 12 ft. and only eighteen inches deep in the center, but it has a tube slide and water fountain going into it.  The slide is her favorite part, of course.  At first we had to catch her every time, but then she learned to go down herself with a tube around her and then eventually without the floaty thing.  She can do it for hours straight, I've seen her.  One side of the big pool is about 4 ft. and she loves coming in with us.  She got really good at keeping herself upright with the tube around her, and she learned how to get where she wants to go by kicking her feet.  Her favorite part of the big pool is jumping in off the side.  She learned to do it herself with the floaty on and hold her breath while she briefly dips under the water.  Her dad and I take turns watching her while the other gets to actually swim for a while.  And in the process, I rediscovered my love of swimming.

I spent summer after summer in my grandmother's pool as a kid, but I could probably count on my fingers the number of times I've actually gone swimming since college.  I'm not even counting all the swim classes I took Punky to because I didn't actually get to swim; I just spent an hour holding her up in the water.  But this summer I actually had the chance to really swim and enjoy it.  It's such great exercise, too.  Talk about a total body workout.  We enjoyed it so much that we've added a pool to the list of things we are looking for in a house if/when we're ever in a position to make a move.  We actually found a great house, at a great price, in a great location, with an awesome in-ground pool, and it's killing us that we can't do anything about it right now.

So, as you can see, this summer will remembered for all the fun we did manage to have, even if we had more than our fair share of lemons along the way.  I'm old enough to know that over time, the sour fades from memory while the sweet seems to linger forever.  My goal now is to get us back on track so next summer can be even better than this one.  I'll keep making lemonade until we're sick of drinking it, and then I'll just resort to zinging the lemons at random people on the street.  That will be just as satisfying, maybe even more so.

When Life Gives You Lemons...

In some respects it's been a rough summer, particularly this month.  

It's also been an active, fun summer at the same time.

Let's get the shitty stuff out of the way first, shall we? 

 

Punky's dad's workplace announced a last-minute two-week mandatory shutdown for the first two weeks of July, causing us to lose half of his income for the month.  It wouldn't have been too bad to digest if we hadn't already planned such a busy summer, but it left us having to cancel some camping trips and stuff in order stay on top of the bills.

When he returned to work after the shutdown, the company announced a change in schedule starting mid-August.  He'd been working a seven-day rotation, swing shift no less, for two years straight.  It had its drawbacks, like the fact that he only had one weekend off a month, but it had its benefits, too.  His days off normally fell during the week so he was able to handle all of the inconvenient errand stuff, like oil changes, bank visits, and such.  It also meant that Punky only had to go to daycare three days a week and, between his days off and rotating shifts, there was a good chance he was able to take her to the doctor and stay with her when she got sick, which greatly minimized the time I needed to miss work.  They are now switching to a five-day swing shift rotation, Monday through Friday, with every weekend off.

His new schedule means we need to send Punky to school five days a week, increasing our daycare costs by $200/month.  Once again, it wouldn't be too bad if all other factors remained the same, but this new five-day schedule also brings a lower paycheck.  On seven-day, he worked most weekends and they were at higher, overtime rates.  Now that's gone.  So, between the extra needed for daycare and the income lost on this schedule, we are out more like $400/month and that's a tough number to swallow, especially while we are still trying to recover from his income loss in the July shutdown.

Once they finally got everything mapped out and all the employees reassigned to fit into this new schedule, we suffered another blow.  Well, actually me.  He made out rather well in the deal; I'm the one paying the price.  He was transferred to a different department, and that department only works solid first shift.  So, for the first time in years, he is working a normal M-F, 7-3 schedule.  No more rotating shifts, no more working weekends, no more trying to manage a crazy, ever-changing sleep schedule.  I, on the other hand, get to drag my ass out of bed at five a.m. every day so I can get myself ready for work before waking Punky, feeding her breakfast, getting her dressed, brushing her teeth, combing her hair, and rushing her out the door by seven to drop her off at daycare and get myself to work on time.  Every. Single. Weekday. 

Taking Punky to daycare every morning, as opposed to the three days a month I used to, is especially trying given the fact that on school days it's next to impossible to get her to sleep at a reasonable hour.  I wake her up early, she's exhausted so she naps the full two hours they allow at daycare, and then it's after eleven at night and I'm still fighting with her to go to sleep.  So then she's exhausted in the morning, and naps the afternoon away at school, and won't sleep again at bedtime.  It's a vicious cycle, I tell you.  We are now two weeks into this new schedule and I'm exhausted.  And the thought of having to do this through the cold, snowy, miserable winter mornings ahead makes me want to vomit.  Add bad roads into the mix and I'll be getting up at four a.m.  So much for the wonderful, new sleep habits I've managed to develop over the past few months. 

In the midst of all these financial blows, my car decided it was the perfect time to self-destruct.  I've had it over five years, and I've never put any money into it other than for the expected, basic maintenance stuff, so I suppose it was about due.  It's been at the garage for almost a week waiting on the part needed to fix it and make it safe to drive again.  I don't fully understand all the technical car speak, but it's something about a bad axle bearing ruining the shaft which could cause the front axle to drop right out of the car while going down the highway.  Not good.  I do, however, fully understand the $1,000 it's going to cost to fix it and the fact that September will be an extremely tough month financially, like ramen noodles for dinner tough.

With my car out of commission, Punky's dad borrowed his mom's car so I could use his truck to get to work.  Yesterday I had to leave work a half hour early to go rescue them when her car broke down after he picked Punky up at school.  Right now he is out buying an alternator to fix her car so we can both make it to work on Monday.  Oh, and did I mention that his truck was at the garage earlier this morning for its yearly inspection?  It needed front brakes to pass, of course.  You had to see that coming.  I swear, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

News on the family front hasn't been much better.  My dad returned to Manhattan two weeks ago for his first post-surgery appointment.  Initially he was told it would be three to four months until they could do the follow-up surgery and finish the hip replacement.  Knowing our luck, I really thought it would be more like six months and fall just in time for Christmas thus ruining the holiday.  If only.  As it turned out, they have scheduled the second surgery for May 13th.  Yes, eleven months and two days after the first.  The doctors explained that they only have one shot at this so the longer they wait, the better.  They can only see so much from the outside, and if they go in too soon and the bones aren't ready, that's it.  They can't go back in again.

As hard as this news is on my normally super-active dad, I think it's even worse for my mom.  He gets around okay with the crutches and wheelchair, but my mom needs to do most of the chores he used to handle plus help him with everyday tasks like showering and getting dressed.  He'll be miserable when the bad weather hits and he's stuck indoors, but he can't risk slipping on the ice and snow.  One fall and it's all over.  And, of course, they are forecasting a cold, storm-filled winter ahead.  No chance of a repeat of last year's mild, snowless winter.  May can't come fast enough.

And I've still been struggling with finding time to write, which especially sucks now since it's my main outlet and obviously needed in light of recent events.

The Finish Line, Sorta

Based on the plan designed by my calorie counter app when I started this weight loss journey back in February, my finish line was set for July 18th.  Because I tend function better with nice, round numbers, I gave myself a grace period until yesterday - six months on the nose since I began on February 1st.

The result?

Well, truth be told I fell a bit short of my goal.  But, the 'bit' is only three pounds as of this morning's scale reading, and it's certainly nothing to quibble about given the thirty-eight pounds I did lose.

Yes, that's right.  I said thirty-eight.  Unbelievable, isn't it?

I'm rather amazed myself.  I thought I would lose some weight, and maybe incorporate more physical activity into my daily life, and possibly drop a clothing size or two, but I never expected to actually come within inches of my goal in such a short period of time.  The plan I chose was very aggressive, the workouts I picked were incredibly tough, and honestly I'm not exactly the most disciplined person at times.  I had no idea change could happen so quickly, both physically and mentally, and my only regret is that I didn't do it years ago.   

Life is now very different from that cold, winter day when I decided to take that first step and make some desperately needed changes - not just for me, but for Punky as well.  While she still manages to eventually wear me out with her marathon bursts of energy, I keep up a hell of a lot better than I used to.  Mommy is much more fun now, I'm sure, and we've been enjoying a very active, busy summer.  I am happier, healthier, and more confident than I've felt in years.

I had my six-month thyroid appointment about two weeks ago.  I have to say I was never so excited to stand on the scale in a doctor's office.  January's number was burned in my brain and I couldn't wait to overwrite the data with some new, more acceptable digits.  My doc was really impressed, not only with the weight loss achieved, but also with the fact that my thyroid levels were exactly the same as six months ago.  I'm supposed to skip one pill a week, but the last few months I've been skipping two most of the time.  I can tell when it gets too high, or too low, and I adjust accordingly.  I'm glad she left my medication alone and didn't try changing the dose.  She told me to keep doing what I'm doing because obviously it's working.  And I'm happy to report that my vitamin D level has gone from dangerously low to perfect.

So, I guess it's time to get real about the numbers.  On the morning of February 1st, I weighed in at 176 pounds.  My BMI was in the obese category.  Most of my size 14 clothes were becoming too tight and I had started replacing them with size 16.  I hated what I saw in the mirror.  I hated being so self-conscious about my appearance.  I hated that simply chasing Punky across the room left me winded.  I hated being so tired, so worn down, and so depressed.

This morning, just six short months later, the scale reading was 138.  My BMI is in the normal range.  When I bought some new clothes at the end of April, size 10 was a perfect fit.  Since then, I have lost another 14 pounds so they are now on the donate pile as well.  Size 8 pants are too big in the waist but comfortable on my lower abdominal c-section roll; six 6 fits my waist perfectly but can be a bit too snug on that mommy pouch depending on the brand.  My sister even made me try on her size 4 jean shorts and I was surprised to see them slide so easily over my hips, but they were about an inch too short on fabric in the lower gut to actually get them zipped.

My original goal was 135 pounds.  Now I've decided to shoot for 130 which would leave me smack dab in the middle of the normal BMI category for my height.  It will be a slow process though.  I will continue to exercise regularly and watch what I eat, but I want to really focus on learning how to maintain this level for a bit.  I still plan to face the scale every morning because, for me, it really is the best way keep things in check.  If it drops a bit here and there and eventually reaches 130, so be it, but I'll honestly be thrilled to stay anywhere in the 130's.  I'm happy here.

Over the last few months I've written about my journey and all the things I learned along the way.  I really don't have any new or exciting tips to share, but here are the things that I feel really made a difference and helped me achieve a goal I once thought impossible:

Weight loss is basic math.  Calories in vs. calories out.  Period.  It's not really what you eat, or the type of exercise you do, that matters.  What matters is the mathematical equivalents.  Sure, some foods are clearly healthier for you and lower in calories than others, and some forms of exercise are tougher and more strenuous than others, and eating well and working out hard will surely tip the scales in your favor, but the bottom line is this: burn more than you consume.  It doesn't get any simpler than that.

Strive for balance and don't deprive yourself.  Losing weight doesn't mean you have to give up all your favorite foods and indulgences.  It just means learning moderation and focusing on the big picture.  I didn't give up any particular foods, I just learned how to accommodate them in my diet by lessening the frequency and portions while keeping an overall balance in mind.  Sure, I've had days of complete overindulgence, but I worked hard before, after, and sometimes during, to keep their impact to a minimum.  Again, it all goes back to basic math.

Get enough sleep.  Seriously.  I know as well as anyone how incredibly hectic and crazy life can be, but stealing extra hours at the expense of the good night's rest your body so desperately needs is never a good idea.  Somehow I've managed to get my insomnia under control and establish a regular sleep schedule, with only an occasional off-night here and there, and I really think it's made a world of difference.

Take your vitamins, especially vitamin D.  I spent years blaming my thyroid issues for my rollercoaster mood swings, but the doctor disagreed with me in January and pointed the finger at my extreme lack of vitamin D.  I don't think it deserves all the credit, I mean eating right, excercising, and feeling better about myself in general has surely contributed to a happier me, but I really believe there is some truth to it.  I feel calmer, more relaxed, and life is more like a train ride than a rollercoaster these days.  Sure, there are some sharp turns and once in a while I hit some garbage on the tracks, but life seems to chug along steadily now.  The extreme highs and lows no longer exist. There is no deep, underlying depression.  I have a new level of control and balance in all aspects of my life.

And if you're looking to make a huge physical transformation in as little time as possible, I can't say enough about Jillian Michaels' workout videos.  The woman obviously knows her stuff; my body is exhibit A.  Her focus on a combination of strength training plus cardio really works and creates a lean figure in no time.  In the beginning, you'll want to die.  Trust me.  But it's truly amazing how quickly your body will change, your endurance will skyrocket, and suddenly you'll skate through the circuits with ease.  Okay, maybe not exactly with ease, I mean you'll still feel the burn and sweat buckets but you'll get through it without panting and gasping for air, throwing your hand weights at the TV screen, or calling her every name in the book.

Now I just need to find the time, the money, and the willpower to face the stores and buy new clothes because my closet is in really bad shape.  I only have a handful of things I can wear to work, and I'm tired of wearing the same outfits week after week.  Unfortunately, of the three, the money will be the hardest to find right now.  There is another round of big changes heading our way.  I'm sure you'll hear me whine about it once we have all the details.

Punky vs. The Olympics

In general, very few things make me teary.  I'm not an overly sappy person.  I don't cry at commercials, except when I had pregnancy hormones up to my eyeballs, and I can count on one hand the number of movies that have prompted me to shed a tear.  Even real-life circumstances that cause normal people to lose control and break down rarely start waterworks for me.  One exception is my love for Punky, of course.  Sometimes I get teary just watching her watch TV.  And the other guaranteed tearjerker for me?  The Olympics.

The watery eyes start with the opening ceremonies and continue through each event I watch.  I love the Olympics, especially the summer games, and they turn me into a complete couch potato for two weeks straight.  Four years ago, while I was pregnant with Punky, I spent every free moment tuned in to the games.  Night after night I vegged on the couch with my cross-stitch and stockpile of sour foods that I craved the entire nine months.  The crazy hormones made it an especially teary time for me.  The house was quiet; her dad knew not to interrupt.  And life returned to normal after the closing ceremonies.

In preparation for the London games, I've spent the last few months telling Punky tidbits about the Olympics, the different sports and events, and some of the great moments I'll always remember from games past.  The intent, of course, was to build her interest and excitement so I stand a small chance in hell at being able actually watch an event from start to finish without getting her twenty-three cups of milk, putting the head back on her doll eight times, answering fifteen questions completely unrelated to the happenings on TV, and solving at least seven utter crises that occur in a three-year-old's world in a ten-minute period.

About four minutes into the London opening ceremonies it was already clear that I failed miserably.  She danced around in front of the TV, played with the loudest toys in her arsenal, and was the hungriest, thirstiest, neediest child I have ever seen over the course of those few hours.  I kept trying to suck her in to the excitement on the screen, but she'd watch for thirty seconds and then return to raising hell.  When the parade of nations began, I grabbed her globe ball and attempted a geography lesson.  I thought it would be neat to show her where everyone was from, and maybe it would keep her seated and quiet for a bit.  We made as far as China and then she tired of my plan.  I was a somewhat grateful when I saw names like Mauritius, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan.  And where the hell is Azerbaijan anyway?  In the end, Punky fell asleep exactly two minutes before team USA was finally announced in the stadium and I knew better than to wake her.  

I was a bit more hopeful going into yesterday's events because she would get to watch actual sports instead of people just walking around in circles.  In my mind I envisioned us snuggled up on the couch, laughing and cheering and munching popcorn together.  It didn't quite work out as planned.  The cycling prompted her to ask me to ride her tricycle about fifty times before I finally couldn't take it anymore and reluctantly shut off the TV to take her outside for a bit.  Upon our return, the women's beach volleyball match between the USA and Australia cost me a picture frame when Punky decided to serve a ball into the entertainment center.  The men's 400 IM, that resulted in Ryan Lochte finally ending Michael Phelps' Olympic medal-winning streak, made Punky think it would be a good idea to dive off the couch into a pile of pillows.  She miscalculated and went face-first into her guitar which left a little cut on her cheek and prompted a twenty-minute crying spree.  The men's gymnastics qualifying event caused her to run, jump, spin, and tumble around the living room but thankfully I caught her before she dismounted from the back of the couch and broke any bones. 

I have a feeling this is going to be a long, dangerous, stress-filled two weeks at our house as I struggle to keep both Punky and the furniture in one piece.  As I write this, the TV is on the Disney Channel.  I'm saving my strength and patience for the start of the women's gymnastics events tonight, and I'm looking forward to Rio in 2016.  Hopefully it will be much easier when Punky is seven, because right now just watching feels like an Olympic event in itself.  Thankfully I've had three years of training.

Glutton for Punishment

In terms of holidays, the Fourth of July has never been a big deal to me.  I welcome the day off from work, of course, and I enjoy a grilled burger now and then, but other than that it's just like any other day of the year.  It's certainly not in the same holiday category as Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.

But not to Punky's dad's family.  For them, the day is truly Christmas in July.  It's a big deal, complete with a huge family gathering, lots of food and booze, and the utter need to end the night watching a fireworks display impressive enough to rival the largest cities of the world.  Lucky for them, his sister happens to live in a tiny town that does just that, and she opens her home every year to friends and relatives for the celebration.

Fireworks, meh.  I could honestly take 'em or leave 'em.  Yes, they're pretty to watch, but they've never been a big draw for me.  Even as a kid, I'd rather do something else.  I remember staying in the pool in the backyard while everyone else went out front to watch the fireworks at my grandmother's.  Swimming was simply more fun.  Disney World is another fine example.  Stop and watch the fireworks at the end of the night?  Hell no.  Go on as many rides as possible while the lines are short because everyone else has gathered to watch the them, of course.  I've just never been bitten by the fireworks bug, I suppose.

Anyway, even though I'm not really into the bangs, booms, and colors in the sky, I enjoy going to his sister's for the get-together.  We don't really see most of his family very often, and I want to make sure Punky has the opportunity to spend time with them.  They are her aunts, uncles, and cousins, and I want her to grow up knowing them.  It's important to me.  And the day is usually full of good laughs, good music, and good food.

Punky and Marley

This year we took the camper and parked it in her driveway so we could spend the night and not have to worry about having a few drinks or fighting the traffic to get out of town.  Punky had a great time playing with Marley, a little girl her age, and I enjoyed watching their interactions.  We walked down to the tiny carnival in town for a bit and Punky loved the rides and games.  She won a goldfish, but thankfully forgot all about it so we left it at her aunt's when we left the next morning.  I know, bad Mommy, but I'm seriously not up for cleaning fish bowls or hosting flushing funerals just yet.  And the fireworks display at the end of the night was pretty spectacular, but we would have enjoyed it more if it didn't start raining two minutes before it started.

We got home shortly after noon yesterday and by one o'clock I was in bed, sick as a dog.  My stomach simply ached.  It rumbled, grumbled, cramped, and turned for hours, despite the three doses of Pepto, eight Tums, and an enormous glass of baking soda and water.  I moaned, groaned and whined through movie after movie while Punky's dad thankfully kept her occupied all day so I could pray for death in peace.  He even took her out to the camper to sleep last night and spared me the usually lengthy and complicated bedtime routine.  I finally felt better this morning, until I stepped on the scale.  In exactly forty-eight hours, I gained three pounds on the nose.  And, aside from breakfast, all I ate yesterday was twenty-calorie popsicles because the cold was oddly relieving some of my stomach trauma.  

I suppose I overdid it a bit on Saturday.  Okay, a lot.  And it was somewhat premeditated.  I mean, I've been diligently counting, and watching, and exercising for months.  Once in a while I deserve a day to eat what I want and not worry about it, and what better opportunity than a family picnic, right?  I worked out just before we went, we walked miles around town, and I chased Punky around all day.  I wasn't exactly sedentary and I made the conscious decision to enjoy all the wonderful foods stockpiled in the kitchen.

Unfortunately for me, my body rebelled against my choice.  I'm just not used to eating like that.  Cookies, cheese and crackers, chips, candy.  A deep-fried bloomin' onion at the carnival.  A six-pack of wine coolers.  What the hell was I thinking?  All that fat, sugar, grease, and alcohol surely wouldn't sit well in a stomach used to mostly healthy foods and a low-calorie diet.  And believe me, over the last twenty-for hours I've paid for every single bite I took.

While I obviously have no intention on ever returning to old eating habits, once in a while it's nice to indulge a bit.  But one of the side effects of this body-changing journey is apparently the development of a finicky stomach.  Honestly, it really sucks.  I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted with no issues.  I never had indigestion, constipation, heartburn, or nausea from food.  Most women suffer with those almost constantly through pregnancy, but I got by with a handful of Tums over the course of nine months.

Now I've found that just one slice of greasy, cheesy pizza can block me up for days.  Sweets of any kind can set me up for bedtime heartburn.  And alcohol consumption leaves me bloated and gassy, with an occasional bout of the walking farts.  

I suppose these changes in digestion could be attributed to the fact that I'm getting older, but I'd rather blame it on something more positive.  If I tell myself it's from all the incredible changes I've made in the last few months, it's easier to swallow.  We have another camping trip and huge family picnic coming up at the end of August which will be the perfect opportunity for history to repeat itself.  I sure hope I internalize this lesson by then because I don't want to spend those days alone, on the hard bed in the camper, praying for my stomach to explode and put me out of my misery once and for all.

My Fifty Cents

As much as I love it, it's no secret that reading has been on the very bottom of my to-do list the last few years.  I manage to keep up on some blogs I love and sneak in the occasional novel once in a while, but for the most part recreational reading landed in the not-enough-hours-in-the-day category once Punky came along.

Over the last few months, I've read blog after blog about the book Fifty Shades of Grey and, to be quite honest, I reached a point where I was tired of hearing about it and I had no desire whatsoever to read the trilogy.  First off, the biggest complaint was that it is poorly written, and I knew that in itself would make me want to gouge me eyes out.  And the other hot topic, of course, was the intense sexual relationship at the very core of the plot.

But then I read that analysts are actually predicting a 2013 baby boom because of the immense popularity of the books.  I read that seniors in nursing homes are devouring the trilogy.  I read that thirty-year marriages are ending because women are demanding changes in their sex lives after years of the same old routine.  Finally my curiosity got the best of me and on a whim I decided to take the plunge.  Plus, it was the perfect excuse to try out the Kindle app I installed on my iPhone months ago but had yet to actually use.

If you haven't read the books but intend to, stop reading here as this post may contain some spoilers.  And, Mom and Dad, if today happens to been the once-in-a-blue-moon when you actually come by and read something I've written, kindly hit the back button on your browser now to return to your bingo game or Facebook.

I started the first book shortly before our camping trip last month and the trilogy became a welcome distraction with all the crap that ensued in the following weeks.  Just a few chapters in, I had to agree with the critiques about poor writing.  If it weren't for the dark and mysterious character of Christian, I may have been tempted to quit reading, but I already needed to figure him out.  The more I read, the less annoying the poor dialogue and repetitious vocabulary became.

On the whole, the characters are fairly unbelievable.  Take Anastasia, for example.  What twenty-one year old female in modern times doesn't own a cell phone?  I mean, really.  She's portrayed as the perfect picture of innocence and naive to the gills.  Of course she's a virgin, in fact she's never even had a boyfriend.  While finishing up her college degree, she buries herself in classic literature and her part-time hardware store job, and is apparently oblivious to the fact that a world of incredible technology exists all around her.  She's portrayed as whiny and needy and child-like on one hand, yet in other respects she comes across much older than she is.  Her character is a bit conflicting and confusing at times.  One minute I'm rooting for her, and the next I want to punch her.

Then there's Christian, because gorgeous, mysterious, twenty-seven year old millionaires are a dime a dozen, right?  Yes, Mark Zuckerberg is only twenty-eight, but he's not exactly a Christian Grey, is he?  For me, Christian's character would be much more believable if he were forty.  He's smug, arrogant, controlling, demanding, and sneaky, and even though those traits all end up attributed to his early childhood with his birth mother, the crack-whore as he so affectionately calls her, and his six years of submission to the infamous Mrs. Robinson, he still comes across as way older than he's supposed to be.  In my mind, anyway.  No matter how I tried, I couldn't envision a twenty-seven year old kid while reading. 

Minus the poor grammar, conflicting character portrayal, and pages upon pages of sexual encounters, the underlying plot of the trilogy isn't bad.  There are plenty of surprises and intense moments that leave you hiding in the bathroom to finish a chapter before your three-year-old can interrupt you for the hundredth time.  Or maybe that's just me.  

Now to address the big elephant dancing around the room in a tutu: Ana and Christian's sexcapades.  Critics have called the book dirty.  Religious zealots have called it sinful.  Prudes of all ages have deemed it pornographic.  I don't think it was really any of those things; I think it was real.  Just because people in general don't talk openly about such intense sexual encounters doesn't mean they're not having them behind closed doors, or that the majority of the population only has missionary sex for the purpose of procreation.  If that were the case, strip clubs, hookers, adult bookstores, and the world-wide web of pornography simply wouldn't exist. 

Christian and Ana's sexual relationship is definitely intense.  In the beginning, he's trying to mold her into what he's always known, and her innocence keeps getting in the way.  Their encounters are always heated, overly passionate, often downright scary, and sometimes even a bit gross, but the one thing the critics fail to point out is that they truly are head over heels in love from the very start.  Throughout the trilogy their sex life continually evolved, and by the end they seem to have it all figured out.  Everyone has limits, sexual or otherwise, and they know each other on an intimate level that most people married for decades never even know exists.

The hardest part of the story for me was figuring out when exactly Christian made the transformation from jerk to Mr. Wonderful.  In the beginning I didn't like him, even though he intrigued me.  Every time I started to be on his side and think he wasn't such an a-hole after all, he'd screw up.  By the end of the story I loved his character, but it was truly a two step forward/one step back process through all three books.  

My absolute favorite part of the trilogy was the final epilogue at the end of the third book, especially the very last part where the author rewrote the beginning of the first book from Christian's point of view.  It gave me the answer I wanted: Christian had feelings for Anastasia right from the moment they met.  He wasn't really the selfish, arrogant, twisted jerk he seemed to be.  Okay, so he was, but his intentions were good.  And knowing that changed entire tone of the story for me just when I thought I had it straight in my mind.

Laters, baby.

Three Point Five

Punky is officially three and a half today.

The sentimental Mommy side of me is screaming, "No! Slow down! Stop growing up so fast!" and reflecting on the little baby I brought home from the hospital and all the amazing milestones she reached in last few years.

The realistic Mommy side of me is cheering, "Come on, four!" and dreaming of her next birthday in December.

If I'm being honest, three sort of sucks.  She's defiant, temperamental, stubborn, and demanding.  In other words, she's a completely normal three year old.  And her dad and I have come to the realization that we aren't very good at dealing with her normal three year old behaviors, not because we stink as parents, but because in every other way she is not typical and we tend to treat her like she's much older than she is.

For example, one night a few weeks ago, Punky and I spent about an hour playing with her chalkboard in the living room.  She drew a face with one eye about twice the size of the other, and I joked with her that it was a silly face and hardly symmetrical.  Of course, she latched on to the word 'symmetrical' and I spent the next half hour tying to explain the concept of symmetry to my three year old.  I drew a line down the center of the chalkboard and drew shapes mirroring each other on both sides to demonstrate.  I repeated the process several times, some symmetrical and some not, and she caught on and was able to tell me with accuracy which drawings were symmetrical and which were not.

Next she wanted to do math on the chalkboard, so I spent the next fifteen minutes writing simple addition and subtraction problems for her, drawing lines under the corresponding numbers for her to count on the harder ones.  She ended our chalkboard playtime by drawing the solar system, naming each planet in order as she drew them around the sun.

Then we shared an ice cream sandwich and she proceeded to wipe her chocolate-coated fingers on the back of her white t-shirt and I literally wanted to slam my head off the wall.  She started this habit a few weeks ago, ruining shirts left and right, and no matter how many times we tell her not to do it the message simply isn't landing in her brain.  And this is the type of thing her dad and I struggle to comprehend.

Behaviorally, she's three.  Intellectually, she's much older.  The disconnect between the two makes it so difficult sometimes.  How can she seem to understand a concept like symmetry, but not understand to use a napkin?  It's simply mind-blowing. 

Aside from these typical behavior issues, Punky is a sweet, loving little girl, and this age is so much fun.  Her imagination is running full speed ahead and she can turn any mundane task into an incredible adventure in her mind.  We often brush our teeth while sitting on the bathroom counter so the tiger passing by won't see us.  We have to sneak past the bear hibernating under her trampoline.  Some annoying imaginary dog is always barking so loud that she just has to turn the TV up to hear Dora the Explorer.  And we can't do anything without me ending up the rotten egg.  What can I say?  She cheats.

As far as school goes, she finished the year in the older group she joined in March and the plan is still for her to move with them into pre-K in September.  The daycare director loves stealing her now and then for some one on one time.  She keeps telling me she wants to write a book about Punky, and she can't wait to have her in her pre-K class full time.  I'm excited, too.  I hope she's able to challenge her and help fill in the blanks.  We have a big decision to make next May, private school kindergarten or another year in daycare pre-K, and I know we'll rely heavily on her teacher's opinion.  I suppose my winter project will be to research the options available in the area in case we go the private school route, though I don't know how on earth we'd ever afford it.

Not much has changed in the way of Punky's favorite things.  She still loves books, snuggling her blankie, and soaking the carpet during bath time.  Macaroni and cheese, celery sticks, raw green peppers, and watermelon are her foods of choice these days.  For some reason, and I have no idea why, she's taken to calling me mama again instead of mommy, and it totally cracks me up when her vast array of stuffed animals address me by my first name.  She loves playing outside and has mastered her tricycle, scooter, and the battery-operated car we bought last October.  Impressed with her driving skills and obvious need for speed, her dad took the pin out to give her a faster gear for zipping around the yard.  She still loves music and prefers to watch shows with singing and dancing and mounds of annoying kid songs that get stuck in my head and cause me to get caught singing "Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes..." at my desk at work. 

With summer in full swing, Punky and I have been enjoying some quality girl time.  We spent a day at a nearby park and enjoyed a real picnic lunch, complete with a comfy blanket to sit on, our favorite foods packed from home, and a minor ant invasion when we jumped on the swings for a few minutes before finishing our dessert.  We spent another day at an amusement park, just the two of us, and it was so much fun.  She rode her first kiddie roller coaster and she was so proud.  And I was so proud of her too, even though the bumpy, jerky, extremely uncomfortable ride cost me my sunglasses which flew right off my face and into the creek below.  Now that I finally found out, after almost five years in this area, that there is a community pool just three miles down the road, I'm sure we'll be spending a lot of time there this summer.