Three and Three Quarters

Punky started her pre-K class the beginning of this month.  So far, she is doing really well.  She is so proud to be one of the big kids, and I love hearing her daily report on all the fun things they do in class.  She has her own tool box stocked with crayons, pencils, glue, scissors, and other miscellaneous craft supplies.  She has learned to write her name on all her papers.  She absolutely beams when she gets to be the line leader or the one who passes out papers to the class.  

There's no doubt in my mind that we made the right choice by letting her move to this class a year ahead of schedule.  She's definitely holding her own with the older kids, in fact the teacher told me Punky is currently helping her teach the others the letter sounds.  Even though there are only eleven kids in the class, they added another teacher in the room which really allows for individual attention.  It's especially great news for Punky because a teacher has time to take a lesson a step further for her since she already knows much of the core material.  And, as always, she's soaking it all up like a sponge.

Punky is now at the age where she's asking to do things, and the hardest decision for us will be deciding what, where, and how we can even pull it off. She wants to take karate.  She wants to take dance lessons.  She wants to be a gymnast.  She wants to learn how to really play too many instruments to type.  She wants to go to friends' houses and have them visit ours.  All of those things take time and/or money, neither of which we have very much of these days.

Enrolling her in any activities will be especially challenging given where we live. We are at least twenty minutes away from anything, and most of those activities would require a good half-hour drive.  On weeknights, I'm lucky to be home by five-thirty.  Getting her to a dance class that starts at six will be nearly impossible.  Not to mention that we're heading into winter and bad roads will only further complicate things.  I told her to wait until after her birthday in December, and then she can pick one activity to try.  I think karate will be her first choice.  We'll see come January.

There is another new phenomenon in her world: TV commercials.  Ninety-nine percent of her television experience thus far has been commercial-free kids channels, but now she's getting into shows on other networks that don't have the same policy.  Plus, her favorite channel of all has recently abandoned its pledge and now suddenly allows advertisements.  What this means to Punky is an eyeful of toys and games she never knew existed, and a Christmas list a mile long with months yet to go.  I guess it was bound to happen sooner of later, and I guess it's good for us to have an idea of what she's thinking so we aren't speechless like last year when it's time to write her letter to Santa.  

We managed to sneak in one final trip to Knoebel's two weeks ago.  I found an envelope full of ride tickets, and my sister brought a cooler full of food, so it didn't cost us much beyond the gas to get there.  Punky was so surprised, especially since I told her the park was closed for the season.  It wasn't a lie, honest.  I really thought it closed after Labor Day.  She was thrilled to have one more day at an amusement park before winter arrives.  She's a ride junkie, no doubt about it.  I really hope she's tall enough to do some of the bigger rides next year.  She's dying to tackle a real roller coaster.  That's my girl.

Sometimes I look at her and simply can't believe how fast the time has gone. She seems so grown up, so independent, so damn smart.  Like she hardly even needs me anymore.  She can feed herself, dress herself, wipe herself, and entertain herself.  When she wants a drink, she gets it.  When she's tired of TV, she turns it off.  When she's bored she bounces from one activity to another, destroying the house and leaving a trail of toys in her wake.  But eventually something happens and she wants or needs my help, and all seems right with the world again.  

Spontaneous Combustion

Without a doubt, the worst class I had in college was Sociology 101.  Yes, it was even more painful than the public speaking course required for all majors.  It wouldn't have been so bad if I had gotten the memo about Dr. Armstrong.  Apparently most students knew better and avoided his classes like the plague, hence the mounds of seats still available when I was finally able to schedule my classes for that semester.  I thought I was just lucky.

Dr. Armstrong was obnoxious, intimidating, and in some respects he conducted his class like an elementary school teacher.  He closed, and locked, the classroom door at exactly 8:00.  If you were late, you were shit out of luck and marked absent for the day.  After all, he was a very important man and he would not tolerate any interruptions once he began speaking.  There was no eating or drinking allowed in his class, and gum chewers faced the humiliation of wearing it on their nose, a consequence I hadn't encountered since the sixth grade.  There was no chatting, no slouching, and no looking anywhere but directly at him while he lectured for ninety minutes straight with barely a pause to breathe.  Unless, of course, someone broke one of his rules.  Then his usual condescending tone became even more so as he went out of his way to make a fool of the offender.

He assigned a new chapter at the end of each Tuesday's class, and then every Thursday we faced a brutal quiz: one essay question from a 50-60 page textbook chapter before any of the material was even discussed in class.  He graded them on a scale from one to ten, but he never gave tens because nobody's perfect.  And nines were next to perfect so no one got those either.  By midterm, I was dangerously close to failing the course. Between the fives and sixes I was averaging on the quizzes and the shocking C I managed to score on the midterm exam, I was in big trouble.  I needed a new plan.  A different approach.  A way to beat this all-knowing professor at his own game.

I bought a tape recorder.

Go ahead and laugh, but it was a long time ago and students weren't carrying laptops to class back then.  I used the only technology available at the time, and it paid off big time.  For the rest of the semester, I diligently recorded his classes from start to finish.  Even though I continued to pull mediocre quiz scores, my sights were set on the big picture.  I was going to ace the final exam come hell or high water - partly because I really didn't want a D on my record, but mostly because it was the ultimate way to shut up Dr. Almighty.

The format of the exam was four essay questions, of which we had to answer three.  I was determined to figure out what the questions would be. The week leading up to the final, I spent every night in the basement of my dorm, all alone in the dark, listening to the tapes of his lectures over and over again.  What did he stress?  What was he most passionate about?  What did he talk about the longest?  I settled on four potential questions with the hope of having three actually show up on the test, and then wrote my answers out ahead of time and committed them to memory.

I couldn't help the tiny squeal the escaped my throat when my eyes first saw the exam.  All four of my prepared questions were on the test, so I was able to eliminate the one I liked least.  I spent the next two hours spitting his words back to him verbatim, just as he said them in class.  Just as I heard them over and over again on the tapes.  Just as I had written them out the night before.

As I walked to his class for the last time, I practiced my argument in my head.  There was no way I was settling for less than an A on the exam and I was fully prepared to challenge him, even if it meant playing my class tapes for the Dean.  In true Armstrong style, he launched into a half-hour lecture before finally passing out the test scores, and with each passing moment my heart rose further into my throat.  His lecture that day was all about how only one person in the entire class managed to understand a damn word he said all semester.  One golden student who paid attention and digested the material.  The class simply wasn't worth the time for the other students. Nothing landed in their heads.  He wasted his breath on the lectures.  He normally doesn't give A's because nobody's perfect, but one student's essays were so far above the rest that he had to make an exception this semester. And he thought it only fair to acknowledge that student in front of the rest of the class.

So I got an A on the final exam, with a side of public humiliation at no extra charge, and I ended up with a B as my final grade for the class.  As a student that normally got A's with little effort , I have to say I'm more proud of that B than any A I ever got.  I walked away from Dr. Armstrong's class with the satisfaction of knocking him down a peg, if only for a brief moment, and I learned to ask around about professors before blindly scheduling future semesters.

In terms of actual subject material, almost twenty years later there is only one thing I remember from his class.  For whatever reason, I took one particular lesson to heart and it stuck with me all these years.  According to the infallible Dr. Armstrong, the difference between blue-collar and white-collar parenting can be summed up in one four-word phase:  Because I said so.

He claimed it perfectly illustrated the difference in mentality in the approach to child-rearing found between those with and without higher education.  Blue-collar parents think their children should respect them simply because they are the parents and saying 'no' requires no further explanation.  White-collar parents, on the other hand, teach their children to think about the consequences of their actions by providing explanations beyond 'because I said so.'

While I'm sure his assessment isn't one hundred percent accurate, I found it close when I applied it to the various families I've been exposed to over the years.  I'm from a 'because I said so' family myself, with an occasional scare tactic thrown in for good measure.  When I got my period for the first time at the ripe old age of eleven, and sat on the edge of the bed in tears because there was blood gushing from somewhere deep inside my body and exiting through a hole I never really knew existed and it felt like someone was stabbing my abdomen with a rusty butcher knife and I would surely be dead by morning, my mom's explanation went something along the lines of  "This means you can now get pregnant, and if you get pregnant before you're married, your father and I will disown you."  It would've helped if she explained exactly how that could happen.  When I had my first real kiss nearly two years later, I cried for two weeks because I thought I was pregnant and soon to be homeless.  I even packed a few things just in case.

I'm not saying my parents were bad parents, they just parented the way their parents did before them, but Dr. Armstrong's lecture on child-rearing stuck a deep chord with me long before I even considered having a child of my own.  I don't want Punky to avoid situations because she's scared, I want her to avoid them because she understands what can happen if she doesn't. I don't want her to stop doing something simply because I told her to stop and my word is the be all and end all of her world, I want her to ask why so I can explain the reasons behind my words.  I want to earn her respect instead of demanding it simply because I'm her mother.  I want to guide her to make good decisions in life by educating her, not by demanding her obedience because I'm the parent and I said so.

I've made a conscious effort over the last three and a half years to try and explain why I tell her the things I do.  I can't say I've never slipped and spewed a 'because I said so' ever, I mean, I'm not perfect and some days she's as challenging as all hell.  But, I try my best to always provide at least one simple statement as to why I feel the way I do, and I try to be as honest as possible without painting her a horrific picture of blood, guts, and gore.

So, now I can finally get to the point of this entire long-winded post.

While I have to admit she is doing surprisingly well with the switch to a five-day school week that starts each morning at six-thirty, Punky was being particularly difficult this morning.  She was supposed to be eating her waffle while I was getting dressed, but I returned to the kitchen to find a mere two bites gone.  I told her she only had a few minutes left to eat, or she will have to wait until they serve breakfast as school.  I headed to the bathroom once again, and called her a few minutes later to come and get ready for school. And again a minute later.  And again a minute later.  And again a minute later.

Once she finally arrived in the bathroom to make her morning pee, I went back to the kitchen to get my lunch ready for work.  When I returned to the bathroom two minutes later, she was gone.  She was hiding in my bed, under the covers, giggling her little tush off.  She hadn't even peed yet.  This time I supervised her toilet time, and we headed to her room to get dressed.

By the time we both got back to the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair, we had exactly three minutes until we needed to pull out of the driveway.  Of course, she arrived without her pants, the ones I just put on her thirty seconds earlier, so we lost another minute on the re-do.  When I finally handed her the toothbrush, she dropped it and left a hot-pink blob of bubble gum toothpaste on my light green bathroom rug.  As I knelt to clean it up, my eyes caught a glimpse of the clock.  I was now likely to be late for work, and my patience was just about shot.

By no means did I yell, but my tone was surely stern as I began to rant about the morning's events.  

"Punky, I let you sleep as long as I can in the morning.  That means when it's time to get up, you need to get moving.  There is no time for messing around.  You need to eat your breakfast and get ready for school when I say so, or else I need to start waking you up even earlier if you insist on goofing off.  This schedule is already hard on the both of us, let's not make it even worse.  Mommy can't be late for work every day because you don't listen to me.  My boss would be really mad.  I might even get fired and we certainly can't afford that right now."

She immediately burst into tears.  I mean real waterworks.  Crying so hard I could barely understand what she was saying.  I was in complete shock.  I had no idea what I said to upset her so much.  Finally I managed to calm her down enough to decipher her words.

"Mommy? If you're late for work, will I be on fire, too?"

Apparently she thought I would burst into flames if I walked into work a minute late, and she might as well by default since I blatantly blamed her for my tardiness.

Needless to say, it took me another ten minutes to calm her down and get out the door.  I spent the five-minute drive to school apologizing profusely and explaining the definition of the word 'fired' in the context of employment. In the end, I was twenty minutes late for work but, lucky for me, my boss got a big kick out of Punky's theory of spontaneous combustion.

Summer's End

Well, I suppose it's over.  The hot, fun days of summer are gone and we're left to dread the dark, cold months ahead.  Okay, I'll spare you the total rant and rave post this year but you're welcome to go back and re-read previous ones, you know, in case you've forgotten how much I absolutely adore this time of year.

Our final camping trip of the year was a success, meaning we got there and back without losing the camper at 60 mph on the highway.  Incident free, just the way I like it.  No major boo-boos, no gross insects inside the camper, and no ticks found on Punky this trip.  We got one on her at the campground in June but thankfully it hadn't embedded itself yet.  I spent that night itching and scratching, tossing and turning, and dowsing every inch of our bodies and belongings with bug repellent.

Rockin' Out!

The weather was perfect on Friday and Saturday, which gave Punky some much desired pool time.  She enjoyed swimming so much this summer and I know she'll really miss it in the months ahead.  I'm going to miss it, too.  We also spent some time at the playground, her second favorite spot at the campground.  She loves it there and already can't wait to go back next summer.

The owners hosted plenty of activities for the Labor Day weekend crowd.  On Saturday morning we spent over an hour painting ceramics and I was painfully reminded of just how much I truly suck at anything remotely artistic. The kids had paint everywhere, globs of it, but they had a blast.  We missed the t-shirt dying event in the afternoon because we opted for swimming instead, but we went to the cash bingo later that evening.  I thought Punky's attention span would last a bit longer than it did because she knows her numbers and could play her own card with help, but she quickly became discouraged when she wasn't winning.

On Sunday we left the campground to go to the annual family corn roast for a few hours.  As always, there was great food, good conversations, and lots of laughter.  But this year there was also a somber undertone as people shared memories of my uncle who passed away a few months ago.  It was his farm, the place he grew up, and it just wasn't the same without him.  His family planned to scatter his ashes there the next morning.  I swear I heard his laugh in the wind.

The kids pounced on their annual opportunity to beat the crap out of my Uncle Mark's drum set.  As usual, it was the absolute highlight of Punky's day. She looks forward to it every year.  I still think we'll end up with one in the house at some point; of all the various instruments out there, drums are still her favorite.  That's okay, I guess.  She can be both a doctor and a drummer.  And earplugs are cheap.

We left the corn roast early because we were anxious to get back to the campground for the big Chinese auction they were having that evening.  They had so much stuff that it took about two and a half hours to call all the winning tickets.  We won three times, plus someone gave Punky an additional winning ticket for her to pick another prize.  She chose a garden gnome dressed in military garb with a sign that read "Support our troops" and she gave it to her Pappy.  Sometimes her sweetness simply makes my heart melt.

Then came Monday.  Rain, rain, rain.  From the moment we got up, till the moment we went to bed, it poured.  All damn day.  My mom and I left Punky to the care of her dad and pap while we hit the casino for a few hours in the afternoon.  I played the entire time on twenty dollars, which was about all I could afford to lose anyway.  I was winning like crazy but eventually put it all back.  I can't complain though, five hours of entertainment for twenty bucks was a great deal.  Plus we had a good lunch, and it got us out of the rain and into a space larger than an eighteen-foot box on wheels for a while.

To our dismay, it was still raining Tuesday morning which meant packing up wet gear for the trip home.  It also meant that Punky missed out on one last jaunt to the campground playground and she was far less than happy about it.  Although our trip ended on a very soggy note, it was still a fun weekend. I enjoyed my early morning walks just as much as last time but I somehow managed to gain over two pounds.

Before we set out on Friday morning, I had reached the forty-pound loss mark and I was thrilled.  I celebrated by enjoying bagels, chocolate cake, and a huge piece of lemon meringue pie over the weekend, so those two pounds were well worth it.  And besides, I hadn't seen most of my relatives at the corn roast in a year, and not a single one of them noticed my weight loss so maybe losing forty pounds isn't a noticeable as I thought?  At any rate, I'm happy to report that my digestive system was a bit more cooperative this trip.  I didn't even have to open the bottle of Pepto, the baggie of Tums, or the box of baking soda I took along as a precaution.

So, farewell to the summer of 2012.  We had plenty of great weather, fun trips, and lazy days at the pool.  We made lots of memories, had lots of laughs, and got lots of exercise.  Here's to hoping that the summer of 2013 doesn't take forever to arrive.  I'm ready for it now and it's still technically not even autumn yet.

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.