Lauren Unsupervised

I have to believe that these markers are non toxic (I think she used the marker like a lollipop - her tongue and teeth are orange!)

Yes - this IS vaseline (what does this say about her mom when she grabs the camera before addressing the "issue")!

Granny Pants Redux

Tonight I had the luxury of three hours to myself. Dan is out of town and the kids were at a Parent's Night Out with preschool friends between 5-8pm. What did I do with my time? I chose to go to Costco. I know. Loser. If that was not bad enough, I decided to rectify the underwear situation (see Granny Pants). Never mind that this is the same place I purchased the offending underwear. And would you believe it? I accidently bought the same granny pants.

There are no words. Why I even bother to write about it - I do not know. How did this happen? What is wrong with me? I spent 15-20 minutes examining all of the underwear selections. Seriously. I did not have the kids with me, so I took my time to find the perfect style. I even opened a couple of packages to really get an understanding of what I was dealing with. Sadly, I neglected to open up all of them.

I liked the Calvin Klein bikini, but it was twice the cost, so NO (I have got to drop this cheap attitude when choosing underwear) and the Maidenform were nice - but they had some stripes on them I thought my show through light pants. I come to the French Dressing's it-se-bit-se brand of bikini underwear and the picture looks good (i.e. I can see her bellybutton, unlike looking at me in my granny pants where my bellybutton - and lower back - is covered). I soon realize that this is the same brand as my last (awful) panty purchase, so I put them down and go back to the Calvin's. I start feeling guilty about the price again, and then realize the fabric content. I am really a cotton girl when it comes to everyday wear. And here comes the big mistake. I pick up the damn French Dressing's it-se-bit-se "bikini" (I use quotes here, because these are NOT bikinis - they are tents) and check the fabric content - good, cotton. Unfortunately, the package was really secure so I (fatal move) just put it in my cart and continued on.

When I get home I open up the package of "bikinis" and am completely stunned. I have bought the exact same underwear. Granny pants. Fucker. Clearly I need intervention. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. I cannot buy my underwear at Costco. Einstein's definition of insanity comes to mind: doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.

Granny Pants

I went to a new rolfer last week for lower back issues. Anyone who has been to a rolfer before, knows the drill. You pretty much are in your underwear for the session - especially at the beginning because the rolfer is examining your structure (i.e. you are standing in your underwear while he looks at your body) before he begins to work on you. Being in my underwear isn't a problem - I have two kids (read: given birth in a hospital where all of you is there for everyone to see) and Dan went to college with my rolfer and swears he is gay. It was my choice of underwear for inevitable public viewing that gave me pause. Granny pants.

To be fair - I do not have much to choose from. For some reason I have become super cheap and refuse to buy new underwear until it is threadbare (my husband is the same way, but still I think mine are more worse for wear). I have several pair that I bought at Target 5 years ago while in Arizona after my luggage was stolen that are still in the rotation - okay, I am embarrassed just typing that. On the other hand I have some VERY expensive fancy thong underwear (which includes a $75 pair that my mom got on sale for me - yes, they are very fancy) for special occasions. A rolfing session seemed an inappropriate setting for a thong. So I decided on a relatively new pair (bought a little over a year ago) that might just be the biggest pair of panties I own. Seriously. When I took them out of the box, I saw Dan's face and his expression seemed to convey, how many pairs of underwear is that??? The thing is, these underwear were a mistake. I bought them at Costco (because I am cheap, remember) and I thought I was buying bikini style. This was not to be the case. They were french cut (which for the record sounds fancy and hip, but it is not, please be forewarned and do not make this mistake). For some reason I did not return the underwear. I became a martyr - I vowed to wear them until they fell apart (sadly I am learning that they may just be around for a long time - remember the underwear from five years ago that are still with me???).

Back to my rolfing session. As I am standing in front of my rolfer - in my yoga bra (excellent choice) and bloomers (horrible choice) - I am feeling like my underwear is the elephant in the room. They are so enormous, how can we not talk about them? Yet here I stood facing him, turning side to side and (ugh) my back to him (this just might be the worst view - the fabric covers my entire butt and some of my lower back - the Amish cover less).

Finally he is done with examining my structure and I can lie on the table. Yet now I am lying face down with a parachute on my ass. The thing is he is very professional - and I really believe he could care less and is more focused on my structural problems. But when he politely asked if he could roll down the elastic waist of my underwear so he could really work on the muscles in my lower back I lost it. I started laughing hysterically - I could not stop. I now have proof that my underwear is too big - he needed to ROLL IT DOWN.

If this was not bad enough, I proceed to tell my rolfer why I am laughing. You heard me. I am discussing my large underwear with him. The fact that I chose this pair over a ratty ancient pair and a fancy thong. That these are my choices. I am crying of laughter at this point. Why can I NOT shut up? Stories and descriptions of panties keep leaving my mouth while my internal dialog is saying, SHUT UP you granny pants wearing fool!

When I return home, Dan asks how it was. Great - sort of. I explain what happened. Dan is laughing at me (I really do not think with me). The thing is - I used to not even wear underwear. However, that would still leave me in a predicament at the rolfer. And although my rolfer swears it was the perfect rolfing underwear, I still think I need a couple of new pairs.

Triathlon Joy

Thanks to my husband, I found the joy last Sunday. I had all but given up competing in the Danskin Triathlon this year - but Dan was insistent that if I did not, I would regret it. This would be my fourth triathlon - so in it of itself, not a stressful event for me - but life surrounding the week before seemed too chaotic and tense for me to devote the time and energy needed. The thing is - Dan was right. Once at the event, I was at peace. I was not nervous or anxious as I had been in years past. I was able to enjoy being in a crowd of over 3700 women (all shapes, sizes, age and color) competing - together.

I love organized races (I use the term race loosely here - I am always participating in these types of events for the experience, not the win). I always feel like I am part of something bigger somehow. The euphoria gets amplified and the feeling of accomplishment is wonderful.

The Danskin (as we triathletes call it) is a half mile swim, about a 12 mile bike and a 3 mile run. This I can do - with a bit of training. A bit is all I seemed to get this summer with the demands of my children, my high school reunion in Houston (read: a week in weather so HOT you could scarcely be outside or run the risk of passing out - so no training) and family reunion in Maine (read: a week in cooler weather right after my Houston trip, but now I am off my schedule and am being lazy - so really no training). If this was my only interruption - I do not think I would have gone crazy the week before. Sadly, it was this particular week that nearly sent me to the loony bin (which actually would have been nice, no one to take care of, people taking care of me, no responsibilities...but I digress).

Hell week (a term usually associated with fraternities' hazing week for new pledges) is what I have knighted this time - it started Friday, August 8th. I arrive home from Portland, Maine with Dan, Kelan and Lauren Friday evening. Long flight. Long day. I am done. Saturday my extended family celebrates my grandmother's 91st birthday (see Rockbridge Times and Ahead of the Wave). Sunday is Kelan's 4th birthday. I have invited over 60 people for a BBQ in the park. Meanwhile, the kids are TOTALLY off their sleep schedule and are getting up throughout the night. Lauren has graduated herself from her crib and is insistent on sleeping in her bed. I am trying to get to the preschool work I have been neglecting while on vacation (I serve on the board of my children's preschool and am chair of Kelan's PreK class). Kelan has started a week long woodworking day camp which he could not attend without me the first day (Monday) - so I had to stay in the room preventing Lauren from interrupting the class. Dan was contemplating a new job and we were going back and forth on what this would mean for his career and how it would impact our family. My house is a wreck and we have no groceries. I learn on Thursday afternoon that my next door neighbors are removing (read: killing) a 50 year plus old beautiful pine tree in their back yard on FRIDAY! I knew they wanted to do this, but did not know it was this soon - I had been trying to get them to change their minds. Friday I got to hear the chainsaw during quiet time. When I finally summoned the courage to take a peek at the devastation, it was worse than I could have believed. Imagine my shock when I realized that they had cut down an entirely different tree than the one discussed and that they were now moving on to the tree in question. I lost it. Completely. I ran outside with the children to cry in front of my neighbors. They were not there. I cried so hard I could not breathe. Another neighbor came over to make sure I was okay - she thought that Dan had died. I cried for an hour before I pulled myself and my kids out of the house to seek support at a friend's. I was a wreck. Keep in mind I am trying to find time to train this week after a two week hiatus. All I can think is that I cannot do the Danskin. I do not have the energy or time - I could not find the joy. Dan felt otherwise.

I struggled to get my race day information the Saturday before the race. What a chore. I had to drive over to Bellevue through many road closures. A confusing expo once I got there. A gruesome drive home through football traffic and Hemp Fest traffic (will I ever get home?). Sunday morning has arrived - race day. Dan drops me off and finds a place to park. Suddenly I am calm. I walk with the other athletes towards the transition area. I begin to relax and start to enjoy being up so early on a beautiful morning.

For the next couple of hours I am swimming, biking and running. I have a personal cheering section (Dan, Kelan, Lauren and my mom). I am witnessing women competing in their first triathlon, their tenth. Women supporting each other - not competing against. My endorphins have kicked in. I sprint the final stretch of the run and cross the finish line. I have a grin from ear to ear. Thank you, Dan, I found my triathlon joy.

Best Way to Spend our Money...

I have been looking for a patio table and chair set for some time and have been coming up empty handed. Either it is cheap and looks terrible or it is perfect and way out of our price range. I recently fell in love with a friend's table (I just know she spent thousands on it....) and since I saw hers, everything else I saw in our price range ranked in the why bother category. My search ended today. I found (with help) and bought the perfect patio table and chairs for our family (banish the fact that we have yet to build our patio).

Yesterday I realized that I needed help in locating what I envisioned so I emailed a good friend of mine who is great at finding things. Seriously. She has an eye for great antique/used pieces and knows a deal when she sees one. I wanted to ask her about places I should look (clearly I was looking in all the wrong places). Last night she called me on her way to yoga and said that she walked by this amazing patio set (cast aluminum, weathered look) at a consignment store. It sounded perfect (and I totally trust her taste) and knew that if she was calling me I needed to immediately check it out or it would be gone.

Karma was with me today (it is about time - of course now that I am complaining about Karma something else will come bite me in the ass and I will be back in the red...). I was supposed to stay at home all day because the house painters were painting doors and they needed to remain open while drying. Well, they cancelled because it was raining - so we headed off to the consignment store!

Immediately I knew this was our table (it was outside on the sidewalk in front of the store). I walked in and asked how much the set was. The man asked if I was Denise. Huh? Uh, no. Long story short, Denise had been looking at the table too and was supposed to come in first thing in the morning (the store opens at 10am, it was 10:40am) to buy it. Somewhat deflated, I said that I wanted to be honest and fair and that if he felt he needed to wait, that would be okay. Meanwhile I called Dan to ask him his thoughts. Never mind that I just had a conversation with him this morning saying that I think we are going to have to dip into savings to help pay for the house painting we are having done. Never mind that we do not even have a patio to put patio furniture on. This was OUR table.

Now, it must be said that Dan never tells me no. Never. It is not all about money related matters either. A usual response is whatever makes my pie happy (I am pie in this scenario). When it comes to financial decisions, I am usually met with if you feel this is the best way to spend our money. It is the perfect way for him to make the decision (by not making it - he is a smart man/husband). It is a win win situation for him. He does not have to say no (and get grief) and he trusts that the guilt associated with any big purchase will guide my decision making process. The weight of the choice becomes mine alone. Lovely.

I am caught because the final say is mine and the clock is ticking (Denise could walk in the door any minute). I decide to go for it - a table like this will not come around again for $500 (yes, that is the price for the table AND chairs - I know... it is a steal) and it seats EIGHT! I tell him that I want to buy it if he will sell it to me. He wants to, but I think he started to feel bad. Then the shopkeeper's wife looked over at her husband (they are a husband/wife team) and said, honey, if you're basing a sale on what someone told you versus a paying customer who is right here, then I will sell it it her. I got a mortgage to pay. The sale is made. The table is ours.

As I am loading the kids into the car I see a woman and her friend walk up to the table and closely examine it. I swear she mouths words like, this is the table I was telling you about. It is Denise, I just know it. Kelan asks why is that woman touching our table. I say it is because she likes it, but privately I am thinking she is about to learn the bad news. It was definitely the best way to spend our money today.

Poop

I am so tired of poop. There is always poop happening in my life. Today was no different - although the circumstances were harder. Let me explain.

This morning I decided that I would take Kelan and Lauren to the beach - never mind that the blue skies I saw early this morning have turned to gray. It is summer goddammit, I am going to the beach. I load the kids in the car (after painstakingly applying sunblock, putting on swimsuits, gathering up snacks/water, a change of clothes, a towel, the beach toys, and Kelan's favorite dump truck) and head to Golden Gardens. We get to the beach and I unload everything and let the kids run free. Kelan looks up at me - Mommy, I have to poop. Great. The bathroom is way over on the other side of the beach, and I have Lauren plus all of our belongings (not only all the above mentioned items, but also my diaper bag that has my wallet in it). I think for a minute. Kelan, come with me, we are going to go poop in the bushes.

I walk with Kelan and Lauren over to some bushes that are close by so I can keep an eye on our stuff. Kelan, showing extreme willingness, obliges me and drops his pants, holds my hands and leans back into a squat. Lauren is standing next to me as a witness. I was so proud of Kelan for doing this outside. Really I was. This could have been a disaster (lots of crying and complaining - he likes his privacy when it comes to pooping). But he went with the flow and released an enormous load. Although I had not quite thought ahead - I should have dug a hole so I could have buried it. Hmmmm... what do I do with it (no ,I did not have a bag - and I did not like picking up my dog's poop years ago, I cannot imagine how I would feel picking up Kelan's). I went on a search for a big stick or rock to help flick the poop further into the bush (I cannot believe this is how I am spending my morning). Kelan and Lauren are watching me do this and asking many questions. What are doing? Trying to bury the poop. Why are you burying the poop? So no one steps in it. Why would someone step in it? And so on. Finally, mission accomplished.

Just before we leave the beach I am changing Lauren from her wet suit to a dry outfit. I am about to remove her swim diaper when I realize that she has pooped. Perfect. Did I mention that she has an incredible diaper rash? Oh, and she has been sitting in the wet sand for quite sometime so there is tons of sand in the diaper as well. So now I am wiping poop and sand from Lauren's raw and angry bottom while she is screaming for me to stop. Where is that hose when you need it?

This afternoon I decided that we would go to one of the park's wading pools (I am also thinking that this is my chance to make sure all the sand is out of Lauren's bottom - I was not sure if I had gotten it all throughout the screaming earlier at the beach). I load the kids in the car - again (after applying sunblock, putting on swimsuits, gathering up snacks/water, a change of clothes, a towel, the beach toys, and Kelan's favorite dump truck - again). We get to the pool only to realize - no pool. There has been a mix up with the Park's Department. Perfect. Kelan runs around in the empty wading pool with his truck. Lauren goes to sit in the...sand (her poor bottom). Kelan then comes up to me - Mommy, I have to poop. I think to myself - you have got to be kidding me.

Luckily there is a restroom at the park (why are all public toilets so gross?). Kelan proceeds to strip down (he likes to poop naked - how I managed to bypass this at the beach, I do not know). So now I am walking in and out of the restroom to keep an eye on Lauren and our stuff while Kelan is singing on the toilet happily pooping.

I guess I should not complain about the poop. On the bright side, Kelan is telling me he has to poop and he does not have any accidents. And both kids do not seem to have any issues with their bowels. These are positive things. Poop is good.

Kinda Crunchy

Last night as Dan and I were getting into bed, Dan brushed the crumbs? from our sheets before he laid down. I knew the kids had been playing in our bed and I thought Kelan may have gotten some dirt in the bed so I asked Dan what it was. He did not know, but he thought the sheets were kinda crunchy. Eew. So gross. And quite frankly, a little embarrassing. Yet, here I am publicly writing/telling everyone about it.

I started to think back, when had I last washed my sheets? Well, I know I had been in the habit of washing them when Kelan peed in the bed. Which - when he was coming down every night to sleep with me - was often, so I knew my sheets were getting cleaned at least once or twice a week. That got me thinking, when was it that Kelan stopped crawling into bed with me and Dan at night? Oh my god, it was a month or so ago - which means... oh my god, my sheets are really really really dirty. Eew. So gross. Needless to say, my sheets are in the washer today - on hot with bleach.

It is funny, though. Since having children, my standards have changed. Just today I used my own shirt to wipe Kelan's nose. I also watched (not prevented) Lauren dip her rice cake in the sand/water and eat it (I noticed another mom watch her do this as well. She made a face as she scanned the moms at the beach to see if one of them was going to come and stop the buffet. I did not). I would think that the taste and texture of the sand alone would be a deterrent. Nope.

As a parent, I guess my gross sheets are on par with everything else. Kids are messy. I'm always wiping something. But for tonight, my sheets will be clean.