I did not die or fall off the face of the earth. I have been incredibly, overwhelmingly busy. And it turns out, I am not one of those moms with extra tentacle-like hands that can do various tasks all at once....including updating a once-frequented blog.
Here's what I've been doing:
Dealing with a six-month old drama queen. She spits, she rolls her eyes at me, she refuses to look my way. And the next minute she smiles, coos, and reaches her arms out to her favorite mama.
Dealing with a five-going-on-35 year old boy. Nothing is new here. He is an orange belt in TKD now...which translates to more emphatic outbursts of "I can KICK YOUR BUTT!" to his brother, when applicable. But trust me, if he even tries to kick his brother's butt....well, we'll see who's got the orange belt...
Dealing with the process of getting a Masters in Counseling. I can't believe how much more work this is, compared to undergrad. I wanted to be done. What was I thinking?
Putting my house on the market, and praying it sells soon.
Dealing with the ever ongoing struggle to get Gabe to gain weight. His sister went in for her six month checkup, and weighed in at 13 lbs, 13 oz. Gabe is nearly three. He weighs 24 lbs. There is something very disturbing about that. He eats incessantly, but I am now wondering if he has Crohn's. Why can I not eat incessantly?
Speaking of weight, I witnessed the little hourglass on my computer screen as it processed the calculation of my "ideal" weight. I waited. And to my horror, the number it gave me was a shocking 70 lbs. less than what I currently weigh. So that's it, folks. "Morbidly Obese." Since I figure I'm about 2 shakes from having my own show on TLC anyway, I would like to avoid having it revolve around my weight issues. So I joined Weight Watchers, and intend to go into seclusion until further notice.
Which, on the bright side, may mean more blogging. Or just more running and jumping and following the humiliating moves of Jillian Michaels, the much despised weight loss coach for "The Biggest Loser."
Take care, folks.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Nostalgic 64
This afternoon, I gave Isaac a present. I actually had it at Christmas, but I didn't want it to get lost in the shuffle. This is a special present...to me it was, anyway. It's a box of brand new Crayolas. The "big" 64 crayon pack. Not the super fancy one with the built in sharpener, or the huge 108 count box that boasts more variety but rather just slightly changes the originals and rewrites a fancy name. Nope. This is a traditional box, all with beautifully sharpened tips, neatly falling in line like little colorful soldiers in their respective cardboard sections.
I remember that Crayolas were my favorite part of going to school. Each August, I'd get a new box, and though I would spend several minutes at a time looking at the colors, studying them and moving them around in the box, I wouldn't make a single mark with them until I was in school. They weren't to be spoiled.
So, today I sat with Isaac and we looked at all the colors. He quickly picked his favorites, just like I quickly picked them when I was his age. He selected royal blue and red, for obvious superhero reasons. Those are Spiderman's colors.
Back then, I would have raced my fingers to the magenta and thistle. Those were my go-to colors. Ironically, I didn't color with them much. I didn't want to "waste" them. Funny, now I don't know where all those magentas and thistles went. The almost new crayons, probably tossed in a trash along with the stubby black, the worn out jungle green, and the paperless orange-red. Then I remember the trend of coloring many patches of the rainbow onto a sheet of white paper, and then coating the whole thing in black so you could make designs with a toothpick and the colors would come through. I liked the idea, but I only used my death-row crayons for that. By this I mean my sorriest black, my ugliest blues, yellows and pinks. Never my nice new colors; this project was crayon massacre.
We were interrupted in our crayon admiration by a "test of the emergency broadcast system" that reassured us, it was only a test, but also noted that it was a regularly scheduled test of our nation's Homeland Security alert system. Like the kind of alert we might get, not as a test, if our country is attacked by terrorists again? Perhaps. Isaac turned his attention to the TV, asking me what it meant. I explained it was just a way to make everyone aware if there would ever be danger. His eyebrows furrowed.
So did mine.
So, it seems, while he and I can share the joy of a new box of Crayolas, the thought stikes me that my children's childhood may not be as carefree as my own was, as carefree as it's supposed to be. I know I'll do everything I can to keep things simple, but we're definitely in a different ballgame, now.
For the moment, though, I think I'm going to teach him how to make one of those "use up all your old colors and draw with a toothpick" projects.
And for the record, as of today, I think my new favorite colors are orchid and raw umber.
I remember that Crayolas were my favorite part of going to school. Each August, I'd get a new box, and though I would spend several minutes at a time looking at the colors, studying them and moving them around in the box, I wouldn't make a single mark with them until I was in school. They weren't to be spoiled.
So, today I sat with Isaac and we looked at all the colors. He quickly picked his favorites, just like I quickly picked them when I was his age. He selected royal blue and red, for obvious superhero reasons. Those are Spiderman's colors.
Back then, I would have raced my fingers to the magenta and thistle. Those were my go-to colors. Ironically, I didn't color with them much. I didn't want to "waste" them. Funny, now I don't know where all those magentas and thistles went. The almost new crayons, probably tossed in a trash along with the stubby black, the worn out jungle green, and the paperless orange-red. Then I remember the trend of coloring many patches of the rainbow onto a sheet of white paper, and then coating the whole thing in black so you could make designs with a toothpick and the colors would come through. I liked the idea, but I only used my death-row crayons for that. By this I mean my sorriest black, my ugliest blues, yellows and pinks. Never my nice new colors; this project was crayon massacre.
We were interrupted in our crayon admiration by a "test of the emergency broadcast system" that reassured us, it was only a test, but also noted that it was a regularly scheduled test of our nation's Homeland Security alert system. Like the kind of alert we might get, not as a test, if our country is attacked by terrorists again? Perhaps. Isaac turned his attention to the TV, asking me what it meant. I explained it was just a way to make everyone aware if there would ever be danger. His eyebrows furrowed.
So did mine.
So, it seems, while he and I can share the joy of a new box of Crayolas, the thought stikes me that my children's childhood may not be as carefree as my own was, as carefree as it's supposed to be. I know I'll do everything I can to keep things simple, but we're definitely in a different ballgame, now.
For the moment, though, I think I'm going to teach him how to make one of those "use up all your old colors and draw with a toothpick" projects.
And for the record, as of today, I think my new favorite colors are orchid and raw umber.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A creative kid?
I woke up in a cold sweat at about 2 a.m. today. This doesn't happen very often. No, it wasn't a nightmare about a monster or ghosts, or being attacked or chased, or falling out of a 10 story building or anything like that. It was about school, and particularly, my kid. I had talked with a few of the mom's at Isaac's Tae Kwon Do class about Kindergarten options, and as luck would have it, I had a dream about it. To sum it up, in the dream, Isaac started Kindergarten. The teachers were impressed with his knowledge, he knew his colors, shapes, numbers, etc. But when it came to relating to his friends, there was trouble. He came home and cried that no one liked him. And, although it's an extreme exaggeration from real life, at the end of the dream, I was having a conference with his teacher who said "Just face it, your kid is a weirdo."
Now, I've never heard a teacher call a kid a weirdo; at least not to a parent. In fact, I'm sure the term "weirdo" came from my own frequent use of it in my vocabulary. I like to say it with a little Bronx accent "ya weeah-do."
Anyway, point is, Isaac is a lot like me. He's a bit of a loner. He loves to play with other kids, but in general, his ideas seem a little far-fetched to some kids. He frequently dresses up in costumes, he alters his voice to sound like various characters, he draws elaborate pictures of space aliens playing with zombies and he fetches random useless items (sticks, buttons, pieces of string, etc) to use on his unbelievable snow "castle" creations in the backyard. I overheard him telling his brother that he's married and the cats are his children. Just today he told him that if he didn't start using the potty soon, he was going to smell like "tuna fish and wet chicken!" He also sulks at the dinner table, spending a few minutes every evening giving me guilt trips about serving meat, considering the fact that it's killing farm animals. I just don't know about him. Every parent questions their child's nature from time to time, I'm sure. Every parent worries, (whether you admit it or not) that your kid will be the one dancing around with his hands down his shorts like the kid of Everybody Loves Raymond when the rest of the basketball team is trying to score. Likewise, every parent secretly thinks, at one point or another, that their kid is really gifted, super-intelligent and somehow, in some way,superior to other kids. Come on. We all do it.
Perhaps it's all normal. Perhaps it's because he is home with me all the time. I don't really interact with many people. I generally leave the house 3 times per week: church, and Monday and Wednesday's Tae Kwon Do class. I do go to the store from time to time, too, but I tote all 3 children along. I find myself becoming more and more of a loner, and maybe it's impacting him somehow. I used to hang out with friends often, before I had children. Even when I worked outside the home, I was more social. Nowadays, the reasoning process is different for me. Generally, if I have to pay a babysitter, dress up (something other than jeans), or pretend to be interesting, it's a no go. I even go to school at home, on the internet. I am becoming more fond of the concept of "Individual Networking" or "Autonomous Networking." Most of the friends I have exist only in the cyber-world. Some of them, I know, are friends that I've known for a while, and we simply reconnect online, but some of them I've never really met...and we are friends, just the same.
I find more often that my "friends" are the people who are most comfortable with who I really am. My mom, my sister, a few others, maybe. People I don't have to impress. People I can laugh with about idiotic things. People who don't care if I share a controversial and politically incorrect opinion, drop some foul language for the sake of passion, or even simply disagree.
What I do realize is the fact that this may not be the most helpful to my "interesting" child. Maybe he needs to spend less time with me, and more time interacting with peers. He casually shrugs his shoulders and tells me, "Mom, I'm just creative." Except he pronounces it "curative."
Creativity or not, maybe it'll all turn out okay. Maybe he'll blend in just fine, and I'm worrying for nothing. Maybe he's not a weirdo after all.
And anyhow, one of my favorite sayings is that there's a "fine line between genius and madness," and having a "curative" kid that turns into the next Albert Einstein wouldn't be all bad. Maybe the little man will win a Nobel prize someday, although it wouldn't really matter...they give those out to anybody nowadays....There I go with a politically incorrect statement again, darnit.
Now, I've never heard a teacher call a kid a weirdo; at least not to a parent. In fact, I'm sure the term "weirdo" came from my own frequent use of it in my vocabulary. I like to say it with a little Bronx accent "ya weeah-do."
Anyway, point is, Isaac is a lot like me. He's a bit of a loner. He loves to play with other kids, but in general, his ideas seem a little far-fetched to some kids. He frequently dresses up in costumes, he alters his voice to sound like various characters, he draws elaborate pictures of space aliens playing with zombies and he fetches random useless items (sticks, buttons, pieces of string, etc) to use on his unbelievable snow "castle" creations in the backyard. I overheard him telling his brother that he's married and the cats are his children. Just today he told him that if he didn't start using the potty soon, he was going to smell like "tuna fish and wet chicken!" He also sulks at the dinner table, spending a few minutes every evening giving me guilt trips about serving meat, considering the fact that it's killing farm animals. I just don't know about him. Every parent questions their child's nature from time to time, I'm sure. Every parent worries, (whether you admit it or not) that your kid will be the one dancing around with his hands down his shorts like the kid of Everybody Loves Raymond when the rest of the basketball team is trying to score. Likewise, every parent secretly thinks, at one point or another, that their kid is really gifted, super-intelligent and somehow, in some way,superior to other kids. Come on. We all do it.
Perhaps it's all normal. Perhaps it's because he is home with me all the time. I don't really interact with many people. I generally leave the house 3 times per week: church, and Monday and Wednesday's Tae Kwon Do class. I do go to the store from time to time, too, but I tote all 3 children along. I find myself becoming more and more of a loner, and maybe it's impacting him somehow. I used to hang out with friends often, before I had children. Even when I worked outside the home, I was more social. Nowadays, the reasoning process is different for me. Generally, if I have to pay a babysitter, dress up (something other than jeans), or pretend to be interesting, it's a no go. I even go to school at home, on the internet. I am becoming more fond of the concept of "Individual Networking" or "Autonomous Networking." Most of the friends I have exist only in the cyber-world. Some of them, I know, are friends that I've known for a while, and we simply reconnect online, but some of them I've never really met...and we are friends, just the same.
I find more often that my "friends" are the people who are most comfortable with who I really am. My mom, my sister, a few others, maybe. People I don't have to impress. People I can laugh with about idiotic things. People who don't care if I share a controversial and politically incorrect opinion, drop some foul language for the sake of passion, or even simply disagree.
What I do realize is the fact that this may not be the most helpful to my "interesting" child. Maybe he needs to spend less time with me, and more time interacting with peers. He casually shrugs his shoulders and tells me, "Mom, I'm just creative." Except he pronounces it "curative."
Creativity or not, maybe it'll all turn out okay. Maybe he'll blend in just fine, and I'm worrying for nothing. Maybe he's not a weirdo after all.
And anyhow, one of my favorite sayings is that there's a "fine line between genius and madness," and having a "curative" kid that turns into the next Albert Einstein wouldn't be all bad. Maybe the little man will win a Nobel prize someday, although it wouldn't really matter...they give those out to anybody nowadays....There I go with a politically incorrect statement again, darnit.
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