Yelling At Inanimate Objects (And Other Fun.)

This photo, originally in the January '10 issue of Parenting magazine, nearly gave me a brain aneurysm when I first saw it.

So, so many things.

For starters:
-She is eleven years old.
-She is holding a doughnut and wincing at her weight on the scale.
-She weighs 129lbs.
-To get a full body shot like that, she must have a positively Louvre-like bathroom. Or the photographer is standing directly inside her full length mirror.

Am I to feel any sort of connection with this image? Any sympathy for her plight? I do not believe that she either a) feels badly about herself or b) eats doughnuts. Maybe even c) has kids. (LOOK at those HIPS! Eleven.)

And sure, I'm not compelled to immediately identify with every single picture placed in front of me- but come on. The magazine is called 'Parenting'. Not 'Awesome Thin People Eating Junk Food'. (Although- sign me up for that one.) But its target demographic is the young Mom and Dad. Who presumably, if they have body image issues at all, have legit ones. (If I looked that good and had a doughnut, you would surely not hear me complain.) The article goes on to extol the virtues of being easy on yourself after the holidays, that a new diet is sure to fail now and again. The important thing is to not beat yourself up! Have a doughnut!

At the time that this magazine entered our house, I was a hot mess of hormones, sleep deprivation, Chicago winter skin/body/hair, and forty extra pounds of taco. You think you've seen tears? You have not seen tears. And a frightened P.J. did not think that a bag of Mexican food could solve it this time.

Instead, he told me to hang on to the article. Maybe even hang it up in my office. Before I could projectile weep at him, he delicately suggested (from behind protective forearms) that I take my own picture when I felt good about myself. Compare the two. Laugh. Have a snack.

And ten months later, I did.

I made a few executive edits:
-Wasn't so much feelin' the underpants thing.
-My shirt is crazy cooler.
-Martinis make scales easier. (Also- we don't "keep" doughnuts around. You either walk in and have them in a box, or you've just run out of doughnuts.)
-I've definitely got more rage than consternation.
-My camera was propped up in my toddler's Snack Trap.

So, what's my point? Am I coming almost a year late to The January Issue Of Parenting Made Me Feel Badly party? Am I railing against unfair depictions of actual Momitude in the media? Do I believe that only hefty people should consume baked goods?

Nope.

Oh sure, I was all set to be a stoic example of what a Real Mother On A Scale Holding A Highly Caloric Object looks like- a super zoom would reveal my lack of makeup, poorly patched "pedicure" and yes, those are a series of small holes on the front of my favorite tee- indeed, I kept it REAL. Until I stepped on the scale.

For you see, I didn't weigh 129lbs. I weighed slightly less. (Take that, MODEL.)

Now I was in a wicked pickle. There is NO humor in being smaller than the teensy person whom you are in the act of condemning for the samesuch quality! NONE.

But there was a smallish bit of pride. Not just that I was [fleetingly] thin, but that my self-created diet of tears, once a month Pilates, stress, more tears, some yelling, okay- more yelling, forgetting to eat, more than making up for it and crying out the difference, and playlot shame WORKED! For the time being!

Sure, it was nearly inevitable that once I stopped eating for seven- loooong after I'd had the baby- that I'd shed most of the weight. But should I should call Parenting and have them feature me as January's obnoxious example of unattainable long-term lifestyle goals? No way. Here's why:

Because in my quest to mock an unfair depiction, I've unwittingly become closer to the actual image against which I'd raged, an act which demands that I- momentarily- dislike and scorn myself. I'm basically required to wonder about what it is, exactly, that I'm trying to "say" to Me in general...and then spend way too much time agonizing about how I'm presenting Me to Myself in the media. It's kinda like Time Cop. Also- the weight of Not Real Problems is staggeringly heavy and hubris adds about twenty pounds. Oop, there we go. Back to normal. Thanks for nothing Parenting.

But I'm not gonna beat myself up about it.

Doughnut, anyone?

<---Not Brave.

Nora is covered in band-aids. Five of them, to be exact. On her bruised, teensy tiny upper arms.

I have one band-aid. But I care not for my own pain- for it is my penance.

Oh, sure, Nora was thrilled to see the doctor and her nurse pals this a.m. What's not to like? Cool artwork (for her, anyway- she's not too discerning yet), tons of stuff to poke and touch, people telling her how big and strong and pretty she is...

And then jabbing her with needles the size of a small country.

Trying not to project my own fears of [awfulterriblepainful] needles onto my kid, I smiled and sang and gave her a cookie. A special doctor visit cookie! You know, a Halloween sugar cookie, like you do.

And then they made me lean over her to pin down her upper body and legs. Right away, she knew something was up. As they tightened the tourniquet and swabbed her miniature inner arm, she looked at me with panicked and pleading eyes. Then she began to whimper. And, I AM NOT ASHAMED TO SAY...so did I.

I almost went and got the car. Seriously, I asked myself. How threatening IS polio? So what if she has lead in her system?

I'm pretty sure they drained all of the blood in her body. It took like seven hours.

And they they gave her four shots. Two of which, they warned (there were multiple nurses), might be really sting-y. And, gauging by the [momentarily] silent scream emitting from my purple-headed daughter's face, I'm willing to bet they were.

Her arms are already purple and blue and red. She has, occasionally, removed her sleepy weepy head from the crook of my neck- once when the nurses returned to do my flu shot. (I've rarely seen such a wary and tension-filled glare coming from one so little.)

My arm is a little sore. I cannot even imagine the Achyville in which she currently resides.

We both had cookies.

So. Yes. This weekend.

On Friday we had the unparalleled date night of watching ourselves on The Food Network (Outrageous Food, playing again on the 14th at 3p and 10:30p CST, in case you missed it)...and enjoyed the evening by having our phones in hand, computers on lap, texting, emailing, Facebooking, Skyping, Gchatting, and phone-calling. Just like the pioneers intended.

Also this weekend; I made the very urban discovery that a car alarm truly serves no purpose. None. Its intended use it to deter car theft. What ends up happening, however, is that you don't end up hearing the alarm at 3am. Your neighbors do. And, instead of checking to see if everything is all right, they actually wish the car jacker would hurry up and disable the siren. Maybe smack you with a car part if a child is woken.

Just a casual observation apropos of nothing on Troy Street.

Another revelation? A few reviews of my new 3lb computer warned against its small and tricky-to-maneuver keyboard- the one that actually makes me a better typist. Obviously, I HAVE CHILDLIKE HANDS. Thank you, Picayune Polly, for being yet another affirmation that I am indeed a ten year-old.

In case the wardrobe, hairstyle, fear of the dark, toy collections, nicknaming, and joyful outbursts didn't give it away.

Nora thinks I'm cool. Or will once I give her another cookie.

(Small hands high-five!)

Intensive porpoises.

[Note: This posting was, for all intents and purposes, ready to go this a.m. However, apparently I wasn't. Really, all I had to do was do a li'l spell check, edit some late night phrases that don't do so well in the light of day (and vice versa) and hit 'publish post.'

Yup. Couldn't even manage that. 

To be fair, I was awfully busy ruining my daughter's life and stranding a three year-old in the line for preschool pickup. One super sick baby (she got the illness lovingly passed on by a good half of her party guests) in addition to one semi-sick three year old, and throw in a seven year-old outta school due to a teachers' conference. Add in a stalled recycling truck outside of two schools with simultaneous pickup times...and oh, let's just pretend that the non-sleeping baby didn't care to be stopped in traffic (with or without garbage truck fumes) and, just for fun, let's say that the middle kiddo felt thoroughly abandoned after a ten minute wait...and the littlest one decided to get her only nappin' of the day in whilst car bound. 

That leaves about three hours of unfulfilled nappage and 9.5 hours of fulfilled crabbage (that's a combo crab/cabbage/cribbage)- but plenty of opportunity for five cups of caffeine. 

The day might've been destined for crabbagetude, however, since I woke up from a nightmare that seemed about eight years long. In a nutshell, the dream took place on my wedding day. Sans P.J. or any actual items or locations of that day. Especially without Peej- because he had stood me up on the altar. All I remember was being very sad, and then, when I woke up, being very mad at P.J. (He hates when these things happen. Awake P.J. and Dream P.J. need to have some words.) 

So. Yes. Lack of bloggin' for the day. Amended. With apologies for the late hour.]

Previously Penned Posting o' Prose and Puns:

This was, quite obviously, a good time o' year to be born'd. I don't think I had realized just how many pals were Scorpios in addition to my husband, daughter, sister and Mom. 

Lots of passionate, deep thinkin' arguers. 

I didn't exactly need the zodiac to tell me that.

And a happy birthday week to my big sis Kate. She's awesome. Awesomer than me, in fact. Here's why: she had her first kid on my birthday. (06.06.06- and I turned 26. Neato/frightening!) I could not manage the same, despite an original due date a mere day before her birthday. (11.04.09. Kate's is the 5th. Nora was delivered on the 29th of October. Darn you, modern medicine!) 

So there's that. There's also the fact that she's a computer whiz, soccer star and baking genius (seriously- ask her to make you a banana cake. On second thought, don't. It's for me.)

If only I had enough floss, I'd string up a pulley/basket contraption- like the kind that used to hang between our bedroom doors- and send a secret birthday message as big as the Midwest. In fact, maybe I'd send myself in the basket and save on airfare. Or...or...I could send others and charge for it! Then I could see her whenever I wanted!

Birthday magic. Brilliant.

Some other little-known tidbits and magical facts about this week:

1) Despite having mopped the floors and both staircases repeatedly over the last few days, there are miniature cat hair tumbleweeds rollin' on by...and rollin' on over random sticky spots near the fridge. I'm gonna go ahead and presume that they're made of juice. Also, I'm gonna go ahead and guess that this all is the work of one thing and one thing only- a ghost. 

2) I am getting a new laptop delivered any time between right this very second and tomorrow in an hour to be determined...and oh, it will be determined. Because my nose will be pressed against the window until the very second it arrives, prompting my daughter to wonder why she's being neglected and I will tell her that MOMMY IS GETTING A NEW COMPUTER. Drink your juice. But not by the fridg- oh well. 

3) This new computer is teeeeeensy...and yes, it already has a name. 

4) And a customized skin. Like the 13 year-old girl that I am. 

5) My bloodstream is comprised of 79% sugar. And not even the fructose kind. Like, straight up candy corn and brownies and caramel apples and cupcakes and Kit Kats. I find that this affects things like "energy," "sleep," and "mood." This has not slowed me down in the least.

6) And many, many of my friends have seen this already...but P.J. and I are exceedingly proud of the following 12 second clip:

...Because it means that our darlin' girl has put the 'fun' in FUNCTIONAL. 

        

Anagram: ANTIC FLU NO.

A.K.A.: Keely, go to bed.      

November is for sleeping.

Firstly and foremostly, congrats to Kelly F, winner extraordinaire of the Brain Noodles giveaway! (And no, that does not read 'Keely F.' It doesn't.) Hope you have some fun kiddos in your life- or enjoy a good crafty evening by yourself. 'Cause who doesn't?

Except for autophobes.

Hmm. So. Where did October go?

Ah yes, now I remember. We sent it packing with armloads of confetti and [impossible to open] plastic toy enclosures, a face full of Trick or Treat makeup and frosting up its nostril.

Maybe a frozen Reese's cup in its back pocket. (I'm kidding. I ate all of those. In the state.)

Hey gorgeous. Cupcake? Sure!

Yes. This weekend. Friday was a crazypants day, full of tutus, graphic tees proclaiming 'ONE,' zoo trips, zero naps, and all sorts of good foods. And some really bad ones. We took Nora Noodle to the zoo for her big day and decided to make up for the other afternoon where we tried to squeeze an entire visit into the last fifteen minutes before closing time. We failed.


Here is what she dug:
-The cats. And they were all 'cats.' The lions, servals, panthers, tigers, seals...
-The birds. Flamingos, ducks, nearby chickadees and street pigeons.
-Dad was there. Dad! DAAAAAD!
-Smelling the gardenias inside the conservatory.
-Walking about on the pavement.
-The snack I had brought.

Here is what she did not care for:
-The fact that the monkey house was indoors and dim. Also, kinda smelly.
-That she could not hold the snake.
-Not being allowed to walk about on the pavement the entire time.
-The near-freezing temps.
-Not being allowed IN the koi pond at the conservatory.
-When I removed the empty snack container from her hands.

I had made all of her favorite foods for that day- in fact, for the whole week. P.J's as well- because, as everyone knows, she's taking notes. And will remember. These foods included: French toast with bananas, mini croissant sandwiches, a sweet potato and apple bake, eggplant parmesan, and a chocolate cherry cupcake (from Sweet Mandy B's. I cannot bake.) I'm rather surprised she didn't explode.

As for the cupcake itself, we had a very cool (and rather Epcot World of Tomorrow moment) where my parents got to Skype and see Nora blow out her first candle. (We live in the future!) It was pretty neat, especially when everyone got a close up look at my delicate daughter smashing her face (hands-free...she's a LADY) directly into the frosting.

We undressed her right over the bathtub and she took a nice long soak surrounded by cake and eggplant bits. YUM.

Dux.

She awoke the next morning to find her parents in a frenzy. Why? Oh, because they had decided on a no-stress mini party for their toddler at her favorite nearby playlot. And that required multiple trips to multiple stores. And they needed to get food and drinks (and adult "juice") and presents and paper goods and wipes and candles (and and and) to the park that may or may not have available picnic tables because, once again, it is a free city park. Also, the forecast had- ever so helpfully- been fluctuating between  a pleasant mid-60s sunny day and a positively frigid rainy 40-something. Which meant that the party MIGHT have had to take place at the homestead. Which was also frantically being cleaned for the arrival of P.J.'s parents sometime that day. (Sorry Nora, happy birthday and all- go lay down.)

And when she decided to nap for a whopping twenty minutes that day? No one was surprised. But thankfully, the day turned out to be gorgeous, Nora was thrilled when she realized where we were taking her, even more ecstatic when she realized that other people she knew were there (Hey guys! You're at my park!), and she devoured a second glorious cupcake (punkin' this time, made by the fabulous Cindy/Julia Team O' Excellence) with all the acumen of a seasoned pro.

Of course, we had decided to have it at the park to best accommodate all of her miniature friends...four of whom were able to show up. (There were various illnesses and weekendy plans. You know how it goes.) However, a whopping 90% of our friends made it, allowing for a positively creepy number of adults san children at a public playlot. Lots of bench-sitting and "juice" drinking. I had fun. Nora thought it was terrific.


That night she passed out atop brightly wrapped boxes, clutching a questionably "food"-covered Doc Bullfrog. Party over, I could almost hear her bitsy (and racing) mind decide.

Miiine.

Except.

The next day was Halloween. A day for masks, Skyping with a good half of Trick or Treating cousins (what's a telephone?), carving pumpkins (you're doing WHAT to the punkins?!), giving buckets of candy away to other kids (they get ALL of it?) and dressing up as Raggedy Ann (I did this last week, weirdos.) Aside from the oddity of hearing the doorbell every five minutes, she had a pretty decent time. She even got to take a bath with all of the leftover cupcake ducks.

There's a sentence I've never before typed.

But now that it's November, maybe we can all agree to take a nap? Specifically the shorties? I need all the extra time I can get to dispose of the veritable kitchen candyland we're got going on (immediately into my face) and find some sort of order for the F.A.O. Schwartz open for business in our playroom. (Nora: It is fine the way it is. Leave it. LEAVE IT.)

Raggedy Tired.

I might start by doing a big ol' load of laundry. That's right. Let's start with the upstairs bedding. I'm probably gonna need to crawl under the sheets to make sure I can reach all of the blankets. And I should rest there for a few.

This hand holding the cupcake is getting heavy.