True Love...

I know that I am not Fuss' first love. I know this because every time he hears the keys in the door he runs to it. He wants to be there when D opens the door, and from 5:30 until bedtime Fuss is D's shadow. I love that my son adores his father so much, but he doesn't have to stop spending time with me just because his daddy comes home! Even still, I come after D and I can accept it, but I'm not even second in his life either. There is a little girl at church that Fuss has a crush on...she comes before me too. I'm going to call her Lovey. Lovey is 3 and beautiful. She has blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, and Fuss loves to watch her. When there are toys, books, or snacks to be had, Fuss is in that no-sharing stage, except for when sharing is with Lovey. He will hand over whatever he has and then follow her to wherever she takes it. It is fun to watch my son be so twitter-pated at such a young age. He truly is smitten. And I do approve of the girl, even though he is betrothed to another. Being third to his love for D and Lovey is fine with me. The crush I have a hard time being after is his love for 4-wheelers. As soon as Fuss has access to the garage, he makes a run for it and does his best to climb on a 4-wheeler. It doesn't matter if it is the large, real one or the motorized toy one that is Moo's or the mini-motorized one that Fuss has been borrowing from Angel. When a 4-wheeler is involved Fuss is truly in love. He loves them so much that he is even willing to wear a helmet to go for a ride.

It took only seconds for Fuss to figure out how to maneuver the mini-wheeler and run into whatever gets in his way. Moo's is a little bigger, so when he climbs on to it he just makes "vroom, vroom" noises, and pretends to steer the wheeler around his imaginary trails. I have to wonder where he learned to make these noises--I think with boys it is in their genes. Whenever Fuss has the chance to go on a ride with D and/or I on the largest of them all, he grins from ear to ear, and holds on tight to either the 4-wheeler or the back of D's shirt (only when I am sitting behind D with Fuss in between us). I knew that Fuss has a knack for adventure due to the fact that he tries to stand on a skateboard or ride a scooter whenever he has access to one, and has since he could walk, but his 4-wheeler obsession is getting ridiculous. At least he knows at an early age that protective gear is required for any of these activities and he willingly wears it, unlike his brothers who unwillingly are forced to wear it.

It was this week that I realized how true Fuss' love for the 4-wheelers was when D decided that it was time to wash the red dirt from our recent trip (3-weeks ago) off of the 4-wheeler. My son who can't sit still long enough to have his diaper changed, let alone participate in a long and tedious project, spent at least 20 minutes helping his dad wash and scrub the machine. No matter what I did his attention was focused on finishing his project. All the while I was ignored, and focus was on his true love... I can't help but wonder where the attention would have been if Lovey had walked by.

Just a haircut...

During part of my I-don't-know-what-I-should-be-when-I-grow-up stage of life, which I am still in by the way, I went to cosmetology school. The reason that I paid a couple of thousand of dollars (or whatever the cost was) to go to a school to get training that I would never use as a vocation, was because of Lois. One day Lois told me that she wanted to be a cosmetologist, but she didn't want to go to school alone so we should go together, and we did. I had never before, and really never since, considered working as a cosmetologist, but I could if I ever decided I wanted to. Now, I have this skill that I use solely to benefit family, my friends, and on occasion...myself. Yes, it is true. I broke the code of cosmetologists world wide and I cut my own hair. I colored it too, which isn't that difficult compared to cutting your own hair. I had to do it, because I haven't had the chance to find a stylist of my very own that I love and trust since moving to my current city...three years ago. I have been very busy for the past 3 years! It was when my brother-in-law lovingly pointed out my graying hairs, several of them, that I knew that it was past time for me to get my hair taken care of. Since it needed to be taken care of immediately, I still didn't have the chance to find a stylist. So, I decided to color my own hair, and you can't color your hair without a cut to go with it. Cuts and colors go hand in hand like peanut butter and chocolate--both are great on their own, but much better together.  I like things to be complete so, I cut it too. Since I can't really see the back of my hair, I had to have D tell me if it was straight (once it was done), and overall there are some flaws, but it is as good as I could get it myself. I have to tell you that cutting your own hair is one of the hardest things that I have ever done, especially in the state of a long bobbish style--it matters if it is straight. The good news is though that my arms got a bit of a workout, and I think that my triceps are more toned than they have been in years, just from this one haircut. Most importantly of all, the job was done, and oddly I could feel better about my hair when in public (even if I shouldn't)!

While in the haircutting mood, I also decided that it was time for my little Fuss to have his 7th haircut...that's right barely 15 months old and has had to have 7 haircuts (he gets it from his dad)! Although I have given Fuss all of his haircuts, this is not one that I am as pleased with as I have been with previous ones. Lucy has this horrible tendency to shave the older boys heads, which I don't think is a very flattering look for them (for some kids yes, but not for ours). I have always made comments (not in front of them of course) about how much better the boys look when their hair has a little style to it. Anyway, the comments have come back to haunt me. Let's just say that I was cutting Fuss' hair, and since Fuss is one year old, that doesn't constitute a still sitting session. In other words, he moved. And what does a stylist do when their client moves while scissors or clippers are in the middle of being used and the mistake cannot be otherwise corrected...therefore, Fuss' head is now shaved to a #4 on top and a #2 in the back...in case that means anything to anyone. And honestly, I don't love it almost as much as I don't love it when Lucy does it to Olie, Skater, and Moo. With Fuss I don't love it for many reasons. One being that it isn't the best look for him either (they must get it from their dad). Another being that when I am rocking him to sleep I have nothing to run my fingers through as I gently scratch the top of his head, which he loves. And the third being that it has moved his appearance from baby/toddler to toddler/boy, and I don't like it! My little boy is growing up and it is happening too fast! People keep telling me "it is only a haircut" when I mention I don't love the look, but it is sooo much more than that. It is a milestone. It really is bittersweet. It is just a haircut...but it is the haircut that changed by baby to a little boy... Just a haircut...I wish!

He's safe...

When you have children I know that it is very important to "childproof" your home. However, after doing so, Fuss still seems able to get into whatever it is he wants to and I cannot. I swear that I am going to break a cupboard door off before I remember that there is a safety latch in them. I get anxious to open the cupboards, for whatever reason, and so I pull and then get yanked back by the door stopper itself--it is like a game almost to see if I am strong enough to pull the cupboard open, and I assure you the cupboard is winning. It has also become nearly impossible for me to vacuum some rooms because I have inserts in all of the low outlets, and once those things go in they are never coming out! That leaves me only able to vacuum the kitchen (and yes I vacuum my tile--with the attachment of course, I don't love the broom), my bedroom (thanks to the connecting bathroom with high outlets), the hallway, and Fuss' room (thanks to the other bathroom with high outlets also). If my house is a mess it is because I can't get to the cleaners that are so neatly tucked away under the sink behind the cupboard door that I cannot open. My once beautifully decorated living room has had to be rearranged so that all "breakables" are in high enough places that Fuss can't reach them. In doing this I also discovered that everything I own could pretty much be considered a "breakable." Therefore, when safety-izing my house I created an unbalanced display of nick-knacks that I could not live with, and felt the need to rearrange, not for decor, but by how much I care about the breakable item. If it is an item that I like but could live without, it goes on the bottom of the shelves or the coffee table. If it is an item that I really do love, it goes on the top and out of reach from little hands. I love my son, so I live with the unbalanced and locked away chaos that has become my home. Such is the sacrifice of a mother...just don't judge me by my apparent lack of decorating (and dressing) fashionista...it is my children's fault.

The thing I have yet to discover is how to "childproof" my home from the older boys. If something is out of their reach, they climb on the counters to get it. If they can't get on the counters, they grab a chair or a stool to climb on to climb on the counters. When they pick up a plastic bat or sword and swing it, they are much more likely to hit and damage things that are raised in an attempt to protect them from Fuss (and vice versa). Not to even mention that small toys are a hazard to all of our children evidently (Moo vs. the marble). My walls are dinged (some of them are from D moving sheetrock to the basement, some from the kids...none from me...yeah right). There is splatter on my walls that I am really not sure where it came from, let alone what it is. There is a cute display of 2 jars in my kitchen that used to be 3 until 1 was dropped on the tile floor. Doors now have to be shut that I used to keep open, which has given D what he feels to be the privilege of leaving those rooms (our office/computer room) in a state of unacceptable and unfiled piles of papers, computer parts, and whatever else no one wants to put away...all because I "childproofed" my home. How can a woman live like this? In this never ending cycle of attempting to keep up appearances, safety, and sanity, I feel at times as though I may be failing. And during those times I am sure that somewhere there is a pill that I could take to make me feel better about it, but even if I had one in my house, I doubt I could get the cupboard opened to get it out.

Time for a change...

Everyday I get the privilege of smelling an unpleasant smell coming from my little Fuss, and every time I smell it I ask Fuss if he wants me to "change his bum?" And as I hear myself repeat this question,  I frequently think to myself, "he doesn't need a new bum, I do!"  In all truthfulness and actuality I do want to change my bum in for a new one.  I would like one that is way more firm than the one that I currently have.  I would like it to be rounded with some definition--one that does not run directly into my thighs making one wonder where the bum ends and the legs begin.  I would also like it to be at least 2 sizes smaller than the one I currently own...I would really like it to be 5 sizes smaller, but that would require me to also change my hips, thighs, and stomach in as well, which would lead to the necessity to change my chin (or at least get rid of a couple of them) and my arms...this would be a very big amount of changing, and I really would be willing.  

Yesterday, I took Fuss to the doctor's office for his 15 month check-up.  Upon measuring and weighing my son, it was discovered that although he had grown 2 inches he had lost 1 pound.  As I spoke these facts aloud, the nurse replied that "he walks now and that is why he lost the weight."  Well, I have been walking for years and I still have a bum that needs to be changed for another (I don't want anyone thinking that I have done something in my pants).  I actually thought about lying in bed for the next 12 months and having someone carry me around everywhere I go, and then start walking again to see if the weight comes off, but upon thinking about it I see some serious flaws with this plan.  The first being that who would carry me?  There are very few people that could stand carrying my weight, and even fewer that would be willing.  Another would be how much weight might I gain while doing nothing at all for 12 months.  Too many flaws indeed; therefore I will have to go back to wishing for the magic melt away pills or cream.

There is a difference...

Before leaving for our family reunions D and I were discussing the fact that we would like the house to be "clean" before we left so that we didn't have to come home to more of a mess than what we would be bringing with us. The day we were leaving D called me from work to ask how the cleaning was going. As I explained to him that I didn't really have the time to get things clean, but that the house was at least "straight", D asked me what the difference was. The difference, I have decided, is that I am a woman and he is a man. My expectations of "clean" can never be reduced to what his are, and he will never understand mine. This was made even more abundantly clearer yesterday when I was sick, miserable, and yes whiney. D won himself some brownie points (which, of course, he lost later by making a stupid comment) by staying home from work to take care of me, Fuss, and the house. Upon reviewing his work, our house is definitely in better condition than it was when he woke up yesterday morning, but I still wouldn't call it clean, and here is an example of why:

The kitchen has some dishes in the sink, the highchair tray unwashed on the counter, and the food storage products we purchased still sitting by the desk. Straight enough that if company came by we don't look like slobs, just that we actually live in our house, but clean...I don't think so. Clean would be if the sink were not only free from dishes, but scoured itself. The food storage would be down in the basement, but at this point that would require we first clean the basement to make room in the storage room for the storage that we need to store instead of the junk that is currently there. (So, I can't really blame him for that). The stove needs to be scrubbed with the cleanser that is specifically made for cleaning the stove to remove the burned on gunk. The top of the fridge needs to have all of the papers that D throws up there removed. The front of the fridge needs to have the fingerprints washed off of it, as does the pantry door. The windows definitely need to be washed, and the blinds dusted. Lucky for D, I dusted the shelves, the table, and the desk recently. I also mopped the floor, so he got off easy on that one too. And that is only 1 room, imagine what the differences were in the entire house.

To a woman doing laundry means: washing, drying, folding, hanging, and putting away. To a man doing laundry means: choosing which 2 from the list they would prefer to do and doing only those 2. To a woman cleaning the bathroom means: scrubbing tubs, toilets, floor, sink, and counters, refilling soap dishes, moving any counter-dwellers (nick knacks) and washing underneath them, as well as washing them, washing the mirror, and washing rugs. To a man cleaning the bathroom means: washing off the counter, possibly the sink, and closing the shower curtain.

Why the difference? I have no idea. I can tell you this though, I remember the same issues with my parents and cleaning, so I think that it is universal (either that or I married a man much like my father, which isn't all bad). For me, I have tried to explain the differences, but I don't think that it will ever "click" with D what it is that I am saying. Even after I "clean" a room instead of just straightening it, he can't tell the difference from the deep clean to the quick-and-acceptable-for-living-in straightening. I guess I will just take the help I do get. It was pretty easy to show him how much he does have to learn about how much I really do around here when I had to put the majority of the clean dishes from the dishwasher away. Ironically D only knows where dishes used in eating go...dishes used for cooking are in the kitchens at Taco Bell or McDonalds as far as he is concerned...so why am I always washing pans?

Don't question the question...

D complains that I ask too many questions about whatever it is he tells me, does, etc. I would disagree with him except that my mom used to tell me the same thing. I actually asked so many questions as a child that my mom once told me that she had a teacher that said there was no such thing as a stupid question, and she wanted that teacher to meet me so that my mom could prove him wrong. D thinks I ask questions because I doubt his ability or judgement. It isn't because I doubt his ability, his judgement sometimes, but never his ability. (It is a good thing he knows that I am joking with that--in case he ever reads it.) I am just a naturally curious person. I learned at a very young age that my brain processes things differently than what the "normal" person would process in a variety of different circumstances. As such, I ask questions to make sure that I am on the same page as everybody else...this is evidently annoying. Well, I do have something to say to that...too bad! I am still going to ask questions. It is impossible for me to stop now! I thought that maybe it was me and only me that had this problem until I was talking with D's aunt and uncle. It seems that they also have a daughter that finds entertainment and security in asking questions. For her parents, annoying. For me, relief that I am not the only one! Sometimes I wish my children would ask more questions. Perhaps, "Why shouldn't I put marbles in my mouth or my binki in the toilet?" would be a good place for us to start. If they were to ask I would give them very good reasons, and yet they don't and I find myself asking, "why would you do such a thing?" regularly.

What D and my mom don't understand is that I ask myself questions quite frequently too. The questions I ask myself are things like:
"Why did I come in the kitchen again?"
"Do I really need this Pepsi, or do I just want it?"
"What will happen if I just hit snooze...7 more times?"
"If I make this for dinner, how many complaints will I get?"
"When was the last time these pants were washed?"
"Did I brush my teeth today, or was that yesterday?"
"How many weeks have I been wearing the same contacts?"
"Is it worth the fight?"

I question my life all the time! What would life be like if we all just took things at face value and never tried to understand another's point of view? I think that I would be holed up in my house somewhere afraid to face the unknown...sad, but true. I don't do well with the unknown, which is why me and the future have a big problem. I have questions for the future everyday. If I ever got to talk to the future I would ask if I will ever be successful at getting skinny again, if I have more children, and if I do will I be living at home or in the asylum, will I win the lottery, and will D and I ever get to take a trip that consists of just the 2 of us? I think that these are totally fair questions, especially considering they will never be answered in the present.

The group of questions that I do ask D that I could see might be taken as annoying, are questions that begin with "What if..." Even I can recognize the "who cares" answer to that question, because things are what they are and you can't go back to change it. Still, as the second wife I think I am entitled to ask questions like, "What if D had met me before Lucy, would he have married me instead of her?" and "Where was I that year that this didn't happen?" or "What if I wouldn't have agreed to go out with D just because he already had 3 kids (which honestly scared me a little)?" Although things can't be changed, I admit that sometimes I question where my life would be "if." I don't really know that there is anything wrong with that.

I do have end by saying that I love my life, for the most part, most of the time. I wouldn't give up the challenge and the love that comes with being a parent, and even more with being a step-parent. Even if I question my ability at times. I wouldn't give up the home and the neighbors that I love. Although, I will give up the chance to clean the home I love...if anyone wants to volunteer. I wouldn't give up being a part of a huge family. Although, the attention from being an only child might be exciting to try out. I wouldn't give up the challenges that have made me who I am, even though I question if there could have been an easier way. D should also know that the one thing I would never question, is when I answered the most important question and said, "I do!"

Not for your mouth...

As a parent I have this horrible fear of my children putting things in their mouths that do not belong there. This is a really strange fear since I have a tendency to hold things in my mouth quite frequently. I am a pen chewer of the worst kind. It is not hard to recognize a writing tool that I claim as my own; they all could be identified with dental records if it ever actually came to that. I also hold needles (from popping blisters--I don't sew) in my teeth. I have been known to even carry groceries and Fuss' binki in my mouth when my hands are full, which they frequently are. Even so, I do not like my children to put things in their mouths...and now I know why. Olie, Skater, and Moo love to build things with their Magnetix sets, and they have plenty of sets to build things with. Since Fuss was born I have begged, pleaded, and even threatened the boys that if the Magnetix are stored low enough or left out for Fuss to get into that I would be throwing them away. I also told them that I would do this because they were small enough that if Fuss were to accidentally swallow one or more of these pieces it was possible that he could die. I thought that they understoood...I thought wrong. They did understand that they shouldn't leave them down. They didn't really understand why, at least Moo didn't.

On Saturday I was attending a baby shower when I received a call from D. It went something like this:

D: Moo swallowed a metal ball from the Magnetix set.

Me: What??

D: Moo swallowed a metal ball from the Magnetix set.

Me: He's seven!

D: I know...

Me: How did this happen?

D: He had it in his mouth and he swallowed it.

Me: [Thank you Captain Obvious!] Why in the world did Moo put a marble in his mouth?

D: I don't know, but what should I do?

Me: I don't know! I never imagined that it would be our 7 year old that I would be worrying about swallowing a marble! [So, I asked my aunt whose home I was at and is thankfully a nurse...if your child swallows a marble, as long as it is not magnetic, it should pass okay once it makes it to his stomach.]

Thinking there was nothing we could do since it was not stuck in his throat, we didn't end up taking Moo to the doctor...until the next morning. Sunday morning Moo woke up complaining of a stomach ache, which he does every Sunday morning in an attempt to get out of going to church, so we made him continue to get dressed and ready. He continued to complain. Finally, D told him that if his stomach was really hurting then we would take him to the doctor, but that he would probably have to get a shot. When Moo said, "Ok" we thought, "Maybe he really is sick." He really hates shots...who doesn't? While D braved church with Olie and Skater alone, I braved InstaCare with Fuss and a soon to be puking Moo alone (I definitely had it harder). Once the puking began I figured that he might actually be sick, because who would puke on purpose just to get out of going to church. Long story shorter, after 1 1/2 hours at the InstaCare, including a fun ride for

Moo on the x-ray table, and a fun tour of the facility guided by a running Fuss for me, we found out that the marble is currently in his intestines and the puking was most likely not related to the marble at all. The doctor suspected he may have the flu on top of the marble issue...what a lucky kid. We have no need to worry unless it doesn't pass within the next couple of days--and by "pass" you know what I mean. Luckily for us D took the boys back to Lucy tonight, so she gets to check "things" out to make sure that the marble comes out...fun times! This is one time I am not sorry that our kids have 2 sets of parents.

There is a sad, but funny twist to this as well...because of my warnings for Fuss' sake when Moo told D that he had swallowed the marble it was followed with, "Am I going to die?" I guess I need to explain the "why" a little better. Moo thought that all the attention he received at the doctor's office and at D's parents' house afterward was so great that D and I took it upon ourselves to explain to him how they would have to get the marble out if it didn't come out on its own to deter any future swallowing experiments. I did ask Moo how it was that he had swallowed a marble, and I have come to learn that he is as helpful as his dad. His reply: "I put it in my mouth, and when I swallowed it just went down." That explains everything!

That was out loud...

Angel and I were recently discussing the annoying habits of our children.  She mentioned that one of her children does not rinse the sink after brushing her teeth leaving a sink full of spit.  I replied that at least her children brush their teeth.  Whenever we have the older boys I remind them several times a day to brush their teeth, and inevitably whenever we go somewhere I will ask one of them if they actually did brush their teeth and the answer is usually, "I forgot."  What I would like to know is how did they forget?  Was it during the short walk from the kitchen to the bathroom after breakfast, or were they doing their bathroom thing and they didn't notice the brushes and toothpaste that they left out the night before?  Either way they "forget."  I think children choose to ignore their parents just to test out what the repercussions will be.  As a parent, I am not sure what the repercussions for anything should be...I make it up as I go along, which can be very complicated since the older boys don't actually "live" here, so I have to remember what I have done so that I can be consistent on their next visit--I need to keep a journal.  

My daily struggle is with Fuss though.  He hit the terrible twos at about 8 months.  My aunt recently referred to him as "high-maintenance."  To me that is putting it lightly--he is ultimate maintenance!  Fuss is going nonstop from the minute he wakes up to the minute he falls asleep.  It is a constant test of my patience and ability to stay a step ahead of him.  The most exciting part for me is that every day he learns a new trick--from climbing up the magazine rack to get on top of the toilet, or opening the toilet itself and throwing things in (I have fished out 4 binkis in the last 2 days), or dropping his toothbrush down the air conditioning vents he loves to lift out of the floor, I have to be on the go from Fuss up to Fuss down!  And yet I still don't get enough exercise in a day to lose the weight... The thing about Fuss is that he still listens to me...sometimes. He gives me a sarcastic little smile to make sure that I know that he knows exactly what he is doing, but he does listen.  The older boys choose to ignore--a trait I know is coming from Fuss before too long.  My sister once suggested that when Fuss bites me in anger (I know--terror child), that I bite him back. So, I did.  Fuss has never bitten me again.  Therefore, I decided to take the same approach with the older boys.  One day while the boys were here I called them for lunch and Olie was the only one that came.  I called for Skater and Moo two more times, nothing.  Olie even ran upstairs and told them loudly enough for me to hear that it was time for lunch.  Still nothing, not even a response or acknowledgment.  So, I made lunch for me, Olie, and Fuss.  About an hour later Moo and Skater came downstairs and asked me what we were having for lunch.  I told them it was over and that they had missed it since they ignored my calls to them.  "But we didn't hear you!" was the response and pleading, "What can we eat?"  I simply replied, "Dinner.  In a few hours."  I haven't been ignored since...at least whenever meals are involved, and that is progress! 

How big was that...

In my attempt to continue to lose the unmentionable number of pounds that I have gained, I have become very aware of a serious portion size problem...the makers of delicious food puts their nutritional information in unrealistic portion sizes.  Seriously, who breaks a delicious "Granny B's Pink Sugar Cookie" into 4 pieces and then shares it with 3 people? Not me and not anyone that I know of!  And I have never shared a small container of "Ben and Jerry's" ice cream with 3 other people--maybe eaten it in 3 different sittings, (ok 2, or 1 1/2) but never shared it with more than 1 person.  Why is it that you can eat 1 cup of corn or sliced carrots, but a serving of "Cookie Crisp" is only 3/4 of cup--that is like 10 crisps? Who was it that decided what a portion is, and why don't they package things as 1 portion size if it is intended to be eaten by only 1 person?  It is no wonder that I am struggling to lose weight when I walk into the kitchen and see 3/4 of a pink cookie staring back at me wanting to be eaten. How must that lonely piece of cookie feel?  It is never my intention to make my food feel bad about being left behind, so I eat it.  Seriously, have you ever tried to measure food out in it's suggested serving sizes?  It is not an easy fete I assure you.  

I am a sucker for dairy products.  The more cheese the better!  As a child I used to order foods at restaurants based on the dairy products included, such as if it had cheese and especially sour cream, there was a good chance I would order it over something more dairy free.  Now, I have to measure my cheese in 1 ounce increments.  I know that an ounce of cheese is approximately a 1 inch cube, but I am not in the habit of coming home from the store and cutting my cheese into 16 cubes for my convenience in measuring, because this does not constitute convenience in use. Have you ever tried to slice a 1 inch cube of cheese for sandwiches, or tried to grate 4 inch cubes individually for a recipe...what a pain!  I prefer to pretend to know what 1 ounce of cheese is based on how much I currently desire.  

The other problem that I face in losing weight is that my husband loves me.  It really is his fault that my self control can be nonexistent at times.  Whenever I tell him that I am taking a break from my diet, he says "ok." Which makes it very easy to do.  He tells me that he loves me no matter what and that if I want to lose weight it should be for myself and not for him (what a sweet and smart man).  The problem here is because he is on a double-edged sword, and he knows it.  Even if he does wish that I looked like the woman he married, he can't say it unless he wants to sleep on the couch (which really isn't that comfortable).  If he were to tell me that I really shouldn't give up the diet because I really needed to stay focused on it, I would be hurt and he knows it, so he doesn't.  However, this doesn't change the fact that I need him to say that to keep me focused...no wonder weight loss is a never ending war!  

I never stick to my diet when on vacation, and after 2 vacations this summer I also now know that I need a week to recover from the time off of the diet.  If I don't take this much need recovery week, then I feel deprived and depressed, and end up eating even more in my angst.  So, I allow myself that extra week of Pepsi and ice cream and focus on what I will have to do the following weeks to make up for it--at least I am planning ahead!  It is no wonder that I have been "plateau-ing" since the time of our first reunion.  At least my husband still loves me!

Now that's fun...

While traveling 4 hours in a caravan of 6 cars, my family discovered the best way to get other drivers to notice you--have 1 of the trucks tow a trailer that contains 10 4-wheelers, 1 motor-cycle, and 8 bicycles. Pretty much everyone stops to stare, count, and then pick up their jaws. When we were loading this alignment of travel accessories, KM asked, "What do you think people will think when they see us on the road?" I replied, "That we are a dealership." Gillette replied, "That we are rich." To these two incorrect answers, KM gave us the truth, "That we are going to have fun!" She is very smart. If you have never had the chance to visit Capital Reef or Escalante in Southern Utah, I highly suggest that you do (in case my opinion matters).

Our real adventures started on Thursday morning when my parents told us they had rented a 4-wheel drive vehicle and wanted to take an unpaved tour through the Cathedral Valley. I don't normally love drives where there is a chance that the car I am in can tumble off of the road and down the steep embankment that is right next to us, but D does...so, I went. Since I did go, I now know that I do not love rides where there is a chance that the car I am in can tumble off the road and down the steep embankment that is right next to us even more when it is raining. The clincher for me on this one was when we were on one of the above mentioned roads and had to manuever around a large rock that had rolled down the hillside. My grandpa (whose truck D, Fuss, and I were in) mentioned that he didn't think that my brother-in-law's larger truck would make it around the rock and it would have to be moved. My grandpa felf this way because he had "felt the shoulder of the road give way a bit as we were going around" the rock. This was not something that I needed to know, especially since we were coming up on more switchbacks and the rain storm was gaining on us! I let my grandpa know through my tears that it was ok to keep some information to himself. Although not my favorite adventure, the land is beautiful, and we were fortunate enough to mostly keep ahead of the massive storm that was moving in on us. Upon our return my dad was informed just how lucky we were since the area we had just been in is known for flash flooding. Again, something I did not need to know!

Friday was a safer day. We decided to take a hike on an unknown trail to an unknown destination. So, we spontaneously left from our cabin and started walking up the road--this is not what I would typically consider a hike, but it was unpaved and uphill so it was a hike. At the top of the hill we detoured from the road to a 4-wheeling path and continued on. While Fuss slept in the cabin with my parents babysitting, Agee had all 4 of her kids with her (ages 6, 5, 3, and 5 months) so she was not in the mood to take a very long and unplanned hike. The entire time we were walking we teased her that we were just going to the red rocks we could see in the distance, which we actually thought would be impossible to reach. After hiking for 1.5 miles, we reached the red rocks. Agee was the last one in and upon arrival announced her disapproval that we had kept our promise. On the way back to the cabin I was walking behind my nieces, Lou and Norman. As I got closer to them on an uphill part of the trail I announced that they were going to have to move out of the way since I had some momentum going. Lou looked puzzled and asked if that meant that I needed to go to the bathroom. If it was going to make her move or walk faster, then yes, that is what it means. Thankfully Agee survived and we arrived back at the cabin before Fuss awoke and minutes before another massive rain storm (during which we took a short 4-wheeler ride--we like the water I guess).

Saturday was by far our most adventurous (and rainless) day. KM researched and planned a hike that we felt would be enjoyable for all to go on. It was listed as "a very scenic day hike that follows Calf Creek. A trail guide brochure is provided at the trailhead with numbered markers along the route indicating points of interest....The trail is
well cut, with very little rise and fall although sandy in a few areas. The trail end is at the beautiful Lower Calf Creek waterfall, 126 feet high, falling into a lovely pond." This description sounds amazing and so misleading! I don't know who the lady that wrote it was, but "very little rise and fall?" She must live in the freaking Alps, possibly even on Mt. Kilimanjaro. Maybe I am just a wuss, or maybe she wasn't packing a 25 pound 1 year old on the 6 mile hike (3 each way--and yes, me in all my wussiness packed Fuss in the hiking backpack 1 way...mostly). We started the hike as a group of 47 and ended as smaller groups of 8 to 1. It was beautiful, but when you are hauling 20 children ages 8 and younger up a hillside (and I do mean hauling because if you were young would you walk 6 miles voluntarily?) there is no time to stop and enjoy the scenery...if you do, you may lose one off the narrow path and down the slippery slopes. Luckily we only had 1 fall, my aunt (the only aunt to brave the hike) slipped while trying to prove her quick and youthful descent methods. Through the exercise of this hike, I earned enough weight watchers points for a pink cookie, which is like 12 continuous hours of exercise. I do have to say though, that at the end of this all-day hike, there is a beautiful waterfall with a freezing (as in bucket of glacier ice) cold pond to refresh you and wash the sweat away. However, if you do make it to Calf Creek, make sure that you bring an extra set of shorts to hike the 3 lovely miles back, or you will find yourself regretting it for the next several days.

The week ended with my immediate family 4-wheeling to Agee's beloved red rocks, babies and all--and yes, we are very cautious. It was pointed out though that while D and I were the only adults wearing helmets on this short adventure, our child was the only one without a helmet that was made for 4-wheeling (he did have a helmet on--it was just bike helmet though). I am such a good parent! I also had the opportunity to learn about the negotiation skills of my 6-year-old nephew, Booga. During the week sometime Fuss had lost the binki, which is a horrible loss for everyone around. As Fuss was screaming and I was helping make dinner, I offered $1 to anyone who could find Fuss' binki. Booga found it shortly after and I promised him $1 as soon as I could get to it. Sunday came and I still hadn't given Booga his dollar, so D took $1 in quarters out of my stash of stuff in our room, and gave it to him. Afterwards, Booga came over to me and asked for his dollar. I told him that he had gotten a dollar already. He told me (in his gruff little voice that sounds like he is on the verge of losing it), "No, you promised me a dollar. You didn't give me a dollar, D did. So, you still owe me a dollar." How do you argue with that, especially when he gave his sister half of it since she saw the binki at the same time he did; he just got to it first.

Four days, 56 people (and that's not even all of us), lots of great food, 180,000,000 rain drops, including a delicious barbeque in the rain, 15 dutch ovens (in 1 meal), and KM was right---A LOT of fun! And the best part of all...we still like each other! When I told my grandma (who has had a stroke and doesn't talk too much) at dinner one night, that she had started all of this chaos...she shook her head, then put her head in her hand and said, "I know, I know." Hey, you have to blame someone...

A little courtesy, please...

I remember the day when drivers were polite to one another...it wasn't that long ago, I was a kid...so maybe it was a while ago...but I do remember sitting in the car while my dad drove us to the places that we went as a family, which was rarely far from home. Whenever he needed to merge or change lanes, he would turn on his blinker and people would allow him to do what he needed to get where he needed to go. After he had changed lanes or merged he would raise his hand in courtesy as a "thank you" to the kind person who had let him in. The opposite was true as well. If my dad noticed a driver that needed to move into the lane in front of him, he allowed it to happen. When the other driver raised their hand in thanks my dad waved back...a polite unspoken conversation. Today, that is so not the case. If I turn on my blinker or try to merge into another lane, drivers speed up, like I am butting in line if I get in front of them. If I do happen to move over when needed, I raise my hand in thanks, usually 3 or 4 times, but I rarely get a response. When I kindly and patiently let another car move in front of me, I find myself raising my hand to them and saying, "you're welcome" even though it is rare to get a thank you from another driver. People are in such a hurry, and for what? Where do you have to be so quickly? In today's world there really is no reason to rush. Heaven forbid you have to call someone on your cell phone in your car to let whomever you are meeting know if you will be a little late. Is allowing someone to move in front of you really going to be the thing that makes you late anyway? If you are running that late, you should have left earlier...your bad! D is one of those that does not like people to change lanes in front of him. I usually try to calm him down by saying something to the effect of, "His 5 seconds are probably more important than yours." This doesn't usually work...

The one thing that really does bother me is when lanes are merging down to eliminate a lane or two, and people act selfishly about getting to the front, like no one else is sitting at a dead stop waiting for those that can't wait themselves. I do think that it is very rude to drive all the way to the front of the line where the lanes are actually eliminated and then try to cut over. I believe these are the people that should not be allowed to drive during peak times I actually think that you should have to obtain a special license to be allowed to drive during rush hour times. This could alleviate some serious headaches for impatient drivers, as this is when everyone else thinks that everyone else that is on the road with them is an idiot. If you had to have a special license declaring that you were not an idiot, then everyone would have no one to blame but their own impatience.

D is also one of those that thinks that the majority of drivers are "idiots." He always blames stupidity of drivers on the location that we are in, for example he will say, "stupid (insert city or county name here) drivers!" I love talking to my husband, except for while he is driving. I actually pointed out to him the other day that I do, in fact, think that there is a conspiracy between all the people in our county against him and his drive to and from work. I think that everyone that drives like an "idiot" sits in their homes or offices and waits until that exact moment that D is heading for the road himself, and then they leave and drive the same path he is going to take, just to tick him off! He has sooo many stalkers, because they actually show up almost everywhere we go. And when they aren't there, he points it out to me, and I get so excited that we somehow slipped past them and our ride will be pleasant, and free of fear, and me holding on to the "oh, crap" handles for dear life.

Next time you are able to move into another lane because of the courtesy of someone else, if you look in your rearview mirror and seeing them waving at you, it might just be me...