Monthly Archives: January 2012

I’ve got to lose weight.  Several doctors have told me this recently.  Personally, I think it’s a conspiracy.  They’re trying to keep the big girls down because we’re so dagnab loveable; they need some way to even out the playing field for the poor skinny ladies.  Oh yes, I am on to them.  But, I’ll just go along with it, if it makes them happy.

So I’ll try to diminish my impressive stature.  (Sounds very grand of me, eh?)

Eating less?  Of course.  Sprinkling Sensa on my food?  Yes.  Staying away from simple carbs as much as possible?  You bet.  Exercising? …….. Exercising? ……. Exercising?  (Crickets chirping.)

I don’t want to.

I figure like any other machine, my body is only good for so many miles.  Why would I want to hurry the end along?

My family is not in agreement with this particular philosophy.

Picture My Captain, grabbing me by the scruff of the neck and forcing me on a death march today while barking,  “You Vill Valk until you drop!”.  And he then he jabs me in the hiney with an electric cattle prod.   And cracks the whip.   And pokes me in my back fat.  (He has a lot of hands.)

Critter and Varmint, in an effort to support this plan of  ‘reducing Mama Boe’, came along, and we re-named it a ‘family hike.’   From our house, we traipsed 1.5 miles downhill to a nearby train station, looked around for flattened pennies, and then we crawled 1.5 miles back up-freaking-hill.  Why couldn’t we live on the low ground?  Who was the genius who put the cottage uphill?

People just don’t think, I tell you.

It’s a good thing my babies came along, because they provided me distraction from the pain in my knees, hips, back, and neck.  (The neck, from having its scruff yanked.)  Each in their own way. Gwen with her witty banter, and by linking her arm through mine so I could not bolt back to the house.  (Oh THAT is funny!  Can you imagine me bolting?  Bwaaahahahahahahhahahahaha!  hic.)

Critter brought his Ranger Rick binoculars to study anything he could get his focus to work on.  (That’s not much with a Ranger Rick set of Binoculars.)

Then he spied the moon…. in a beautiful crescent….in the afternoon….in a perfectly blue sky….on a sunny day.   The kids thought this was MARVELOUS!  It stopped Critter in his tracks….(for which I sent up a prayer of thanks for the respite.)  And I watched my baby in his moment of wonder.

My heart melted.  All pain faded into the background.  It left a warm fuzzy feeling in me about the whole experience.

Later on, back home, after I flopped down on the couch, I promised them I would exercise again…. if we could all be together like that every time.  I figure I’m safe with that promise.  Getting this motley crew out all at the same time is a difficult as me walking away from a plate of warm cinnamon rolls.  It’s not likely to happen.

So, I’ve got that going for me.

I have spent the last decade spouting off affirmation after affirmation to my Varmint and my Critter.  In my efforts to raise them to be strong, self-reliant, self-confident positive forces on this earth, I’ve been a regular Stewart Smalley.  A True Jack Handey.  Every day, there is some new positive thought I have either said, or written in a card, or put in their lunch box.

I hope to counteract all the yelling that way.

I have been promoting the idea of  “walk your own road” to the point where I get the eye roll from both Varmint AND Critter whenever I pull it out.   Well they can eye roll me until the cows come home!  It doesn’t change the fact that I never want them to follow the crowd, but rather to wholly be their own person.

I ask them, “If you were on a pirate ship, would you want to be the Captain, or a Swabby?”.

I say things like, “Be tolerant.  Remember, if everyone liked the same things, all the lines would be too long.”

I preach things like, “As long as you care about what someone else thinks of you, you will always be their slave.”

or “This is YOUR life.  Shape it, or someone else will.”

I’ve shamelessly lifted these sayings from a host of self-help books, humor websites, and bathroom stalls.  Plagiarism is an ugly word, but I never give these sources credit when I espouse them to the kids.  Mostly out of laziness, but also so they’ll think I’m as wise as Confucius.  And if, one day, they find one of my pithy sayings in its original source, and they call me on it,  I plan to act appalled and accuse those authors of taking my ideas.

I’m slick that way.

Yesterday, I had one of my own stolen pithy phrases thrown in my face.

We had arrived about 5 minutes before my mother at my son Garrick’s basketball game.   I brought my camp chair to park myself in, because if I sit on the floor, my knees and hips lock up on me like the engine of a ’71 Chevy Vega.   My varmint, Gwendolyn sat on the floor next to me.

When my mom arrived, she plopped right down on the hard, cold gymnasium floor with Gwendolyn, prosthetic knees and all.  She had not brought her own chair, so I offered her my chair, but she waved me off.

A few minutes later, at the beginning of the game, I offered Mom the chair again.  She poo-pooed me.

At the middle of the first quarter of the game, I strongly urged she take my chair.  She laughed.

By the beginning of the second quarter, when I was SURE every other adult there was looking at me like I was some kind of selfish, heartless offspring of the beautiful gray and white haired angel,  I insisted she take my chair.

“Why?” she laughed. “Are you afraid I might break a hip down here?”

“No! But people are going to think I’m a horrible daughter to make you sit on the floor!”

And then my punk, Gwendolyn, mocked,  “Mom, I thought we weren’t supposed to care what other people thought about us.”

That set my mother off in a peel of cackling laughter.

I would have moved my chair away from both of them if it didn’t require so much effort to get up.

Occasionally, but not frequently, I feel sorry for My Captain.  I would feel sorry for him more often, but he chooses to stay with me, so I figure he’s got it coming to him.

Apparently I can be difficult to live with.

I like to say I have high expectations.  My mother would tell you I am a perfectionistic pain in the arse. But whatever you call it, it can be difficult…challenging even, to live with me.  Sometimes because I cause pain.  Sometimes because I cause embarrassment.  Sometimes because I cause regurgitation.

Here is an example of why you, dear friends, might feel sorry for The Captain, too.

Me: “I wish you didn’t have to work Overtime today.”

Troy: “I wouldn’t have to if you would cut back on your trips to The Dollar Store.”

Me: “I know.  I miss you.”

Troy: “I miss you, too.”

Me: “Are you just saying that because I said it first and you feel like you have to say it back?”

Troy: “No.”

Me: “What do you mean by that?”

Troy: “I mean I really miss you.”

Me: “How much?  How much do you really miss me?”

Troy: “A Ton.  I miss you a ton.”

Me: “Are you calling me fat?!!!”

Troy: ***sigh***

See what I mean?

I was looking forward to tonight.  I love Fridays.  They are so full of the anticipation of the freedom of the weekend.  And by freedom, I mean sleeping in.

It was slated to be an awesome family night, too.  They are so hard to come by with everyone’s busy schedule.  I figured we’d all enjoy a nice family meal, then sit down and enjoy a movie in the family room on the saggy couch together.  Then maybe have some ice cream and play a card game, and then a late bed time.

I put home-made chili in the crockpot this morning.  I made a sweetcorn cake for the side dish this afternoon.  I bought a movie we haven’t watched before.  It was all coming together.

Then Gwen’s afternoon playdate extended past dinner and became a sleepover.

And Garrick declared he didn’t want to watch the new movie; instead he wanted to watch How To Train Your Dragon for the 12th time this week.

And Troy announced he was going to his friend Rob’s house to try the new beer they just finished brewing and aging.

This family, I swear!  They’ve got me sniffing myself to see if its me they are avoiding.  Why couldn’t I have a bunch of introverts in my clan?  Dag-gum extroverts are such a pain in the petootie.

I don’t know where they get it.