This is what it’s all about for me.
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Archive for the ‘Health and Fitness’ Category
What It’s All About
Friday, December 25th, 2009
Happy Place
Saturday, December 19th, 2009I don’t mind the weather
I’ve got scarves and caps and sweaters
I’ve got long johns under slacks for blustery days
I think that it’s brainless to assume
That making changes to your window’s view
Will give a new perspective
So, yeah, the anxiety is getting me down, and I feel like I’m in a rut. So, we’re going to my happy place. I don’t care how cold it is. I think it just might actually give me new perspective.
Anxiety and Other Goings-On
Friday, December 18th, 2009Things we’ve been up to. . .
Bad news first:
I think I am having anxiety problems. I have no idea what is causing it, other than that I haven’t been working out. This is a new one for me. I bet it will clear up when I get more exercise. Anyone else have this problem?
On to good stuff:
Seeing Santa at Joe’s Coffee Shop in East Atlanta, just like we have every year. Even though we don’t live there anymore, we still like to go back to our favorite coffee shop, and see people’s kids growing up and talk to old friends. And hey, where else can you go where you know Santa and the elves personally? It is a nice family tradition for us, even if Rollie was kind of an ass that day.
Mr. Grumpy face
Tiller loves hot chocolate.
Mom and Dad might buy this house in the Atlanta area:
Keep your fingers crossed for them.
It would be nice to have them closer again.
We have elves. They showed up on the doorstep one morning with notes from Santa. They are full of mischief. As Rollie said the other day, “They did two mischievouses!” Or, as Tiller calls them: “Misfishes.”
The first night they were here they made a tower of presents and got into the wrapping ribbons!
The kids are wild for them. I am ready for them to go back to the North Pole.
Holiday Feast at Rollie’s school. We all went. They had turkey and dressing. Yes, school cafeteria turkey and dressing is just as terrible as you remember. THEY PUT MY ROLL SMACK DAB ON TOP OF MY TURKEY AND GRAVY; This is tantamount to holding me down and making me eat wet toilet paper.
Rollie and some classmates waiting in the lunchline.
It really captures the way that boys can’t stand still, and the kid with the shiner is really funny.
She is putting on a good face about the cafeteria lunch.
Rollie isn't bothering with putting a pretty face on it.
We made some Christmas cookies. I will never get the flour cleaned up. . . .
Rollie got a little on his face. And in his hair. And on the walls.
See that little container? She is about to take the whole container of sprinkles and dump it on one damn cookie.
Not as much fun to clean up. That is a ton of flour. It gets in the cracks of the table and turns hard and grody.
That’s about where I am. Stressed out about apparently nothing. Not feeling good. I have never really had problems with anxiety before. No clue what to do about it. Terrible feeling.
Sheer Bliss
Monday, November 23rd, 2009So, Todd went to Chicago this weekend to meet fellow Auburn boys, Brian and Tom. And to see the Pixies. Yes, I am the best wife in the world for not pitching a hissy fit that he was flying to Chicago to see one of my favorite bands ever. (Yeah, right. You know I didn’t take this lying down. I made him promise that I had a free pass if they came anywhere in the Southeast on this tour. So, if you want to go, let me know and you will be included if it comes up. ) In all seriousness, Toddler really deserved this weekend, as he is the best husband/Daddy combo ever, and he has been working his ass off for the last six months.
I decided that I would go visit my parents at the lake for the weekend. It’s always nice to have someone to talk to after the kids go to bed, and i love taking the kids to the lake where they can run free in the trees, and fish, and crawl around in the bushes and get wet and muddy. They get to learn about life in the food web via fishing and all of the dogs decimating a nest of baby squirrels. I worry they don’t get enough of that. Nature Deficit Disorder, if you will. We thought it was going to rain all weekend, but it ended up being really nice weather on Saturday, so the kids played, and I did some yardwork for my dad (leaves and pruning bushes, mostly.) So, about noon, just as i popped open a beer and was finishing my yardwork cleanup, i heard this . . . running water sound. It was pretty loud, so it didn’t take long to locate the source – the spigot in the front yard had sprung a leak. Water was bubbling up out of the ground.
This was one of those moments where i thought to myself, I should not say a word about this. Just let it run. If I say something, Cecil is going to want me to help fix this. I have fixed a leaky water pipe in this yard before. This will not be fun. Keep. Mouth. Shut.
I am dumb. I said something. We decided to eat lunch before starting to fix it. I like that when I am at the lake, I can eat things for lunch like turnip greens and leftover Old Clinton BBQ and wash it down with a margarita. (My sister had come down that morning with my nephew Dash, and god bless her, the first thing she usually does when she gets to the lake is make margaritas. I couldn’t let her drink alone, no matter how much leaky pipe i had to fix that afternoon.) After that Dad had me knee deep in mud before i finished the damn margarita.
I dug and dug and was a complete and total Goat Man in minutes. After digging a couple feet down all around the spigot, we found the trench where the water line was. In the true spirit of half-assed construction, and wiring that is the lakehouse, the water line is in the same trench as the power. So, I was digging in a hole that was quickly filling with water and through which electricity was running. Brilliant.
I did not get electrocuted, although that might have been sweet relief from my father telling me how to do everything. Twice. Because just saying it once might not sink in through my thick skull. No, everything must be stated twice. If something isn’t working, and I am trying to figure it out, while I am doing so, my father repeats his instructions. Over and over. Just taking the volume up a notch each successive time.
I finished the margarita, which was helpful both in regulating my attitude, and because I could then use the cup to bail the water out of the hole. That’s what you call forethought and ingenuity. I will just pour myself this drink, so that when i am done, i can use the cup to bail out a muddy hole filled with water.
About this time, we decided to turn the water back on, and find out where the leak was. It was, of course, right below ground level, on the pipe running up to the spigot. Not in one of the pipes running through the yard at all. Basically, this means that I didn’t really need to dig up the whole damn trench anyway. Sigh.
Dad and I went to the hardware store to get a replacement pipe. Just trust me when i say that trips to any store with my dad are a nightmare, but especially to a store where they sell things men would be interested in: manly things like trucks, lumber, tractors, fertilizer, nails, power tools, knives, guns, or ammo. I love him, but he really likes to “talk shop” with whomever the resident expert is on any subject. I usually stand around avoiding eye contact with the other folks in the store, while pretending to be really interested in joint compound. This time, I stood in Ace with mud from head to toe and checked out the vast array of dead deer heads on the wall. People walked by me like i was an insane person wandered in off the street.
We headed back to the house with our pipe, just in time to meet the neighbors who had come over to visit. This is another thing I find humorous about the country. People just show up at 2 pm on a Saturday, with a cooler and a chocolate lab on the back of their golf cart or Gator, and everyone starts drinking. In this particular instance, the two gentlemen were decked out in their Bulldog regalia and informed me that they were “tailgating.” They didn’t have a tailgate and weren’t in Athens, but i liked the spirit of it anyway.
They stood with my dad, drinking beer, while I got down in the hole and fixed the pipe, and all the while they were telling me how to do the job. “Don’t strip it now.” “You need to get it tight,” and so forth. The only saving grace to this was that they made me drink their moonshine (all the way from Silver City, Georgia! Peach flavored! Straight outta the mason jar!) and I needed two shots to make sure it tasted alright, but after that, I felt much more equipped to deal with the peanut gallery.
We finished up and the pipe was fixed, and then my kids wanted to fish, so I sat on the dock and enjoyed another beer in the late afternoon light, while making sure they didn’t plunge into the lake. I untangled crossed rod and reel lines, and put minnows on cane poles, and I was muddy, and hanging out with the pack of five or six dogs that always seem to congregate in our yard whenever we visit. It turned out to be a pretty nice day.
I was thankful for the lake and the good weather, and the company of my kids, and even my father, and some big, dumb, wet and muddy dogs. It is funny how disconnecting from the tv and the radio and the internet, getting outside in the fresh air, working, getting muddy, hearing your own breathing and the sound of your child’s laughter and dogs barking and growling and wrestling in the yard can make you feel relaxed and at peace and like all is right with the world.
Oh, and then I finally had my shower. There is no better shower than a post-yardwork, muddy Fall day, very hot shower. Then a steak dinner.
Sheer bliss.
My Brain Hurts
Thursday, November 12th, 2009What has been keeping me up at night . . .
You swear to uphold something, or stand by someone, or support something. It turns out that the thing or person is not at all what it/he/she purported itself to be.
You are at the end of your rope, physically and mentally, but you promised, and you feel that to go back on your promise would make you no better than the other person/thing you are involved in. Maybe you are too proud to say that it is not working. Maybe you are afraid of the repercussions, on yourself and others, of dropping out. You stand by it, even though you don’t understand why it is the way it is, and why it isn’t what you thought it would be, and you don’t understand why things can’t be better, and you are not happy, and you are afraid that you never will be again.
Is there a point where your own sanity and mental health requires you to give up on others? Are you setting a bad example for others by sitting idly by and putting up with a miserable situation out of pride or loyalty or fear? Are you forcing other people to suffer through watching you be miserable?
I’m not exactly sure what it is that I am getting at here. This is not a post about any particular situation or person. It is more about me thinking about the question in a general manner since it has come up for a number of people I know lately, or at least the larger idea of it has come to me in talking with these people over the last couple of years. It seems more and more that I know people in their mid to late 30s who are struggling in their daily lives to get by, and to be happy, and to set a good example for their children. They want to raise happy children, but they are not happy themselves.
Happiness. Is that not the point? Seeking out happiness? If not, what is the point? Martyrdom? If you are not really happy, can you ever really make those around you happy? If you are not happy, can you ever really teach your children to be happy?
My brain hurts.
Time Warp
Thursday, November 5th, 2009Things are so different now than they were when I was a kid, but then i am always surprised that some things stay the same.
Rollie’s class went on a field trip to a farm. They did a hayride, and made corn husk dolls, and Rollie got off the bus wearing an Indian feather headband, and carrying a pumpkin. (Or Punk King, as he called them when he was little.) And, instant timewarp, it was like Alpharetta First United Methodist Kindergarten, 1978, all over again.
I am bummed I can’t find the picture of me in my indian headress and with paint on my face. I know I have it here somewhere. . . Mom?
I have to admit that I was surprised that they still do this. I would have thought that someone would have complained about how offensive it is for 6 year olds to dress up like Indians. Me? I remember that i just thought it was the most awesome thing ever. Hope Rollie felt it too.
I love a good time warp.
My Feet Have No Shame
Wednesday, November 4th, 2009Amazing that my ankle is feeling much better. I think i might wrap that bitch up and try a run by this coming monday!
Just have to show off how big it got.
The bad ankle. Bad. Very bad!
This one compares the good and bad ankle. Also, I am shameless, and just wanted to show my feet. You can see that they look like old lady feet, and that I never get pedis, so my paint job is growing out like an inch. There is an ant bite on my left big toe. I have a line from my socks on my calves, which basically means I’m bloated. I didn’t shave, either, for like a week. You can’t tell that from the photo. I just like to over-divulge.
Feet. Yeah, not my strong point.
In the Spirit of the World Series
Monday, November 2nd, 2009I saw my own high stakes baseball game yesterday. The River Cats took on the Thunder, I think. River Cats are a rust red color. Rollie is #9. I was so proud – he is really improving in his fielding skills. He helped make two outs in one inning! (This is huge for t-ball.)
The shortstop fields the ball. . . 
He bobbles it!
He recovers.
The throw to second!
The runner’s out!
Yeah!
Coach Fred comes out to bump the rock!
The fist bump!
But you win some, you lose some.
Line drive, past the third baseman, Rollie J!
Look at him hustle!
That’s gonna be an error on Johnson, folks!
The left fielder picks it up.
We just keep on telling him it’s not about winning, it’s about how you play the game. You always wear your helmet to bat. You wait patiently in the hole. You listen to the dugout mom.
You practice your swing when you’re on deck.
You choke up the bat and keep your eye on the ball.
You swing for the wall!
You run it out, no matter what.
Don’t worry about where the ball is, just run it out!
You make sure you touch the bag!
And you lead off a little at third, keeping your eye on the batter, and listening to the coach for the go-ahead.
I am so proud of my boy. He’s really getting it. And I think he is enjoying it, too. And that’s the best part.
It’s a Cake Walk
Friday, October 30th, 2009I did my time at the inflatable slide. I had to be the bad cop, yelling at kids to go one at a time, and feet first, and stop pushing and all that jazz. Things that came out of my mouth: “I see you back there.” “No wedgies.” “It’s not nice to roll your eyes at the slide master.” “No, I don’t own this slide. I wish!”
I also had the pleasure of working the slide with beta club students from the local high school. I really don’t talk to a lot of high school kids, so it was interesting. They even confirmed a suspicion that Todd and I have had for a while: Hobos are so in.
Rollie had come home from school recently and was constantly talking about hobos. He had learned about them from a kid on the bus. We discussed hobos, and what they were. Rollie thought they were people who were poor and who steal. I tried to explain to him that his idea of hobos was not really accurate. Mostly I tried to understand how the hell these kids had learned about hobos in the first place! Since then, i have heard other kids down the street talk about hobos, and it’s come up a few other times. Todd and I started wondering why they are all talking about them, other than the obvious answer that they talk about it on the bus.
So, the high school kids and I were talking about costumes, because the kids at the festival wear their costumes, and i asked them if they still dress up and trick or treat, or go to parties, or whatever. One girl said her friend bailed on her, because the friend thought it was stupid. I asked her what she was going to be and she said “a fairy who had lost her wings.” Her costume sounded v. subversive. And the boy? He was going to be a hobo.
I was like, “what is the deal with hobos?” And the girl said, “They’re just kind of in.” So strange. I think i need to be a hobo zombie pirate tomorrow.
After I got off duty, I headed to the cafeteria for a dinner of bbq sandwiches, baked beans, and squash casserole with the fam. Not bad.
Highlights of the evening included doing the cakewalk with Rollie and i won and he got to pick the cake and he picked homemade chocolate cupcakes and we did high fives and it was awesome. I also enjoyed it when Tiller’s balloon animal (a dog she creatively named “woofie”) came unwound and turned into just a long balloon. She cried and cried, wearing her pigtails, and her saddle oxfords and white tights and cheer leading outfit. I held her and then told her we would find the clown and see if he could fix Woofie up. We did find the clown, but the line was so long that i just went up and watched him make a balloon dog and tried to mimic his actions. After three balloon dogs, I had it down, and it was one of those perfect parenting moments where you know that your kid thinks you can fix absolutely any problem that comes down the pike. She looked at me with her eyes big and tears still wet on her cheeks and i said, “Betcha didn’t know that Mama can make balloon animals, did ya?” And she shook her head side to side, and looked at me with awe, then i handed her Woofie. She hugged him to her chest and laid her cheek on him and then put her arm around my leg, and said, “I love woofie.” We walked back to the car in the dark mist, just me and her, hand in hand, her clutching Woofie. The whole way home, she held Woofie, and petted Woofie, and told him it was okay, he was going home with us.
When we got home, Woofie sat with us as she and I had a cupcake together at the kitchen table that belonged to my Grandfather. We sat in only the light of the fixture over the table, just like Pop would have done at 9 pm on a Friday night. (At least until Friday night fights came on.) Woofie sat on the sink while Tiller had her bath, and then she hugged Woofie while I read SkippyJon Jones to her. I had to convince her that Woofie would be better off on the bedside table than in her arms while she slept. She loves Woofie so.
I decided not to tell her that Woofie is deflating as we speak, and that he probably wouldn’t be around come Monday.
Get Stuck in Seattle
Monday, October 26th, 2009Busy with unpacking all the stuff we boxed up for basement renovations, painting some doors, and drinking coffee while listening to Miles Davis, but thought i’d mention that i just added my friend Nikki’s blog to my blogroll.
She is an acupuncturist and just got a new office, so I thought I would mention it on here so that my Seattle readers (I’m looking at the three of you!) would look Nikki up first in case of a need to become a human pincushion.
No, seriously, Nikki is awesome and I know she’ll do great in her new endeavour! Incidentally, she is also the one who made the awesome tote bag that I always get compliments on. The one with the big purple and pink flowers. You know. That one. Very talented, that Nikki. Actually, I kind of want to hate her, because she is one of those moms that makes Halloween costumes for her kid, and stuff like that? And here I am, just slapping the plastic K-Mart masks on my kids? But, I can’t, because she is nice.
Damn nice people.