Virtual Coffee: With Random Cell Phone Pictures!

 

I haven't linked up with Amy for Virtual Coffee in quite some time.  So, good to see you all, coffee mates!

Speaking of Coffee Mate, I'm having my coffee for the first time today with a generic version of the non-dairy creamer, a light variety that I calculated to be 0 points on Weight Watchers, so long as I only use 2 teaspoons.  (If you've ever been on Weight Watchers, you can sympathize with this hyper-calculating and hyper-measuring.)  It's not as good as milk, but it's zero points, and as hilarious author Wendy McClure once said (and I'm paraphrasing here), you would eat a deep-fried baby panda if it were zero points on Weight Watchers.  (I imagine it isn't zero points; pandas seem pretty fatty, and deep-fried anything isn't your friend on Weight Watchers.)  

This brings me to my obligatory weekly weight-loss update, which this week is: EFFING 0.2 pounds.  This time around my loss has followed a pattern of a big loss one week, followed by a tiny loss/maintenance/gain the next week, and repeat.   I don't know if this pattern is due to actual changes in behavior (as in, shit, I didn't lose this week and I need to crack down), or if my body has chosen not to lose weight exactly according to the weekly Weight Watchers weigh-in schedule. 

Whatever, blah, blah, blah boring Weight Watchers. 

Here's a blurry cell phone pic of some gerbera daisies I bought yesterday:

Okay, that picture is terrible, but I show the daisies to illustrate the flower arrangement I "made" to go with my new simplicity kick. 

Oh and look at this adorable necklace that Katie brought me back from Scotland!  Isn't it perfect, since I spent the week watching her cat?  And also because I love cats more than anything?

It's a celtic knot cat! 

And here's my real cat, who is bored now that she doesn't have Katie's cat Fraidy to torment anymore:

I have to go now.  I have to drop Nathan off at preschool, and then go to the gym, then Target, then laundry, and ... this sentence is so boring I can't even finish it.

Thanks for joining me for coffee!

Super Ima Okay-It's-Not-Really-Sunday Check-In

The original Super Ima, Leigh Ann, spent the weekend moving.  Is moving not the woooorst?  It's like you look at your house and you see everything on shelves or out in the open, and you think, Okay, I don't have that much stuff, I can pack this up easily.  And that's because you've lost sight of all the crap you've crammed into your drawers and cabinets, and things you saved for God-knows-what reason, and seriously, why is half this drawer filled with receipts from grocery shopping in 2005?

I mean, hypothetically that's how it is.

Anyway, even though Leigh Ann spent the weekend moving, and is writing a YA novel, she still got her check-in up on Sunday.  I, however, couldn't think of anything to write about yesterday, and had to do some additional thinking before finally posting this check-in today. 

So, unlike the title of this post, the theme for today's check-in is: Simplicity.

You know how I talk a lot about the issue of doing it all, having it all, [insert-gerund-here] it all?  And so does every other woman you know?  Well, today during a particularly determined 2500-yard swim, I had a thought about doing it all: Maybe I really don't want to do it all, maybe I just feel like I should want to do it all. 

Let me explain.  I could go all the way back to high school, when I was that do-gooder student who got straight A's and was the president of this and the captain of that, all because I wanted stuff to put on my college application.  Maybe that's where it started.  But, more recently, I think a lot of my thinking began in October 2008 when I quit my full-time job.  At that time, I figured I would get my act together, then have another baby, and/or get a part-time job, and/or do freelance work.  Now it's 2.5 years later, and I haven't done any of those things.  And it's true that of all the moms I know, I am the least busy/accomplished in terms of those afore-mentioned professional and family activities.  Recently during a discussion of a particular time-consuming activity, somebody said to me, "No offense, Shannon, but you have the time to do [activity]."  I was offended.

By suggesting that I would be offended at the notion that I'm not busy, she was implying that we are supposed to want to be busy and accomplished.  You are supposed to have it all, and do it all, or at least have a toe dipped into every category of personal and professional accomplishment.  I do not. 

I spend an incredibly huge amount of time feeling guilty about not having it all.  I have one kid and no job, and I'm supposed to want more.  And maybe on a practical level, I do want to do more so that I can earn money for my family and keep my foot in the door professionally.  But on a deeper emotional level, I realize I don't really have any need to be crazy and stressed out all the time.

I mean, life seems pretty busy as it is.  My days are filled with entertaining Nathan, cooking, cleaning, errands, laundry, working out, doing Weight Watchers, writing/acting for community theater, and blogging.  Sure about half of those things involve taking care of my personal health, which I feel guilty about.  But am I actually the giant waste of space/drain on society that I spend 75% of my time thinking I am?

Anyway, none of this is to say that I've made my peace with my lot in life, or that I have any concrete goals for my future.  But I think once I get over the feeling that I should want more, I can actually start thinking about whether or do want more and, if so, what the hell it is I do want. 

I have a really great life, and I shouldn't spend so much of it feeling guilty.

I think it all ties in with my new spirit of simplicity; you know, simplifying my crazy mind, appreciating what I have, all that stuff. 

So, I did set some specific goals about simplicity.  I'm not going to try to overhaul my whole life and simplify every aspect of it, because that would probably actually be very complicated.  But, this week I would like to simplify my environment.  I don't want a lot of clutter around me, even if that does seem to be the goal of the other members of my household (dammit, Leia).  My house is relatively clean after my big pre-babysitter cleanup, and this week I'd like to take the time to do a quick straighten-up of the areas where I mostly spend my time in my home.  (I guess this was technically saying that my goal is to clean, which is not in the Leigh Ann spirit, but it's really cleaning to achieve a greater end, that being peace of mind.  And it's not like I said I was going to get down on my hands and knees and scrub for hours.  I'm just talking about taking 5 minutes here and there to put things away.) 

And I'd like to be outdoors 30 minutes a day, weather permitting.  And finish 2 light, fluffy books.

The end.

Hissy Fit

Date Night Redux:

Yesterday I posed the question on Facebook as to whether it would be a total violation of the date night spirit if Bill and I went to two separate movies.  There was a Thor playing at 7:30 and a Bridesmaids playing at 7:20.  The consensus among *ahem* my friends was that it would be fine to see two separate movies, so long as we had dinner together beforehand.  The consensus among all my husbands, however, was that there was no point in getting a babysitter if we were each going to the movies separately. 

I knew we were involved in a game of chicken here, just waiting for the other person to cave in first.  During dinner I asked Bill to run down his case for Thor.  Some of his arguments were weak, such as that he hates Kristen Wiig and imagined the entirety of Bridesmaids would be her doing that Target Lady character from SNL.  But he did argue that Thor was a movie that should be seen on the big screen, whereas Bridesmaids was suitable for Netflix.  So I gave in.

Thor was not my favorite movie of the superhero genre.  I'm not all that interested in Vikings, and I was way more excited by the trailer for the WWII-era Captain America.  I thought Thor's "realm" looked super cheesy, and I just don't like Natalie Portman.  I also don't like these confusing superhero plots with wormholes and parallel universes and a bunch of crazy backstory that Bill says you have to have read the comic books to understand.  I miss the Superman days, where it was a very straightforward Good vs. Evil, and the biggest plot "twist" was that Clark Kent was really Superman with glasses. 

But I think it's really fun for my husband to get to see film adaptations of the comic books he's been reading for years, and I do like the idea that each superhero gets an individual movie before they all come together in The Avengers in a few years.  Somehow the discussion of all these superhero films caused me to have a very pleasant dream about Robert Downey Jr., I mean Iron Man, and side note who remembers on Ally McBeal when he sat next to her at the piano and sang to her and is there anything more swoon-worthy in the world and excuse me I have to go collect myself I'll be back.

Okay, better.

So, we saw Thor.  And before that we went out to dinner. Let me just say that if I don't effing lose weight this week I will effing bite a Weight Watchers leader's head off (Points Plus® value: 6).  I carried my own damn fat-free dressing to the restaurant in my purse, and then when we went to the movies I swapped the bottle of dressing for a container of homemade air-popped popcorn and some Red Vines.  And I didn't even eat the whole box of Red Vines, or even half.  I counted out 10 damn Red Vines. 

Today: 

The weather is so bad.  I was gonna ride my bike outside, but it is freezing.  The temperature is 45 degrees, 36 with the windchill.  You know what I want to do today?  Sit in my house, take a bubble bath, read, write blog posts, and take a nap.  And I think I should get to do all those things, as a reward for my diligent Weight Watcheredness. 

Also tonight I'm going to pick up Katie and her mom from the airport after their Scotland trip, which will also include returning her cat Fraidy.  This will be a relief for poor Fraidy, who has probably grown weary from her one-cat re-enactment of the book Room.  On the occasions when she has gotten out of Room, she and Leia have been a giant hiss-fest, and yesterday while their mutual foe the vacuum was out, I caught them actually scrapping a bit, with the puffy tails and the jumping and all. 

Saturday Randomness

Why is it so effing cold today?  Like, seriously, temps in the high 40s?!  Was it not just 90 degrees with a hint of sunscreen in the air?  It's almost as though some sort of unnatural rapid-temperature-changing phenomenon is occurring as a result of our years of irresponsible fossil fuel usage. 

Back to winter.  Chicago FTW. 

Completely unrelated, I have some questions about Glee.  First of all, this past week they all went to the junior prom.  Are we supposed to believe that every single character on Glee, from the closeted gay bully who tortures Kurt, to Sue Sylvester's minion who has Down Syndrome, is in the same grade?  Do the producers of that show not know how a high school works?  See, in a typical American high school, there are students in four different grades going to the school at the same time.  It's not just like the entire high school is in the same grade, and then the next year that high school transitions to being a high school that only teaches the next grade up. Wouldn't they want the glee club to be comprised of students in different grade levels, so that they don't all graduate at once and leave the glee club with no members?  And what is going to happen when everybody graduates? 

Plus, am I the only one who wonders when the glee club practice is supposed to be?  Is it an actual class period, or do they practice after school?  I know they made a reference to an after-school practice once, but how would the kids have time to be in other activities like sports and cheerleading? 

I know, I know, my TV-loving friend Lenore would tell me that I'm crazy to expect a show like Glee to be realistic.  But while I'm willing to suspend some reality and accept the fact that, say, an average public high school has the resources for special effects that produce a rainstorm on a stage even though there is constant talk of being strapped for funds, I do think that a TV drama should mostly be couched in reality.  And yet, every single episode, I find myself saying, "Wait ... WHAT?!"  It would probably be better if the show did end when everybody graduates, because I can't stand this taxing of my mental resources every week.  (Or, you know, every other week, except for the entire months of January, March, and April, when Glee inexplicably goes on hiatus.) 

Back to my real life, we are going on another date night tonight.  Our babysitter called us and left a message recently listing all the days she has free, so I think she needs the money.  Win-win, except for the part about losing money on my part.  But, you know, my marriage is the winner.  I actually do think the husband and I have gotten to the point where we actually do enjoy and appreciate going out kid-free, as opposed to that initial period where the whole exercise ranked very poorly on the Fun-to-Hassle Ratio (© my stepdad). 

Anyway, once again my goals for my marriage are not necessarily aligned with my goals for weight loss, by which I mean that I have used up all my bonus Weight Watchers points this week and do not have points left to go to a restaurant.  And so I think I'm going to be the Jerk Who Brings Her Own Salad Dressing to the restaurant.  I remember when my dad used to do that, and he looked like a bum because he'd put the bottle of dressing in a paper bag like bums do with their screw-top wine. 

Also I think we might actually make it to a movie tonight, because the date night is starting a little earlier than the last one (due to the babysitter's lifeguarding schedule at the gym).  So, once again we find ourselves having the movie argument, which specifically this time is Thor vs. Bridesmaids.  Never, not once in the course of our seven-year marriage, have my husband and I agreed on a movie choice.  It's actually a good thing we had Nathan to get in the way of our movie-going, because otherwise we probably would have gotten divorced over a movie argument. 

Actually I don't care that much if Thor wins tonight, because of all the movie genres Bill likes, I find superhero films the most tolerable.  The actors playing the superheroes are often very good-looking. 

In other entertainment news, I'm reading a Danielle Steele novel.  It's her most recent one, 44 Charles Street.  The book's theme is sort of like Desperate Housewives or American Beauty: people who seem boring and normal on the surface often have dark secrets.  And as always, Danielle sacrifices quality writing in favor of scintillating (if unrealistic) plot twists, but that's the kind of book I'm into right now.  I just can't possibly do a lot of thinking about a book right now. 

Up next I have the latest Jen Lancaster: If You Were Here.  Jen is kind of a huge smug bitch on her blog and in her other books, but her writing is good.  You could probably say the same thing about Hemingway.

Yeah, that's right, I referenced classic literature. 

Insert witty conclusion here.

Don't-Need-Therapy-Happy and Want-to-Punch-Somebody Mad

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of this week were some of the most awesome days I've had in a long time.  Unexpectedly summer-like weather, a new wading pool, and great friends contributed to a real high in my moods on those days.  I would wrack my brain and seriously not be able to think of a single thing that could possibly get me down. 

I was don't-need-therapy-happy. 

On therapy: I spent two years of my life going to talk therapy, 2008 to 2010.  A lot of people are anti-therapy, and think therapy is self-indulgent, but I truly think it helped me.  I read somewhere, in a study that I'm not thorough enough to look up or cite here, that talking produces serotonin in the brain, which is the chemical needed to fight depression.  So you see, therapy is not just a bunch of BS.

Besides, everybody should have a therapist like the one I had, who I will refer to by her initials, GMR.  She was like a combination of your mom and your best friend, and she always took your side, even if your problems were dumb and petty.  I really think everybody should get an hour a week to talk about their problems, especially moms who are suddenly forced into a role where they believe their feelings don't matter anymore. 

I always felt better after I visited GMR.  For approximately my first year with her, I was mostly just talking about depression.  Depression seemed endless, that bitch.  At about my one-year anniversary with GMR, after a lot of lifestyle changes, I finally got into a happier groove.  I liked going to GMR and feeling like she gave me little pats on the back and gold stars for all the minor things I was doing to improve my life.  I would plan my daily actions around what I thought GMR would approve of. 

The trouble with GMR was that she had two different offices, and she was only at the office near me one day a week, from noon to 8 p.m.  It was hard for me to squeeze in time to see her at that office, so I agreed to make the trek to her other office, which was 30 minutes away.  As my mental health improved, this drive seemed less and less worth it.  Around our two-year anniversary, I was starting to feel like I was driving an hour round-trip and paying a $40 co-pay just to sit there and chew the fat.  It was time to end it with GMR. 

Breaking up is hard to do, but I experienced a stroke of luck because GMR said she was going to retire soon.  On our last day, she told me it had truly been her pleasure to work with somebody like me who was committed to improvement, and I swear she teared up a little.  Worst brag ever: I made my therapist cry tears of joy. 

I didn't find a new therapist, because I figured I had graduated from therapy.  In our parting shots, GMR and I discussed discussed the fact that being a therapist was like raising a child: your goal was to mold somebody to not need you.  And I figured that I didn't need GMR or anybody else.

It took me approximately 7 months, not until January of this year, to realize that I had experienced an increased number of episodes of depression since quitting therapy.  And so I decided my New Year's Resolution should be to find a new therapist. 

Like all New Year's Resolutions, I didn't keep that one. 

And then on May 12, I decided I was don't-need-therapy-happy.  I know this was a falsely-inflated mood due to weather and excitement over summer plans.  I don't think I will finish out 2011 without ever getting sad again.  And so I don't know if I will ever go back to therapy again.  I don't have any conclusions here. 

Today I experienced a low, but not a go-back-to-therapy-low.  This was more one of those lows that happens to women from time to time, that time specifically being every 28 days, give or take. 

I wanted to punch somebody all day.  I rode my bike this morning at the park and it was nearly impossible to make it 30 minutes, with the headache and general agitation that I was experiencing.  Oh, look at that mom pushing boy-girl newborn twins who are adorably, uterus-twingingly cute sleeping in their half-pink, half-blue double stroller!  Ugh, the mom is already so skinny!  I hate her!  And why is that jerk smoking while walking laps at the park?  Who does that?!  I hate him too! Why can't all these dumbasses just get out of my way?  Oh wait, they did get out of my way!  Well, I'm not saying thank you. 

And so I decided I needed to dedicate every ounce of energy and time I had for the rest of the day toward the achievement of two goals: (1) Make it through the day without harming another human being, and (2) Stay within my allotted Weight Watchers point range despite my premenstrual desire to go on a carb bender. 

Two good goals, one a selfless goal for the good of humanity, and one a bit more personal.  Goal 1 was actually pretty easy to achieve; I just had to avoid everybody else for the rest of the day.  Except for my kid, who of course I wouldn't harm, but seriously, kid, the word mom does not contain four syllables, and please, for the love of God, is it asking too much that when I'm on my hands and knees picking your crumbs off the floor, that you not use my back as a foot rest? 

The crumbs were from some chocolate muffins I made using a recipe from Hungry Girl.  You mix together a package of devil's food cake mix and a 15-oz can of pumpkin, and bake in a muffin tin for 20 minutes at 400 degrees.  At 5 Weight Watcher points it was a little bit steep, but it was a really big and chocolatey muffin, and I just planned the rest of my eating around it. 

I also planned my eating around a 4-point mocha Frapucchino.  See, there's a chocolate theme.  And then I went and bought a $20 bottle of Voli Lyte vodka, which had been recommended at Weight Watchers, and mixed it with Crystal Light raspberry ice flavor, which is a drink that up to that point probably hadn't been consumed outside of a trailer park in the mid-1980s.

So, bottom line, by skimping on actual nutrients and instead focusing on liquids and empty calories, I made it through the day. 

And the purpose of this post was not to say that I have come to any profound conclusions about my mental health, but rather to juxtapose two accounts of emotions that can be described using over-hyphenated modifiers. 

The end. 

Lost

Blogger had some kind of a malfunction and lost a lot of people's recent posts.  In an attempt to recover them, Blogger shut down for like 24 hours.  Now it's back up, but my posts are still lost.  This loss bothers me, because I feel that people are now getting an incomplete update on the trivial minutiae of my life. 

For example, yesterday I wanted to report that I got my Official $3 Flip-Flops of the Summer.  They're lavender with a white Hawaiian print, and I chose them solely because they were the only cheapy rubber flip-flops at Walgreen's that came in a size to fit my honking size 10 feet. 

I wore the flip-flops to get the pedicure shown here:

I would like to point out a dumb toenail-related observation I've made about the two places I've lived in my life.  When I lived in Southern California, little flowers painted on toenails were a big trend.  Here in suburban Chicago, they are not as big, and the designs do you see are more of the ornate, swirly variety.  I don't really like ornate and swirly, so I told the lady at the nail place to give me simple flowers with no swirls.  Somehow I ended up with simple swirls with no flowers.  But I feel like any complaining I do about the Vietnamese immigrant who works 7 days a week scrubbing middle-class ladies' feet is just going to make me look like a spoiled racist snob.  Anyway my toes are way better than they were when half the polish was chipped off. 

(P.S. I confess that I got that pedicure instead of chaperoning Nathan's class field trip to the Dairy Queen.)

Also, look at that, I was wearing a goddamn dress yesterday.  I feel very self-conscious wearing dresses.  I feel like my life is too active and rugged to pull off a dress.  But on Wednesday I went to the sort-of-plus-sized-but-not-all-the-way-so-I-feel-okay-about-myself store Fashion Bug and picked up two cotton sundresses, the pink one you see here ... and then the exact same one in black.  Because I'm really a fashion risk-taker. 

But anyway, Summer of Simplicity begins!  As evidence, here's a picture of my kid eating a popsicle in the backyard:

It's like a Norman Rockwell painting, except for the part where my kid has his shirt on backwards and inside-out.  Simplicity = not stressing about these minor imperfections. 

So far I'm kind of starting to feel like Summer of Simplicity involves buying a lot of stuff, which doesn't seem all that much in the spirit of simplicity.  Except, really, all my Summer of Simplicity stuff is pretty cheap, like yesterday I bought a $3 container of bubbles and some $1 sidewalk chalk.  Nathan wants to get an automatic bubble machine, but I feel like that's not in the spirit of simplicity either.  We're making our own bubble wands out of string and wire hangers, dammit!

Actually, let me say something about Summer of Simplicity: It will not involve crafts.  Well, I mean, Nathan can do crafts at camp or the library or with his crafty babysitter, but I will not be going to JoAnn to purchase specific craft supplies for a specific planned craft activity.  Just the use of the phrase planned craft activity kind of stresses me out.  I'm not a planned craft activity kind of person. 

Bill is confused about my sudden urge for simplicity.  To explain his confusion, I have to go back a couple of years to early 2009, when I was a newly-minted SAHM.  Back then I was a "take my kid everywhere" kind of mom.  The reason for this frenzy of activity was threefold: (1) I never had time for any of these activities when I was working, (2) I was celebrating no longer being depressed, and (3) My kid was finally a sentient, lucid human being who could actually enjoy some activities.  And so when Nathan was 2, we were known to be at the zoo a couple of times a week.  We hit every children's museum in the winter and park in the summer.  I liked being the mom who knew all the fun places to go with kids. 

But as I've said before, now Nathan's primary structured activity comes from going to preschool and to his other little program at the high school, and he doesn't need that much more entertainment outside of these two activities.  And as for my own structured activity (because, let's face it, sometimes it's about me), I'm pretty busy with my exercise endeavors, and often too tired from these endeavors to do anything else anyway.  So now our days consist of local activity, which provides a good amount of structure, and the rest of the time I crave simplicity. 

Hence, Summer of Simplicity.

I will say that I'm feeling good about signing Nathan up for some sessions of camp, though.  I was initially dreading the hassle of getting him out the door 5 days a week, especially because this simple little day camp sends a very specific supply list that involves more items than you'd take on a weeklong camping trip.  But this morning we had nowhere to go, and I hated that lack of structure.  I think it will be the perfect amount of structured activity to have Nathan go to camp in the mornings, then spend the afternoons lazily sitting in the yard or at the pool. 

Nope, I Was Wrong: Today Was the Best Day Ever

Summer of Simplicity is in full swing.  (Though I imagine it will go on hiatus for a few days as this icky rain and cooler weather comes in.) 

Today we had another impromptu wading pool "party."  I don't want to brag or anything, but I kinda feel like my backyard is the place to be this summer.  We've got the slightly-bigger-than-most wading pool, a sandbox, bubbles, and comfy patio furniture.  Oh, and we're next to a park, so there's that option for when the weather dips below 90 degrees and 100% humidity.  Also I promise to keep the freezer stocked with popsicles. 

I am starting to feel like a halfway-decent entertainer, though I acknowledge that everybody's standards for a good time get waaay lower when there are small children to be entertained.  But I have always been a very insecure entertainer.  I always feel like nobody wants to come to any party I would host, and I take it very personally if there's a low turnout. 

But, a few things have made me more secure about my entertaining skills.  First there is the afore-mentioned presence of children, because a party becomes all the more attractive to potential guests when it promises to wear out energetic children.  Second is the advent of non-oral methods of communication.  Nowadays you can invite people to any playdate, party, or gathering via Facebook, text, email, or Evite, so there isn't that awkward moment when the person has to make a snap decision as to whether to accept or reject your invitation.  My social life has improved tremendously since we have all stopped talking to each other on the phone. 

Of course, it helps to have fun, attractive toys and/or a park in your backyard.  And if people are just using me for my location, I'm kind of fine with that.  At least I have a social life now. 

I'm excited because outdoor entertaining is a huge thing in my husband's family, and we have attempted to carry on this tradition by making our backyard as fun as possible. 

The Summer of Simplicity begins!