What ifs?

When you first consider the idea of weight loss, after years and years of abusing your body, there is a certain amount of fear and reluctance. There are always questions as to whether or not you can truly put forth the amount of effort it will take to lose weight, whether you are mentally prepared for what comes with the act of the effort and the results as well as the reasoning for gaining weight in the first place. There is fear as to possible failure and the difference in how people react to you as a person. Because you know there is a difference, right? In how people treat you?

I allow myself to think about the difference in small spurts. Anything more than that feels overwhelming and since I'm only losing weight in small spurts, that feels manageable. Over the weekend, I was triggered by a PostSecret image that put into words the insecurity of some fears that I have about losing this weight.



What if I look better now than I will then? Even if I'm healthier then, what if I'd rather be shallow? Look, my self-esteem isn't over the top, but I'm not a bad looking big woman. The extra weight looks ok on me. In fact, the smaller I get, the larger my nose gets and the beadier my eyes will get. I've been skinny. I know about this. I also know that my weight disguises any wrinkles I may have gotten due to the 8 year old who likes to test my heart rate.

So, what if I look better now? What if I'm happier as a big girl? What if all the chubby chasers go away and I have no more admirers? What if the Latino men and gorgeous chocolate brothers are no longer interested when there is no "junk in my trunk" and I'm no longer "cool for a big girl?" What if I get skinny and hate myself? Some days I'm just like many other women: full of insecurity. It's just one of those days.

Compilation of Random thoughts from last week

Tuesday, March 17, 2009
There is nothing like having dinner at a 4 star restaurant and thinking you are big stuff and then getting home and realizing your fly has been open for 2 hours.

Sunday, March 22, 2009
I should have had my tonsils taken out 20 years ago. You know, when the doctors said "Let's take her tonsils out."

Monday, March 23, 2009
When you leave me alone in an office for an hour you lose the right to be surprised when I play with your expensive doctor's equipment.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009
It never ceases to amaze me how unselfconscious 7-8 year olds are. This occurred to me while I watched the center field on AJ's baseball team pick his wedgie from the batter's box to center field. There is something to be admired in it.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009
As a child, you are allowed to complain that you want to go home when you are in class. As an adult, you are allowed to leave, but are too worried about how you might look if you finally allowed yourself to ESCAPE.

Friday, March 27, 2009
I am all about instituting the siesta in the middle of the workday. A 30-minute nap would increase productivity.

Ooooh, Shiny

Hey, this journal isn't just a flaming ball of negativity! Like anyone else, I get excited when I find something new and shiny that catches my eye because of the coolness factor. It doesn't happen often because, due to the amount of time I spend on the internet daily, I see a lot of nifty gadgets, but there normally isn't an entire site of them that makes me think I need to open my pocketbook in an otherwise nasty economy.

Today, I was introduced to mytagalongs. This site has a shiny factor of 8.5 because of the coolness of it's gadgets. Boys have tool sites, girls have tampon cases and purse organizers. I do have several men who read this site, so I'm not writing you guys off. There were also some cool items on there that were gender neutral such as running bands to keep items in while you are getting your fitness on as well as inexpensive shaving kit cases or even an entire office to go for your briefcase.

Also, if you want to make your wife really happy, I cannot tell you how much a wife would appreciate The Handywoman's Kit for her purse. The Swiss Co. makes another version of this for about $20 more and it's certainly not as pretty.

I have gone forth and spread the word and I urge you to check it out. The prices are VERY reasonable as is the shipping. I placed an order today, so I will let you know if it takes forever to get here. I'm looking forward to the purse organizer. Anything that cleans out my purse can't be a bad thing.

Stunting his growth

Natalie and I have been friends for many, many years. 10, at my last guess. We have followed essentially the same path in life with few divergences, but have managed to stay in touch and close throughout marriages, births, extreme joys, extreme hardships, loss, grief, many moves, new homes, new states, new careers, new degrees and new opportunities. She is one of my favorite people ever and is one of the very few people I can tell ANYTHING and know that, as gross or wrong as society thinks, or even I think, she'll think it's cool or ok or hilarious. And then she'll make fun of me for it. There is no judgment and even in friendships, that lack of judgment between two people is really rare. We've just been through too much and really, we know know way too much about each other.


Around 9 years ago, Natalie and I were pregnant around the same time. Natalie was pregnant with one of the most gorgeous dark-haired, gypsy featured beauties I've ever seen in my life. Bee (as she will be known), is a precocious, tell it like it is, intelligent girl child. She's a mini-Natalie and is amazing. I was pregnant with AJ, a sensitive, athletic, science-minded, all-american featured boy child who is currently sporting a pumpkin grin. From the time they were womb fetuses, these two were jokingly betrothed. Natalie and I greedily planned grandchildren and enjoyed the idea of not fighting over the rights to grandchildren.

When AJ and Bee met, it seemed all plans were falling into place. They were like two peas in a pod and AJ and Bee's little brother, Mee, are best buddies. Our plans for world domination by living vicariously through our children were imminent.

However, today I hit a snag. One I never saw coming and the ton of bricks didn't fall at once, rather one at a time they fell on that sensitive spot. Someday, AJ, Bee & even little Mee, will all GROW UP. In order for betrothed to get married, THEY HAVE TO GET MARRIED. To have grandkids, they have to...well, YOU KNOW. NO NO NONONONONONONONONONO. MY CHILD WILL NEVER YOU KNOW!!!!!

Ok. Ok. I can handle this. He may or may not you know. We aren't Catholic, but he could decide to be a priest but then I don't get grandchildren. This doesn't seem fair.

So the question is, how does one of my very best friends factor into this? Well, Natalie recently had twins (Holy wow!) and she took a picture of Bee holding one of the babies. Bee is sitting in a hospital bed holding the baby and for all purposes looks like a new mother. Our babies are growing up and it's happening sooner than we ever intended.

It occurred to me that children are doing things more quickly now. Statistics are showing that children engage in non-penetrative sexual contact as early as 12-13 years (7th grade). AJ and Bee are 8 years old. We could be forced to deal with this stuff within the next 5 years. NO. Children can be parents as early as 13. Our children will be adults in 10 years. This is all overwhelming. I know that we can handle this stuff as it comes, but that seems so FAST.


The only thing I know about all of this is that I thank God that Natalie and I will be going through all of this at the same time because there is no way that I would survive it without her. Of course I have Husband, but he's not as sentimental about this as I am. He's a BOY. Natalie will get it. She always does.

Happy Thoughts Compilation from the last week

I don't know if anyone actually comes to my blog or if everyone just reads through a reader of some sort, but every day or every other, I make changes to my sidebar. They are just little thoughts that aren't big enough for a whole entry, though they might eventually make up an entry. They are still things I want to remember, however, so here they are.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

When I'm sick, my dogs are as concerned as any human being I've ever met.

Monday, March 23, 2009

When I'm away from home and feel sad, upset or stressed out, the only place I want to be is at home and cuddling my dogs or talking to my family. They are my happy place.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Every time I teach my class teaches me more than I teach them. And they make me smile. A lot.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009
A test is really just a piece of paper with an ink on it. The only importance it has is the importance I give it and my self-worth isn't based on how I do on it. Thank you, Dr. Chris Blazina for the cognitive reframe today.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Life DOES come with extra credit. It's called McDonald's reduced fat vanilla ice cream.

You won't like me when I'm angry

I rarely see red, but when someone makes a comment that is so clearly ignorant and damaging to so many people, I lose my noodle. Here, let me let you read it and then we'll talk. A friend of mine, who knows my affinity for the game, sent me this message. I assumed it was a joke or hoax, as I couldn't find the origin, until it was clear it wasn't when the local television station in Columbia, Missouri, KMIZ (their local station, not mine), chose to write a couple of articles on it. As an aside, KMIZ has prudently chosen to remove the initial article, but has left the reiterated "warning" up.

Police have condemned adults who play the latest in Nintendo’s popular Animal Crossing series, “Animal Crossing: City Folk”, as being predatory paedophiles, saying “There is no reason an adult should have this game”, and claiming that the only motive an adult could have for playing it is to seduce children.

The warning comes from the Mid-Missouri Internet Crimes Task Force, where investigator Andy Anderson warns that any adult playing the game “is likely doing so for the wrong reasons”, and points out that online predators could be lurking in the game thanks to its multiplayer capabilities.

Anderson further warns that police just don’t have the resources to stamp out the Animal Crossing lolicon menace, meaning parents may even have to resort to supervising their own children: “The equipment is real expensive and we cannot afford to buy all of the systems and do not have the resources either to examine all of the possibilities.”

The source darkly talks of the game’s relationship building system, where players can exchange letters, gifts and favours in pursuit of friendship, implying out that these elements are tantamount to putting children on a nationwide lolicon meat-market.

The Internet task force then went on to RE-ITERATE THEIR WARNING stating children were being contacted inappropriately, however, after sounding their big, freaking warning bell, stated that not all adults that play the game are pedophiles. Well, thank you for clearing it up in what amounts to the fine print.

Let me explain why this upset me so.

First, it's personal. I play the game. I do and I love it. Oh, yes I do. It's a fun, non-challenging, mind-numbing game that allows me to connect with my 8-year old. I watch him play the game, he watches me play the game, we compete for whatever goodies are in the recycling bin, we negotiate for furniture and items, he learns the value of a dollar and he's already learning that he has to pay a mortgage and contribute to his community as he gets older. It teaches friendship and volunteerism, savvy saving and negotiation, taking care of a home and keeping a job, but also relaxing and fishing and playing hide and go seek.

So far, there are no little red flags going off about the fishing going on or the apple picking taking place in the game, but if I find anything "sickening" about the game, I will be the first to take Nintendo to task.

Second, the initial article stated that their was no reason for an adult to play the game. Well, was there a reason for an adult to play Mario Bros? Probably not, other than it was hellatiously fun. How many of the people on that force played Mario Bros? Or Zelda? Or Super Smash Bros? Let's get me started on the fact that when I was first introduced to the game, through Nintendo's excellence in marketing, it was through this commercial:



Anyone notice anything interesting about the people in that commercial? Do they look like little kids to you? I thought to myself, "Self, what a great way to connect with your friends and family." My little sister is 12 years old and lives with my mother. My friends live all over the country and some outside of the country. With Wii-Speak, we could play a game together and hang out at the same time. What a fascinating concept? Nintendo had me hooked only to have these idiots call me a pedophile? What the soup?

Let me tell you how something like this affects people. Being called a pedophile, and having that suspicion cast on me would cause me to lose my job, the career I've spent over 8 years in school for as well as throw me out of my doctoral program. It would help me lose my child, with whom I have a fantastic relationship. I would be a pariah in my society.

Let's think before we speak task-force. It's something I taught my son when he was 4.

As a parent, monitor everything your child does on the internet and on anything that connects to it including gaming systems and cell phones. This is common parenting sense.

But if anyone truly thinks everyone who plays this game has these issues they really need to examine why they might believe that someone who likes an innocent video game for stress relief has those kinds of pathological feelings about children. "All" is a serious and damaging generalization and should be avoided if possible. And please don't believe everything you see or read on the news or even on the blogosphere. It's sensationalism and everyone writes for an audience. Myself included.

That's what she said

Sometimes, someone uses the phrase "that's what she said" in such a way that there is no room for anyone to say anything. There is stunned silence. It's even funnier when the person who just got pwned doesn't get it.

Therefore, this is so full of win, it rounds lose and comes back to a home run win!

Ways to make enemies or irritate the soup out of the adjunct faculty

By and large, I love teaching. I was worried I wouldn't, but teaching my class is one of the best parts of my day. Another best part being treating my clients. And, of course, the best-best part being time with family and friends. However, as much as I love people, a thought has occurred to me that, in our society, signifies certain death to me in almost all realms: I am not a team player.

There. I said it. Throw your stones.

I've known it for a while, but I tried to play it off like it was nothing. I'm an introvert by nature and I'm tired of pretending to be something I'm not. My eyes were opened the day I saw an egg on the front of a book and for some reason decided to read it. It was and still is one of the best books I've ever read in my life and I high recommend The Introvert Advantage by Marti Olsen Laney to any and every single person in the whole world who thinks they might be uncomfortable in a group setting. I fought the introvert in me for years by throwing myself into drama, choir, band (yes, I was not the most popular person in high school) and essentially tried to do what I thought I "should" do. I have no idea where I got the idea I "should" be anything, but it felt like the thing to do. Until I read this book.


Now that you have the back story, I'm not a team player. I try to be a team player, I do, and I can be a team player when I really put my mind to it. Last night, in class, there was a narcissist in my group and I about lost it on her. What was to be a group decision became about who could "sway her vote" because with a narcissist it's all about HER (or him but in this case she was female). I almost walked out of the class. I'm working on self-control in those situations. The woman is in her 50s. I'm almost 30 and I feel like I'm too old for the behavior that says "when I'm in a group you must all fight to change my opinion." Screw you, lady. We have our opinions and we'll all pick the last option together. It doesn't mean that since you now know what we might pick that you get to have us fight so you can change yours.

I also tend to get annoyed when other faculty at my college try to intimidate me. As this is a particularly sensitive issue, I'll just say this: No, you can't have it and you aren't intimidating me because you may bark loud but I'm bigger than you are so I'm not scared. Just because you are demanding, rude and a backbiter doesn't mean you'll get your way. I put my name on it and it's mine. Get your own.

Lastly, I'm an adult. Don't shush me when I walk into a room to ask you about something of mine that another faculty told me you confiscated without permission and have apparently been hoarding in your office. I didn't make up the idea, it was expressed to me and I was coming to seek out the truth of the matter so I would know what to do when my class started IN 5 MINUTES. If you shush me again, I will get mean. Really, really mean. Don't shush me. Ever.

I love my second job. I hate the sidework. I hate grading. I hate talking to kids who I know are giving their all about the drop deadline because I'm worried about their future. I hate talking to kids who I know aren't giving their all because I'm worried about their future. Most of all, I hate dealing with other people who have varying ideas of how much better than me they think they are (not all of them, sillies, that would be a generalization, some of them are awesome).

But I love what I do. I have two professions where I don't technically have to BE a team player to do well.

Society can bite me. I'm doing just fine.

I'm old.

It's happened. It's finally happened. "I just don't understand young people nowadays."

I thought I did. I was unaware of my own elderly status until I sat in my multi-cultural education course tonight. My class is an education course so I am in there with a handful of psychology majors and a bunch of teachers who are here because their schools or major are requiring them to attend. As such, I'm hearing stories about words I have never ever heard in my entire life.

These words apparently mean something having to do with some form of music, but I only recently learned what "apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur" meant and apparently this has been out for some time now. I don't listen to the radio anymore. I don't know the songs.

I DON'T KNOW THE SONGS.

Excuse me while I break down.

Ok, so for someone for whom music has meant so much her whole life, this is a huge deal. I have a rhapsody account and I upload some new music but it's mainly...adult contemporary/aka easy listening. In other words, John Mayer, you've grown on me.

Who is this old person in my body? Where did I go?

I don't even WANT this new music. It "sounds like garbage."

That's it. I'm looking for a nursing home.

Scrimmage Schrimmage

I'm still learning how to be the perfect mom.

I'm going to let you digest that for a minute.

In Gen Psych, a couple of weeks ago, we discussed Maslow's Hierarchy and, after much excellent discussion, a consensus was made that we don't believe in it. We did some critical thinking and while we like stage theories, we think Maslow had it wrong. Self-actualization seems impossible to achieve because there is no way that, while living, you can actually determined that you have hit your uppermost peak. It's only in death that you can say you are done growing. For some people, they are actualized in the act of death through selflessness. See what I mean? My class was floored by this idea and more than a little peeved that someone as smart as Maslow wouldn't have come up with this on his own. I love their earnestness.

So, I was thinking about this need for reaching some higher peak of being a mother. It's not completely unlike that feeling of self-fulfillment that Maslow touted. I continue growing and learning and it does feel like I work in stages, however, will I ever really know how well I've done? AJ is going to make mistakes because he's growing and learning and it seems irrational to place my success as a mother on his peaks and valleys.

Getting back to what started this whole train of thought: Baseball. Why yes, I can go from abstract psychology to America's past-time. Frankly, I was doing them at the same time tonight while I was grading papers on Erikson's psychosocial theory and Kohlberg's theory of moral development and watching my son whomp one out past second. Both were equally enjoyable and both made me proud. It helped qualm my fears about the mid-term I have to take tomorrow...the one I am not going to think about right now.

As I was saying, I'm new to this whole soccer mom, or in my case, baseball mom, thing. I'm not a stay at home mom. My house is filthy 90% of the time. I work two jobs not because I have to, but because I thought teaching would be fun (and it is!). I would rather spend time cuddling at home than out on stone bleachers cheering. I don't get what I'm supposed to be doing out there.

And, here's the kicker: I'm a bad, bad sport. Yep, I'm the one yelling at the ref. I don't mean to yell at the ref. I truly don't and I'm not even holding things against the ref. It just kicks in after years and years of softball and being a spectator at required high school events. When AJ played basketball, Husband actually glared at me because I "accidentally" yelled at the ref, "Are you kidding me? Did you even SEE the basket?" It slipped out. Accidentally.

I resolve to do better with baseball. But it's not going to happen. I played softball for 8 years and I know what I'm talking about. In my head I'm constantly chanting "Elbows up, knees bent, too high, c'mon pitcher pitch 'em straight and solid, run faster you can do it!, eye on the ball" and about 800 other things. There is no way around this. The only way to make me stop is to make me watch a game I care nothing about. Like golf. You don't hear me saying "MAKE A FLIPPING BIRDIE YOU FOOL!" at anyone. I don't know what a birdie is. I keep my mouth shut.

So, AJ is going to have super supportive mom who will chant for him and clap for him, but he is also going to have to put up with "I'm trying my best" mom. He asked me today if I'd ever found a four leaf clover. Maybe I should find one and put it in his cleats. He's going to need it with me around.

Everything fell so perfectly into place...

A while back, before Christmas, we had decided to do something special. We'd commissioned artwork before, with disastrous results. When I say disastrous, I will just say it was a learning experience, as those commissions were through a previous friend who has a good heart, but is still learning how to be a professional. As such, we were wary of artists in general and worried about getting jerked around.

For the last year, I've been fascinated with the artwork of Kurt Halsey. Kurt rarely, if ever, does commission pieces, and, as an established artist, I think it's awesome that he is at the level where he is comfortable establishing those boundaries. After being friends with an artist, I know commissions are not fun. The suck the creativity out of an artist faster than most anything and people are picky, finicky and, since it's their money, they want it like Burger King: to have it their way.

It just so happened that I'd met Kurt online and had the chance to talk to him a couple of times. After I got over my initial awe of his talent, because trust me, I can't draw stick people and you could ask anyone that knows me about that, I decided to keep an eye on his work. Eventually, as most do, I collected a piece here, and a piece there, as they related to me, AJ or Husband. None of them related to all of us, though, and the pets are our family, too.

So, when I saw that Kurt had ebayed a commission, I was miserable to have missed it. I hinted---ok, strongly suggested---to Husband that Kurt may be willing to do a second piece, with it being around the holidays and all. It turns out, I was right. And he did. We got this around the end of January/beginning of February. This is ours. This is us. This is my family. Duder is there, so is Pea. Weiner and Francis are there in their glory. AJ is playing in the leaves. And Husband and I are doing what we do best. Thank you, Kurt. This is special. This is my life through his eyes. And mine. I love it.

Because life is all about people proving me right.

Remember less than a week ago, in this post, when I mentioned my doctors were in need of money and there were expressing it in the way of having me come in for stupid reasons? Well, today it happened again. Not even a week after the last time.

I called in regarding a routine prescription question that essentially ended in me saying "I'm not taking your stupid medication anymore" except in more polite terminology. It ended with the doctor wimping out by having her nurse call and say that since our options were now limited that I would have to come in for a consultation.

...

Do I really need to say anything else? I doubt it, but since it's me, I will. Since I've been sicker than tuna on creme cake for the last 4 days, I did a walk-in appointment with her today. It ended with her telling me that I just have a virus and that I need to see a specialist because I have exhausted my options with her. I think she's just tired of dealing with me.

Hrmph. I'm tired of paying her loans. So there.

Jillian and the Terrible, Horrible, Blah Blah Blah Blah Day

Whew. For the third time in two months, my throat is as sore as a sunburn on an albino chicken. The last time it was sore like this was just 2 weeks ago on my spring break when I had an outbreak of bird flu aka strep throat. I'd been denying it, oh, I'd been denying it, since Friday. I hadn't been leaving the house, but I hadn't been bellyaching about it like I did today.

What made it clear that I was in trouble was the awful fatigue that settled my bones. An hour after I woke up, I wanted a nap. Three hours after I woke up, I craved a nap and nothing I did would rid me of the need. AJ lovingly told me that I looked like the Scream mask while I slept. He didn't know it was the "scream mask," he just made the face, scrunched up his eyes and made a large OOOOO with his mouth. Little snot. At least he didn't comment on my snoring.

For our anniversary, one of my gifts was a Nap set. I was dubious as to the use of this item, as when I nap, I enjoy my huge, King size bed and my own pillow, but Husband does a good job with gifts and I was waiting to see how this one fared on a day like today.

When the "nappies" (not a diaper for those of you who use that terminology) came on me, it started slowly. First, my feet were freezing. Then, I slowly lay down on the couch as Husband made room for me amid all of his lawyer-ly work stuff. The blanket came out amid a case of the shivers and the pillow slowly followed. I don't remember much beyond that point. As AJ said, "the scream" was very much in effect.

It strikes me how, when we're sick, we lose all the facade that we put out there on a regular day. Life goes back to basic things: sleep, food, bathroom breaks, and cuddling on demand. There was no disagreement as to what we were doing over the weekend because I didn't care what they did. I was silent on the couch. My husband probably cherished that silence, as it is rare. AJ got to go to a friend's house without having to do chores first and stay much longer than usual. I slept the sleep of unknowing, uncaring and just wanting to feel better. What I ate was no longer important and frankly, I didn't care if I ate. How I looked was not in the slightest important, though was funny to my 8 year old. The dogs were caring and concerned and stayed beside me, as did my Husband. He checked on me every little bit with ibuprofen and making sure I didn't need anything.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad day, after all.

Random Happy Thoughts from this Week

Sunday March 15, 2009


Like most nights, I was reading to go to sleep last night. The book was huge and I had propped it up on something to hold it as I prefer to wait until I'm older to deal with unnecessary carpal tunnel or tendon strain, etc. I was turning a page and realized that Pea had stuck her head to the left of the book and was looking at me pleadingly for cuddles. Sometimes, I forget that even the wee ones need a little affection because they had a bad day. After an hour of cuddling, Pea was under the covers snoring like an 85 year old man and I was back to reading my book.

Monday March 16, 2009


"Mama, I love you more than the Milky Way. More than the stars. More than the GALAXY!"

Tuesday March 17, 2009

AJ was asking me about some candy I'd bought for my undergrads at the beginning of the semester. As candy is off limits on every day but Saturday, I wondered what he was doing. It turns out, he was wanting to show his teacher his appreciation. He wrote her a lovely note and attached some candy to it. He has a heart of gold.

Thursday March 19, 2009

School hasn't come easy to my little man, even though he's WAY too smart for his own good. This year, he finally found a teacher who gets him. When this happened, he took off like a shot. After picking him up from school, I wanted to see his report card and he wanted me to wait until we got home. We had a minor spat in the car over this and some other things and when we got home I wasn't in the mood to talk. AJ is a sensitive little guy and he went to the backyard and sat on our swing. I watched him and saw his reflective face. After a little while, he came inside, with a handful of dandelions and said "I love you." He put them in a small glass up on the mantle. Right next to the flowers that his daddy gave me for our anniversary.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

AJ just passed his swimming test after 5 weeks of swimming lessons! On his first try!

Saturday night Scrub-a-thon

One of the things about the way life turned out for us is that we never did the things people do in their "typical 20s." Actually, nothing was ever really typical for us at all. We met, fell in love, got married, got pregnant and had a baby all within a really short time. For me, that time period was in between my 20th and 21st year. I spent my 21st birthday pregnant.

Every now and then I think both Husband and I feel like we missed something, but it never feels overwhelming that we missed those "typical experiences." Husband had plenty of odd experiences in his teen years, which I won't expound on as this isn't his blog and if he ever wants to share about the time the police came after him and his friends for walking through the drive-thru at Taco-Bell, that will be his story to tell. Just like Whitney Houston, "he partied" and I don't think he feels like he missed much. He did the dorm thing and had a group of friends.

I was the exact opposite. I lived at home, did the community college thing, spent my time with a crazy boyfriend who I went to high school with, and worked quite a bit to pay for college, my car and other expenses. I can't understate the craziness of the boyfriend. He actually believed he had the Force. From Star Wars. And that he was from the Dark Side. Go on and laugh. I'll wait. I still don't know what I was thinking and neither did my friends and family at the time. They patiently waited for me to screw my head on properly.

Because of that situation, I had alienated just about everyone I knew, as it goes with obsessive, crazy, nutcase relationships. There were no parties because I worked on the weekends. I also didn't drink. This meant that when I went to the parties, I wasn't exactly the type of person that everyone was happy to see.

So, where am I going? Our early 20s were spent raising a child, going to school and trying to make it out of the hole and into a home. Now, I'm almost to 30 and I spend my Saturday nights hanging out at home and watching the Scrubs I've tivo'ed all week. I still don't do parties like the Sex and the City 30's singles I know, my life is comfortable. I've managed to get work on my class done this weekend and some minor studying for my mid-terms accomplished. I've written emails, responded to posts and spent a lot of time on my computer. I've played games with my son and napped with my husband.

No, my twenties aren't typical. But they are mine and they are comfortable. I'll take them.

For real? Even them?

Yes, it's true. Even doctors are feeling the crunch of the economy. No, my doctors are not breaking ethics, social norms or common etiquette to tell me that their clientele have fallen off. I have been able to deduce this by the number of times I've been asked to come in for a follow up visit for something that could have been taken care of in the last 3 months with a simple phone call (aka test results or a prescription tweak).

A clear example of this occurred when I went to my dermatologist today. My dermatologist is, hands down, one of the prettiest women I've ever seen in my life. She's like doctor Barbie, but in a down to earth package. If she weren't so stinking nice, I might dislike her in my shallow "but you're way too pretty to be really nice, you must be faking it" kind of way. Yes, I have growing to do, too. This isn't the case with Doctor Barbie (I'm not calling her that in a demeaning way, but I'm giving you her name, either. She's mine. Not yours. You can't have her. I like getting in to see her quickly.)

I'm a pale, pale woman. A friend of mine used to lovingly refer to me as a "china doll." This is great in many ways unless I want to 1/tan or 2/avoid skin cancer. I'm also a moley person. Blame awful genes, but you could play a mean game of connect the dots on my torso. As such, I had surgery about 3 weeks ago and they took a nice hunk out of my abdomen. All is well and the cells ended up non-cancerous. Just ugly. I'm glad they are gone. I was to go back today to have my stitches removed.

When I arrived, the medical assistant looked at the stitches and, even though I'd popped one of them nicely thanks to my determination to do well at physical therapy this week, overall, they looked good and are healing. I nodded and asked if Dr. Barbie would be coming in to remove them and the medical assistant replied "No, these are dissolve-able stitches. We're just making sure everything looks ok today." Hrm. Because she'd initially told me I would use dissolve-able stitches, then told me last time I'd have to have them removed, and now they are dissolve-able again. So, I decided to use it to my advantage and have her address my other moles and skin issues while I was there. I'm not coming back for yet another appointment in 2 weeks. But I'll see her in 6 months for a mole check up...

If it were only Dr. Barbie, I wouldn't question it, but hands down I have seen my doctors more this year than any other year. I've had more lab tests ordered and have wasted more hours in waiting rooms than I'd like to count. It's not because I'm more ill than usual, though I have felt better in my life, it's because the follow up appointments are being required more and more often. The only difference I can see is that, when I'm in the waiting room, it's more empty than usual and the phones aren't ringing. Someone has to pay for the doctor's education. Looks like it's going to be me.

McDonalds' feeble attempt at making me fat

Since I jumped on the semi-health mobile back in November, I've avoided McDonalds like the plague. Well, for the most part. The Reduced fat ice cream cone is a delightful use of 150 calories and if I send my husband to get it, I can avoid the big, glaring pictures of tempting McNuggets. They are really all that tempt me from that particular fast food place, anymore.

Today, however, between physical therapy and teaching my undergrads, I was in a hurry. Normally, I get my grilled chicken sandwich from Wendys but I made the assumption that McDonalds would be faster. I pulled in the line and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

While I sat there, I pondered how much of my obesity was due to McDonalds. No, no, no, McDonalds did not put the food into me. I'm not a foolish person and I don't blame McDonalds for making me fat. Yet, with that thought in my mind, they aren't doing much to help me stay healthy, either. They aren't as "side" friendly as Wendys or Chick-Fil-A. I continued to think about this and chided myself for laying the blame at the feet of a conglomerate instead of myself. As I was doing so, I inched a car length forward and saw a HUGE red and white sign that said "FREE PIE WITH ANY LARGE SIZED MEAL."

Excuse me, please stop the boat. Wait, what? If I UP SIZE my meal, which is in larger portion already, you will GIVE ME A FREE PIE? So, you will reward me for eating more with more food? Specifically, a dessert food that most people find hard to resist?

Screw you, McDonalds. Screw you. You deserve some of the blame for this!

I got my grilled chicken sandwich and left. Next time, I'm going to Wendys.

A dirty restaurant, cheap but good food and free entertainment?

For those that personally know the Blueshelled family, most are aware that the last 4 months have been months of great change in our familial health. All three of us have taken an active role in watching what we eat and attempting to be more active. For me, unfortunately, a bum back, then a bum knee, now surgery preventing therapy for the knee, has made the activity part difficult. However, among the three of us, we've been doing quite well for ourselves on the sticking with it.

One of the ways we accomplish this is by having one day a week that we can eat whatever we want and as much as we want. Generally, what we've found is that we only go about 500 calories over our restricted daily caloric intake and we more than make up for that throughout the week.

With all of that explained and out of the way, Saturday has been our beloved free day. Free day is what gets us through the rough days where we want to eat everything under the sun, but don't. Free day is coming and we can eat all those bad for you things then. The knowledge of it is soothing. What's funny is that, come free day, we still don't know what we want to eat. It shows how food has taken a back seat in our lives.

Tonight was no exception. Dinner time came and we drove around the area looking for inspiration. At long last, we settled upon the Waffle House. If you have never been to the Waffle House, you have never set foot in the South. They used to be dirty, filthy pits of cigarette smoke where you could get greasy food at cheap prices in a reasonable amount of time. Now they are dirty, filthy pits minus the cigarette smoke (thank you smoke free Tennessee!) where you can get greasy, TASTY food at cheap prices in a reasonable amount of time.

As we walked in, all the tables were dirty and we sat down at one and had to ask someone to clean it for us. Husband ordered what he calls "Satan" hash browns. I can't tell you what all is involved in this meal other than it smells pretty bad and is 100% guaranteed to give you heartburn from looking at it. The verdict from Husband is "Delicious!" AJ and I ordered our regular variety of foods and we sat quietly talking while waiting for our food.

In the middle of what seemed a fairly standard meal, the Waffle House staff erupted in drama. 2 new people showed up and immediately started telling the others they were now required to stay overnight (this was around 9pm), as 3 people had called in sick. This turned into 30 minutes of all of the staff there complaining about how people only call out on a Saturday if they are lying and how, since the 3 of them are friends, it must be A PARTY!

Of course, this turned into one using his defense mechanisms to justify his staying as to how he needed the money and would get overtime. This was until the manager burst his bubble to tell him how they would just switch his shifts later in the week and "make" those that called out tonight cover the shifts, thus demoralizing the poor guy even more with the knowledge that he was going to not only have to stay up all night to cover someone's shift, but also was not going to get anything extra for his trouble.

Husband, AJ and I didn't even pretend to not listen. This was fascinating stuff. As we packed up to leave, the manager called another staff member back and we heard him say, "You have to stay tonight, too. We just got another phone call."

This is a good incentive to get a college degree, I think, to those that don't have one. But thank you for making my meal interesting.

The Morning Fake Out

Every morning is an exercise in drama. It's no secret that I adore our pets. We have 3 dogs and a cat.

Duder, not her real name, but an affectionate nickname that she loves, is a 3 year old Wheaton terrier mix who is loyal and friendly and fuzzy. She has a bad, Rod-Stewart hair-do and enjoys a good scritchin. She is mine and my husband's wheat/brown colored shadow.

Weiner, again, not her name, is a 2 year old Dachshund pom mix who is a beast. She's fat and crabby and will growl at you while you are rubbing her belly. However, she is fiercely devoted to our son, AJ and will actually whine and cry for him when he's gone. This has caused us to be very loyal to her. She has the benefit of being incredibly adorable, for all of her miserly ways. She is AJ's little orange/tan shadow.

Pea, aptly nicknamed as she is the smallest of the three dogs, is a 1 year old Chug-- a chihauhau pug mix. With large, frog-like eyes and a small (though ever growing) body, she's gonna have to face it she's addicted to love. Pea was a rescue dog that we found via craigslist and who we almost didn't get because she doesn't photograph well and her picture, well, it scared us. Frankly, she looked a little crazed. However, when we met her in person, after much cajoling on the part of the rescuer, we fell in love. More aptly, I fell head over heels and haven't looked back. Pea is very much my dog. She is a character. She literally dances for treats and likes to cuddle by laying her head on your chest, looking at you with frogger eyes and giving kisses. Pea is my little black shadow.

Then we have Francis. Our cat. She has no cute nickname. The cat hates everyone but my husband. With him, however, she's like a dog. She calls for him in a meow that even sounds like his name. She cries for him when he's gone. She follows him like a dog and laps at his nose. She jumps on his chest and cuddles him and purrs like a motorboat.

Now that you have been adequately introduced, let's talk about mornings. Weiner and Francis spend their mornings on the bottom floor of the house. That leaves my two shadows, Duder and Pea upstairs with me. In our bedroom. They stay up there for a couple of reasons: convenience and longing. Convenience because it's more convenient for me to have them up there than to wake up and yell at them for whining all morning when they can't be with me and have to be downstairs. Longing is on both of our parts. They like being there and I like the security of having them there. I get cold easily. I wake up and with husband and AJ gone I have a Duder on the left side and a Pea on the right. I'm warm, cozy, safe and loved. It's a good feeling.

Here's the issue, when the dogs are sure I'm really awake, it's cuddle time. It doesn't matter what day it is. Cuddle time is every day. The minute they are certain I'm awake. An inordinate amount of time in the mornings is spent pretending to be asleep to avoid the inevitable jumping on my stomach and happiness that occurs when "YOU'RE AWAKE!" happens. There will be slobbering on my face, cuddles, bad breath right below my nose to make sure I'm REALLY awake and the shoving of puppy faces into 2 sleepy hands so they can get their pet on. Cuddling must occur for at least 5 minutes or there will be barking and dismay. Duder is not the love addict Pea is and thus tires of this quickly. She will jump off the bed at which point Pea will growl and bark in a threatening tone at her for her treason. Then Pea will look lovingly at me and give me "cuddles" and gently, in her way, request more cuddle time. Before you know it, I'm running late for whatever it is I was doing.

The moral of the story: I'm a sucker. I love these beasts.

No Boomerangs allowed in the house!

While reading an article on the so-called Boomerang Generation, it occurred to me that there is this huge generation of entitlement issues. Of course I'm not generalizing an entire generation, that would be stereotyping and utterly un-pc of me. I'm stuck in my multi-cultural education course and was required to take about 9,000 other courses to avoid that kind of mentality. However, I'm also trained to notice patterns, and this one is a biggie.

For me, I do remember back in high school that there were some lucky kids whose parents were going to cover their education regardless. I'd been told since the age of zygote that this was not going to be the case for me and that I should be working extra shifts because I needed to pay for college. There was no room for delusion in my family. Most of us worked for money, worked for scholarships, excelled in atheltics (not this person, but some other schmucks), or found other ways to make ends meet. The bottom line was that there was pressure to do something on our own because our parents weren't responsible for our education.

Now, however, as I am exposed to a growing number of high school students, this is not the case. Mom and dad are expected to give up whatever savings they have to foot the college bill. If the child gets a full ride, but needs a new car and gas to put in it, they aren't expected to a get a job; Rather, mom and dad will take care of it. I'm floored by this ideology. Blah blah blah capitalist society blah blah blah. Part of being in a capitalist society is thought that if you expect to get money, you have to find ways of earning it. The harder you work, the more money you earn, etc, etc, etc.

I'm not going to go into the whole "earning your way into school builds character" because no one I know that is in high school cares. Frankly, I'm 29 and I don't care that it builds character. If someone said "hey, I'll pay for the rest of your doctoral degree! ON THE HOUSE!" I'd say screw my character, give me the free education.

Here is my deal: eventually, parents run out of money, or get sick, or the economy dies, or they do and children do NOT KNOW HOW TO COPE ON THEIR OWN WITHOUT THAT HELP. You can hustle and manipulate all you want, but unless you are paying EVERY SINGLE ONE of your bills without the help of your parents/guardians/family members, you haven't officially stood on your own yet. You're faking it until you make it and the people around you know it. You can proclaim your adulthood and your independence, but those of us that have done it and continue to do it are humoring you and waiting for you to find your clue.

Quit taking advantage of your loved ones and find a way to make it on your own. I am speaking from experience. For the first couple of years you do need some help. Then it's time to get off your butt and do it on your own. This is what we did: give up the fun stuff. And the tasty stuff. And the stuff that makes life really good. Until you can afford it. Because until you can, you are essentially stealing from someone else to make your ends meet and lying about your actual "need." If you have money to go out to eat EVER, but can't make a car payment so you "borrow" money, you're stealing. If you go on vacations, even once a year, but can't pay your rent, yep. If you make excuses to buy new clothes when those who are lending you money haven't bought them in over 2 years, rethink your life.

Eat at home. All the time. The cheap stuff. Go to Aldis and Save a lot. It's what broke kids do. It's what broke adults do. Give up your internet and go to the library and use theirs for free. Get basic cable and drop the premium channels. Do you really need to spend what you spend on your cell phone? Drop down to the most basic plan offered and shut off your text messaging. Unnecessary expenses are just that: unnecessary. Use freecycle and craiglist to get free stuff for your house instead of buying it. Sell stuff you can't wear/use anymore on ebay. The key here is taking your own responsibility for your situation. If you can't cut it on your own without borrowing, then by all means, move back in with the parents, but pay rent.

If I sound harsh it's because I feel harsh about this situation. It's hard out there and no one says it isn't. It's the whole reason you get 18 years to prepare for life prior to being dumped out there. Unfortunately, my guess is that you spent that whole time worried about prom and who liked you. I know I did and reality hit me in the face. The good news is that I made it and you can, too. I can go out to eat. I can have my cable. I can have my cell phone. I have the house and the car. I didn't get it at 18, though, and I had to work over 10 years for what I have. No one handed it to me. And it's still not easy, but it's doable.

My 8-year old, AJ, gets this concept. Like me, he's heard about this since he was a zygote. He was in the car with me today and said, "Mama, I will need to save my money for a tv." I was curious about this as we have more tvs than we need for him to watch in our house. I asked him why and he said, "So when I move out I have one." I was perplexed as I assume this is a ways off and him buying a tv now is probably not a good plan. I asked when he wanted to move out and he said "When I'm a growed up! I don't want to leave, but you keep telling me I've gotta go." Amen, brother. Yes, you do. And when it's time, you'll be ready or you'll pay rent.

A temper, a tantrum and a quarter will get you...well nothing thanks to inflation.

Lately, I'd found myself lacking a proper outlet for my angst, rage, and all around torment. Where could I be emo? As someone in the mental health field, I know the importance of squishy stress balls, water guns, nerf balls, exercise, and all of those lovely outlets for anger. Not a one of them has appealed to me in a good long while.

By all schools of thought, I am the dreaded internalizer. What this means is that I will stuff down my issues until they boil over my proverbial pot and I either freak out and lose my stuff all over everyone or I get sick. If it is the latter, I will stay sick until I have resolved my issues. I've been sick most of this semester.

I also believe everyone should be in therapy, myself included, however I have yet to find the time to stick myself in with someone and have them stir my pot and turn down my temperature. It's not possible with the current schedule and, as such, here I am. Self-prescribed homework. Journalling. It's the therapy catch all. "Look for patterns!" I already know mine. Perhaps writing them down will help me feel better about them, though.

Tonight, I'd had a wonderful dinner with my family and some friends who came through town. We hadn't seen them in years and spent hours reminiscing and enjoying their company. By all accounts I was relaxed when I got home. However, seeing that my favorite hockey team had traded for a 3rd goalie, when what they really need are defensemen prompted a....well, a small upset and I thought that it was time for a place to write about these...minor issues.

Here I am.