MY you look SKINNY!

When I was in university we played this cool game called Ba-faa Ba-faa. It started out by separating our class into two groups in two separate classrooms. After the other group left we didn’t know what was going on with them. In our group we were taught a new language and given these little number cards that represented a sort of commerce. We were initiated into a new culture that valued commerce above all else and required aggressive trading practices to succeed in the society. After some time, after we’d perfected our aggressive trading skills and amassed a suitable amount of wealth, we were selected in small groups to visit the other culture. When we arrived, it was literally like a different planet. Nobody was interested in doing commerce with us. They were very huggy and got right in our personal space. What really struck me was the greeting ritual—they started each conversation with, “How’s your father? How is your brother? OH you have many men in your family, good for you.” It was disconcerting because it seemed like such an odd thing to value.

So what’s come into my mind lately is the bizarre greeting ritual us women partake in on a regular basis. If you run into a woman you haven’t seen in a while the greeting will sound something like this, “Oh hi! Wow, you look great. Oh my goodness, you’re so skinny!” I engage in this practice regularly. What really struck my attention is this: I went to visit an old friend recently. She is self-admittedly a lazy person. She doesn’t exercise at all and dislikes going outside. She eats whatever she fancies. She is not a person you would describe as healthy. Yet, when I saw her, the thing that I noticed and commented on was how GREAT she looked and how SKINNY she was.

I’ve been working like a mad woman to lose my pregnancy weight and I’ve succeeded—my weight is now below what it was before I got pregnant with my second child and is almost down to what it was before my first. In September when I started to watch what I ate I thought that when I reached my goal weight I’d feel good about that number and good about myself. I do feel good about myself physically, but the preoccupation with my weight hasn’t subsided. I still weigh in daily, I still watch what I eat, and I still feel guilty if I miss a day of exercise. Once you decide to start caring, it’s really hard to shut that off. Because being skinny is what we value. It’s the first thing we notice about each other. It’s the most common compliment we pay. In fact, whenever I get stressed out with life in general, the first outward sign is a complete preoccupation with my weight. I think that’s partially because I’m all about power and control and that is something I can exercise my power and control over, but it’s also about self image. If I could just look right then everything would go right.

I actually find this topic depressing to think about because I have two daughters and I have no idea how to break the cycle for them. I can try to not self-scrutinize in front of them but I can’t protect them from the bombardment of images that have already begun to assault them. I don’t want them to be obsessed about their looks and preoccupied with their body image, but I have yet to meet a woman who isn’t. That’s a pretty sweeping statement, but I’ve had these weight conversations with women that you would assume couldn’t have a complaint about their bodies. They do. They pinch their skin and claim they need to lose five pounds. I wonder how much I will have to weigh to be satisfied with my weight. But YOU! YOU look wonderful! Have you lost weight?

Can I Get a Witness?!

Warning: The following blog post is about bathroom stuff. Enough said.

Our kids wake us up at night. I mentioned this already. Every night one of the kids gets up, and it is usually Marcus. So when I hear him screaming at me from his bed, I don’t usually rush to his side with frenetic helpfulness. I may even dawdle. Last night I looked at the clock to see what ungodly hour he was waking me in (it was actually morning—6am). Considered pretending to sleep through it. I would usually take this opportunity to elbow the husband and remind him of his parental duties, but sadly that guy was down in the basement with another man-cold. I finally took pity on his cries and left the bedroom to help him. He was in the bathroom. On the can.

There’s a chain of thought that goes through a parent’s mind when their child calls in a state of panic from the toilet. The first thought is, “PLEASE do not throw up,” followed by, “Oh no, what’s wrong?” Luckily, he did not throw up. But then I realized that Marcus was having one of those toilet episodes that causes your whole body to shake and get cold sweats. I felt so sorry for him that I sat down on the stool and let him put his arms around me and held his weight for him so he could focus on his business. That was a bad move. Because it turned out that this episode was going to repeat itself about eight more times, and now I had set a precedent. This boy no longer wanted sacred toilet privacy. He wanted me to hold him and console him every time. It went something like this:

Marcus: “Mom, I have to go again! I don’t have much time!”

Me: “Then GO! What are you waiting for?”

Marcus: “I need you to come with me! What if I have allergies again?!’

Me: “It’s called diarrhea, son.”

Marcus: “Let’s just call it allergy-diarrhea.”

Me: “GO!!!”

Marcus: “Okay, but I need you to come.”

Me: “Gelk baklkd fgfgfff.... fine. Let’s go.”

There I go, taking a bullet for the team again. Throwing myself in the face of danger to once again save the family. Maintaining my superhero status is no easy feat.

You Slept Through the Night Once. Honest.

DADDY! DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDYDADDYDADDYDADDY!!!!

Ugh.

I roll over and try to swat at David with an outstretched hand but to no avail. My arm flails at the empty spot where his head should be. “Wha the fuh? Where is he??? Arrgh Blegh bleeeggggh.” It may not be a fair deal, but it’s David’s job to get up with the big kids. The rationale behind it is that when I get up with the kids I am UP for at least an hour after trying to get back to sleep, whereas David manages to actually deal with them WHILE sleeping and returns to bed, rolls over, and resumes snoring. So if those two get up at night, he has to go and sort them up. UNLESS he is M.I.A. Like last night.

Oh right, inventory. He’s gone all weekend, working, and didn’t get in till after midnight so he opted to sleep in the spare bed to a. Not wake me, and b. Get a full night’s sleep. That meant that I would be on child patrol for the full squadron. Which is actually perfect because most of my best parenting occurs in the middle of the night.

I stumbled into the bedroom and said, “Wha? Wha? What are you yelling for? Just stop yelling and go to sleep!” I then stumbled back to my bed, satisfied with a job well done. Until about ten minutes later when I heard some frustrated grunting and whining that was again WAKING ME UP. So I go back to the bedroom and start whisper-yelling in the direction of Marcus’s bed, but when it didn’t elicit a response I realized the bed was child-free. I tried to re-focus and again heard the whining and the grunting. This time I could pinpoint the source—it was in the living room. Marcus was out there, trying to spread a blanket over himself, and every light was on. Now, hours later, by the light of day, I realize he must have had a nightmare and upon receiving no sympathy or support from his dear mommy he decided that the best thing he could do was to try to protect himself by leaving the scene of the bad dream. However, in the middle of the night, the best I could muster was, “It. Is. The. Middle. Of. The. Night. Get. Back. In. Your. Bed. IMMEDIATELY.” He went back to bed, I went back to bed. I checked the clock—just after 5:30. I wouldn’t be turning human for at least two hours. I settled back into the covers and closed my eyes... and approximately five minutes later Talia woke up.

Look, it’s all my fault. I tempted the fates. I had two glasses of wine last night. I stayed up well past my 10pm bedtime. I KNEW David wouldn’t be around to help out today. Don’t get me started about the disaster that was swimming lessons for Marcus, but let’s just say that when your children are very used to swimming in the fun pool after lessons, it is very hard to convince them that will not be happening. Even Talia was mad.

Now that I think about it, I’m beginning to realize that Marcus waking in the night happens almost every night. Either that or Skyler is YELLING outside our door, “I HAVE TO GO PEE! I HAVE TO GO PEE!” not because she needs help—it’s just an announcement. She then goes to the bathroom by herself and returns to bed. Talia sleeps through the night far more often than either of the older two. I think we’ve been hoodwinked.

How is it that Marcus got less sleep than I and will STILL not nap?