The journey from fat to fit. Road trip, woo hoo!

Breakfast: a popcicle

Lunch: JC meatball sandwich, can of diet coke

Dinner: JC mac and cheese, small pc. of smoked sausage, 1/2 a snack pack sized bag of Funyons, can of diet coke

 Snack: six strawberries, another can of diet coke

Exercise: biked 3.3 miles — half with DD9 to VBS and the other half home without her whiny ass!  I thought I was going to have to leave her to fend for herself.  This is the second bike ride that she’s whined through.  Not sure what to do about that!  I have waited and waited and waited for her to get on two wheels so we could bike together (and seeing that she is 9.5 years old and JUST got on two wheels this summer, that’s a hell of a wait!).  But she’s ruining my biking fun for me!  And the other day when I was shopping for a basket for my bike, she said “Bike, bike, bike, that’s all you talk about is your stupid bike!”  Made me feel kind of like Pee Wee Herman.  This attitude and her uncanny ability to know EXACTLY when DH and I might be getting romantical and knock on the door at that EXACT moment are why we have fondly nicknamed her “The Ruinator.”  That’s my girl, the ruinator, but I vow that my biking fun shall not be ruined this summer!

DH could not be dragged away from his camping trip to accompany DD9 and I to a church function for VBS kick off, yet just strolled in early so he can make it to basketball with his boyz.  Just saying…

This was the best 4th ever.  DH, DD9 and I rode our bikes down to the river to watch the fireworks.  There is a huge fireworks display that caps off an all day festival at Ft. Vancouver.  It’s a really big deal… and it’s about a mile and a half from my house!  When we first moved into our neighborhood we could watch the fireworks nicely from our yard, but over the last 10 years trees have grown and now we can only catch glimpses.

 I was worried about DD9 riding her bike home in the dark, even though she’d be with DH and I.  And the fireworks didn’t start until after 10 pm, so I was also worried about her being tired etc.  So early in the afternoon DH and I drove down to the river front park and parked my SUV.  We left folding chairs and blankets in the car.  Figured we would bike down for the fireworks, then he could throw his bike and DD9’s bike into the SUV and I could bike home.

At 7:30 pm we headed down to our very lovely city park, which is about 1/2 a mile from the fort, and had dinner at the park.  There were bands and food vendors and a nice festival atmosphere.   Then we biked down to the river and scoped out a good place to catch the fireworks, biked back to the car for our blankets, then went to the river front and got cozy.  The fireworks are detonated on a barge in the middle of the river, and we were on the banks of the river looking at the barge, so we had an awesome view of the almost 30-minute fireworks display.

When it was over, of course it was mass chaos trying to get out of there.  DD9 was in hyper spaz mode and came close to mowing down I don’t know how many pedestrians.  Bad enough that we finally had to walk the bikes to the car.  When we got to the car, the traffic was just absolutely not moving.  By this time it’s after 11 pm, we’re a mile from home, so we decided to bike home in the dark, let the traffic die down and go back for the car later.  So next year we know (1) DD9 can manage the ride home in the dark and even if she’s tired and (2) bringing a car is a baaaaad idea.

So all in all, a fabulous family night, something we haven’t had for a long time and something that we really needed.

Nitey nite : )

Well, we got through the day.  DD9 has been crying on and off all day, in fact is crying in bed now, but she’s getting better.  DD21 and babycakes are in Houston, safe and sound.  Time to resume life.  DD9 won’t go into the family room (where the TV is and her playstation, etc.) because there is baby stuff down there that DD21 left behind and it makes her too sad to see it.  We picked up a web cam and will set that up tomorrow so she can talk to her sissy and neice (DD21 has one already).  Thanks for all of the well wishes.  We’re going to take it one day at a time, and each day will get better, I know.  DD21 has made her choice and is gone, so I’m really trying to focus on helping DD9 get over her sadness, which is so heartbreakingly deep.

DD21 and my baby girl are gone.  They left at 3:45 this morning for the airport.  A friend took them.  I was upset at first that she had a friend coming, but honestly I don’t think I could have taken them and then made it back home, and DH had to go to work, and DD9 was insisting that she wanted to go to the airport, so taking that option away helped her settle down, I think.

Rough night.  DD9 cried for hours.  Finally slept in the bed with DD21 and the baby.  Didn’t stir at all when I was in there at 3 am helping DD21 get the last of her stuff together and dress the baby etc.  When DD9 woke up at about 6 am she came screaming into my room “They’re gone, they’re gone.”  Heartbreaking, to say the least.  She’s in my bed now, still asleep.  Not sure what I am going to do to distract her, but I know I need to turn off my tears because it’s not helping her and only gets her going.  Chain reaction… she starts crying, I start crying, and vice versa.

So thankfully I do not have to work today.  I have a weigh in in an hour… yuck.  Will take DD9 swimming and to the library after that, try to fill up the day.

Thanks for the good vibes re: my child situation.  Lori, thanks for the blog idea.  That’s genius.

Made it through today, now I’m focused on making it through tomorrow.  Tomorow night will be tough because DD21 and babycakes leave Wednesday morning at 4 am, so DD9 will be saying her goodbyes tomorrow night.  Wednesday will be tough as well because after they are gone DH will need to take the crib apart to put into storage, take down the baby swing, put the high chair in the basement, etc… in general,  de-baby-ing our house.

DD9 has a friend sleeping over tonight, swimming plans tomorrow and another friend sleeping over tomorrow night, so distractions are aplenty.

I’m overwhelmed with work and need to get myself focused, but it’s a struggle.  I worked out of town today, 1.5 hour drive each way, not super long but enough to make it a long day.  I work from home Tuesday, locally Wednesday and out of town again Thursday, so not a lot of time to dwell.

I’ve included a picture of our little monkey.

This day is not getting off to a great start.  I just got back from a somewhat puny run.  My goal of 5 miles is feeling very distant to me right now, unachievable.  My mini-goal for tomorrow is just to get back to 3.1 miles of all run, no walk.

DH and DD9 are off camping this weekend.  I couldn’t go because I have too much work to do.  I had a restless night.  Can’t blame that on DH being gone, though, because I haven’t been sleeping very well with him here either.

Woke up to a crying cat.  Got up and made sure she was not locked in the bedroom with me, but no, the door was open, so she was free to go to her food and her box.  Got up and got ready for my run, headed downstairs to be greeted with a giant mound of cat poop on my new shag rug from Ikea.  $&*^%! Cat!!  Went into the bathroom to get cleaning supplies and found a big puddle of cat pee on the brick floor.  Ugh!  Threw the cat outside, but she ran back in when I finally left for my run after cleaning up her messes.  We had this problem a while back, and then it went away, and if it is back now I don’t know what I am going to do because I really cannot deal with an incontinent cat in my life right now.  Not to sound harsh, but I just can’t.  I guess my attachment to the cat isn’t all that strong, because if she’s going to be pooping on rugs and peeing on floors she has got to go.

Went into the kitchen to get a yogurt before I left and the garbage is literally overflowing.  My last words to DS19 before I went to bed were don’t forget to take out the trash.  Don’t worry, mom, I’m on it.  Thank God DH is not home or WWIII would have errupted over this.  DS19 has been extremely lazy lately (lazier than normal, which is saying something) and DH is ready to kill him.

Added to the garbage situation, the kitchen was a complete disaster from DD21 and DS’s girlfriend making smoothies last night.  Yes, they made them with low fat yogurt and they were really good but, hello, clean up your eff-ing mess when you’re done.  Jeez.

Final straw is that I am having huge allergy issues, eyes are just watering like crazy to the point I am having trouble focusing to read.  And I need to be able to read, because I still have work to do.  Not much, thankfully, I am almost done, but it’s still hard to focus and concentrate when you’ve got tears flowing down your face and your eyes itch.

I guess that wasn’t the final straw.  Sorry!  Actually, the big underlying issue to all my bad karma I think has to do with DD21 and her upcoming move.  I am having a really hard time dealing with her.  She lives here in my house for another couple of weeks, and I can’t be nice to her.  I am trying, but I can’t.  I am angry.  I am angry at her choices and her lifestyle choices and it makes me snarky and mean, and snarky and mean is not how I want to spend my last few weeks with her before she is 2,000+ miles away.  But I am being snarky and I am being mean and I don’t know how to stop.

Time to hit the shower and then go to church, then back home again to finish up the last of the hearing that I am transcribing.  Then a late lunch/early supper @ 3 pm with two girlfriends, halleluiah!

Today I am walking in a two mile parade with my nine year old daughter.  It’s not much of a parade.  Of course, having grown up in New Orleans, my parade standards are pretty high.  For years, her school has entered a “float” in the parade, consisting of a decorated pick up truck or, when feeling fancy, a decorated trailer being pulled by a pick up truck.  Last year, the school music teacher started a marching band (about 10 kids) and they walked along with the float wearing band tee-shirts and jeans. 

This year, we’re really stepping it up.  We have the float, the band (up to 20 or so kids now, still in band tee shirts, no fany uniforms for our little school) and, drum roll please, a drill team!  Guess who is the drill team coach?  You got it, me.  There are five girls in grades 3 and 4.  We have pom poms, band tee shirts and white skorts. 

I choreographed a little routine for them to the band’s one and only song for the parade, “Smoke on the Water.” We’ve been practicing once a week, sometimes twice, and today is our first parade (we have one more in June).

If not for having lost some weight and built some stamina, I would not be doing this.  If not for the support I’ve gotten here at 3fc, I would not have accomplished my weight loss so far and said stamina improvement…. so thank you, friends!

I think about myself a year ago today.  I didn’t even want to go to the stupid parade.  Too hot and, god forbid, I was not wearing a pair of shorts last summer.  Even just to go watch the parade I’d have to park and walk several blocks, no way that was happening.  Way too much effort!  And the idea of working on even a simple pom pom routine with the girls would have been humiliating.

So even though I am spending my day in the heat, walking with a somewhat spastic drill team to a band that can’t keep a beat in a thoroughly lame hometown parade, I feel like the grand marshall of the Tournament of Roses Parade.  I spend a lot of time getting down on myself, belittling my accomplishments because I always want it to be more, to be better, to happen faster.  But today is about recognizing where I am, how good it feels to be here and enjoying it.

I worked all weekend and didn’t really have time to reflect on Mother’s Day.  I’m a mother, and a grandmother, and a daughter, so lots to reflect on.  I’ve spent the last 9 Mother’s Days shedding a few tears for my mom, so I’m reflecting from the daughter point of view today.

My mom died almost 10 years ago.  It’s hard to believe it’s been that long.  I still miss her and I still am prone to bursting into tears at times thinking about it, but not so much in public anymore, so that’s good progress for 10 years, no?  She died three weeks before my fourth child was born.  She battled breast cancer for 10 years and died at the ripe old age of 54.  There’s no justice in this world sometimes.

The last time I was with her was Thanksgiving 1998.  I was living over 2,000 miles away and was eight months pregnant.  I decided to fly to New Orleans for Thanksgiving.  Mom was at home, not doing great, but still keeping up the fight and undergoing treatment.  My sister had at this point cut back to part time work in order to be a part-time caregiver for mom.  She was pretty independent, and dad did what he could, but my sister helped out with showers, hair washing, etc.  Girl stuff.

I arrived the day before Thanksgiving.  My sister picked me up at the airport and said mom’s not doing so hot.  We drove to the house and my mom was a mess.  So frail and having breathing difficulty.  Laying in her darkened bedroom, not wanting the light on.  I went in and she was so glad I was there.  She had lost a lot of weight since the last time I had seen her, that summer, and the first thing she said to me was, “Look how skinny I am, can you believe it?”  And I wonder where I get my body image issues.

Within five minutes, I was driving her to the hospital.  She knew she needed to go, but she wanted to wait for me.  She wanted to “be at home” when I arrived.  10 years later, this is still enough to set my sister off… but more on that dynamic another time.

I took mom to the hospital, spend as much time there as I could.  Brought my two kids to visit and spend time with her.  The next day, Thanksgiving, my new husband arrived in New Orleans, pre-planned for the holiday.  We had been married since April, so 8 months.  10 years later, he is still considered my “new husband” by my family, who had a strong relationship with my ex-husband. 

My dad insisted on carrying on with his traditional Thanksgiving dinner, known in our family as the Dinner of Misfit Toys.  Every Thanksgiving, a strange mix of friends, relatives and virtual strangers show up at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving.  It drove my sister and I nuts, we wanted a nice family affair, but invariably it ended up being a 20-plus person event, complete with anything from an alcoholic gardener my dad had given a job to or an unemployed/quasi-homeless construction worker doing odd jobs for dad.

So, Thanksgiving ‘98, mom is in the hospital, dad is preparing 3 turkeys to feed his band of misfits, I am 8+ months pregnant and DH has just flown the red-eye across country for the “holiday” such as it is.

I spent some of the day at the hospital with her, but I was big and tired and had kids and a husband and really didn’t want to hang out at the hospital all day (I know, selfish much?).  When I told her I was going to go home and help dad, she had a panic attack.  She had fluid in her lungs and was having a lot of trouble breathing, and the anxiety didn’t help things.  She had to be sedated. 

Before the visit turned to shit, though, we talked about the baby girl kicking and squirming in my belly.  She asked about baby names, I told her we had a short list.  DH said, what ideas do you have?  Mom said, name her after me, of course!  We laughed.  Mom made the I-have-cancer face and said, well, you know, I do have cancer, after all, and we all laughed.  My mom liked to play the cancer card.  Hey, there are only so many perks you get with cancer, and if anything my mom was a gal who enjoyed her perks. 

I spent a few more days visiting and then it was time to fly home.  Lots of tears all around, another anxiety attack that resulted in sedation.  Promises of being back soon with the baby to visit.

I flew home and my mom died the next day, while I was 2,000+ miles away.  I was back on the plane flying to New Orleans the next day, against my doctor’s advice.  It’s all kind of fuzzy for me now, honestly, the blur of the visit and then the funeral and then having a baby.  After 10 years, it’s all kind of melded into one event in my mind. 

I do have clear memories of going through my mom’s things the day of her funeral.  I would be flying back to my new home soon, and my sister didn’t want to be left to do it alone.  I think we traumatized my dad.  He probably needed a little more time to adjust, but my sister was adamant that we do it now, do it while I’m in town, don’t leave it for her to do alone. 

Dad was in shock, didn’t tell us not to, so with my mom gone less than a week we virtually eradicated every trace of her from the bedroom that is now dad’s alone.  We were in shock too, we didn’t know what we were doing.  My mom was from Honduras and there had been a big storm or flood or something there recently, so we sent all of her clothing to Honduras for victim relief.  It seemed fitting at the time.

I come from a family of deniers.  My dad and my brother lived in a state of denial up until the moment my mom was dead.  They were certain she’d be okay.  She’d had cancer for 10 years, why would she go and die now?  Hours before her death, my dad was on the phone trying to get her transfered to a cancer research center.  The doctor’s caring for her knew she didn’t have long left, that there was no treatment that was going to help, and my dad is on the phone with me, giving me the address to the new facility where he’s moving her tomorrow.   My mom battled cancer for 10 years, had a slow and steady decline, and yet her death was like a huge shock to the family. 

With the funeral over and the post-death grunt work complete, I flew back to my new home, with my new-ish husband, and had a baby girl three weeks after my mom died.  My new mother-in-law was here with me.  She was a lovely woman, she’s gone now too.  I wouldn’t have made it through without her.   My mom had been at my side for the birth of my two older children in New Orleans, literally at my side.  Now here I was, 10 years later, seemingly a different lifetime, doing this baby thing again at age 34 without my mom.  That’s still my go-to crying jag mantra … I want my mom.

To say that my youngest daughter’s birth was bittersweet would be an understatement, but we welcomed a perfect little girl into the world and named her after her grandmother that she would never know.   At age 9, almost 9-1/2, she pretends that she remembers granny when my older kids talk about their granny.  We have to remind her that she never met that granny.  Oh, yeah, I remember my other one, she says.  Her older siblings call her a dork, I think it’s sweet.

Now I’m rambling into Mother’s Day musings from a mother’s perspective… I’ll save those for another day.

EDIT: To avoid child counting confusion: I have two kids from my first marriage, a step-daughter from DH’s previous relationship and we have a 9-year-old together.  So I have four kids, but only birth’ed three of them myself : )

I got a good bit of work done yesterday evening.  I went to bed at 8:30 pm and CRASHED.  So odd for me.  I obviously needed some sleep, though.  I was up at 5:30 am., back at my computer tackling the work.  I got DD9 up at 7 to prepare for her track meet and sent her off with a friend.  Friend’s mom is going to be there for the first half, until noon, and then I will relieve her at noon and bring both girls home.  Good compromise, but I feel guilty about not being there for her first two events.  But it does feel good to be making progress on the work that had me so freaked out.

So now it is 9 am, I have finished one of the three deposition transcripts that needed to be done by Monday, and am halfway through the second one.  But in reality I’m not really halfway done with the work, because the third one is the longest.  But, progress is progress, and now I am going to take a breakfast break, then get back to work before I go to the track meet.

I doubt I’ll get in any exercise today and will probably indulge in a hotdog at the concession stand, so food is not looking too promising either.  Maybe I’ll take a banana with me.