Landscaping Project: Before

The summer projects have started! For Mother's Day, Keith took me to the garden center and we picked out some plants for the backyard, right behind the house. It's always been a wasteland; I don't know if it's too shady or that we've been working out there, but it's just packed dirt. Nothing grows there!

When we first moved to this house in June 2006, there was REALLY nothing in the backyard:

Just some patchy grass and a small flower garden next to the garage. But behind the house: nothing.

In August 2007, Keith and my Dad built the deck:

Of course, it looked a little odd because it wasn't actually attached to the house at all. Between the deck and the house is the air conditioner, so it wasn't even really an option to put it against the house. So last summer, we added on a patio that connected the deck to the house. It really helped tie everything together.

At that point, the major building portion of backyard landscaping was complete. Everything we'd really talked about wanting was done. It was just the total lack of plantscape that we needed to focus on.

So this past weekend, we did! Here's the "before" pictures. You can get an idea of how it's going to look, because we had placed some of the plants around the deck, in their future homes:



And of course, you'll have to wait until tomorrow for the "after" pictures, because I like the suspense and anticipation.

Sugar-Free Again. Maybe.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I'm really trying hard to cut down on the amount of refined sugar I eat. I want to be healthier, have more energy, spend less money on junk food, and be a good role model for Eleanor. And if I should happen to lose weight in the bargain ... it's all to the good!

It seems like a no-brainer, but of course it's been very challenging. This isn't the first time I've tried to clean up my eating habits, although I'm still hoping it will be the last. I have a serious problem with weekends, and special plans. I always feel like, "It's not every day that I have a birthday party/go to a baseball game/go on a date with Keith/etc," so I feel justified, in this one instance, to treat myself. But then the one instance turns into 2, into a day, into the entire weekend, and then I spend the next week struggling to get back to where I had been the week before. Most of the time it feels like one step forward, two steps back. Or, more appropriately, one pound lost and two pounds gained.

So why am I writing about this again? Do I really have anything new to say?

What is new is my perspective. I am acknowledging that this is a long-term process. And I'm probably going to have cheat days or binges or fall off the wagon many times. But I am going to keep trying. Because I do think that it's an important change to make, for me and my family. I'm not going to see myself as a failure because of one bad weekend, or week, or fortnight .... and one day, I will stop writing about my eating habits because there will be no more angst there!



(Probably not too soon though, so don't get your hopes up.)

On the Road Again

After months of staying close to home, this weekend we're heading back down to Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky for Keith's brother and sister-in-law's baby shower.

The long car trip is another checkmark in the "vastly improved" column. The first trip down after Eleanor was born was such a nightmare. She was less than 2 months old, I think. I know that I was still breastfeeding, and we had to stop all the time for that, and she cried and didn't want to be in her carseat.... those kids, that magically fall asleep every time they're in a moving car? Eleanor has never been one of those. She might sleep for a bit, but not the whole time. The roughly 4-hour trip took at least 6 hours the first time.

Then we started trying to drive at night, when she was ready to go to sleep. At bedtime we would put on her pjs and buckle her into her carseat. It worked as far as the actual driving part went. But it also meant we got there at 1 or 2 in the morning and, as soon as the car stopped, her eyes popped open. She was AWAKE! And didn't want to go to sleep anytime soon. So even though the drive was shorter, we ended up more tired and crabby than before.

Finally, maybe in December?, we gave up on trying to fit the trip around Eleanor's schedule and just drove when it made sense. Keith might take a half-day or skip lunch and leave work an hour early. We leave Cleveland mid-afternoon, and get to Keith's parents' house in time for dinner. Eleanor sleeps for part of the time, and part of the time it's my job to entertain her.

I think Keith really likes this part of it, because he has been the main driver for the entire time we've been together. I used to sleep, listen to a story, knit a little bit .... but he was doing the majority of the work. Now, sometimes it seems like driving is the easy part!

So yes, I may be making a fool out of myself in the backseat. But it's worth it. And it's so much easier to keep Eleanor entertained now; she actually seems to enjoy the ride! (For 15 minutes, at least.)

When I was thinking about it this week, I was shocked to realize that I wasn't dreading the trip, as I used to. Even before Eleanor, it felt long and incredibly boring. Anyone who has driven I-71 through Ohio will agree that it's a long, dull stretch of highway. But the regular 4ish hour trip doesn't seem so long anymore, compared to the nightmare 6+ hours of her babyhood. Plus, call me crazy, but it actually feels like a little bit of family time. We're all hanging out together. Keith and I get to talk quietly while she's sleeping, which doesn't happen too often. Eleanor can't order him out of the room, as she's won't to do sometimes in the evening when she's fussy. It's the three of us, together, in our own little moving world.

I think this means it's time for a family roadtrip!

Mother's Day

Keith really stepped up his game for Mother's Day this year. I was impressed last year when he gave me the Willow Tree figurine, but this year was even better.

Of course, he let me sleep in—standard operating procedure for Mother's Day! I could only stay in bed for about a half-hour, though, before the sounds of Eleanor and Keith's talk and laughter (and Eleanor yelling, "Mommy, come!") lured me downstairs.

Keith cooked a delicious breakfast and we all played together in the living room. After a while, though, Keith looked at the clock and said, "We should probably get going soon."

Going? We were going somewhere?!? This was intriguing.

Eleanor and I got dressed and we all hopped into the car. Keith assured me we didn't need any diaper bag or snacks for Eleanor, which concerned me. Leave the house without the diaper bag?!? But I listened to him and, what do you know!, he was right.

He drove us around the corner, to the local garden center. He said that he knew I'd been talking a lot (A LOT) about wanting to plant in the flower bed behind the house and around the deck. So he decided to make it happen!

I love that he listens to what I actually want. I'm not really a chocolate and jewelry kind of woman, and he knows that. When we had been dating for a month, he gave me a teddy bear for my birthday. I smiled wanly and thanked him, because I appreciated the thought. But when he gave me a Dayplanner for my birthday 3 years later, I knew we'd come a long way.

Thanks for a wonderful Mother's Day, Keith!

10k Playlist

For the race the other weekend, I waited until the last minute to put together my running playlist. Even so, I tried to avoid using too many songs that I'd used before. With so little foresight, I was surprised how well it worked out. The Heartless Bastards song came on just as I ran past the Southgate House, where we saw the Heartless Bastards perform last December. And Spoon's "The Underdog" gave me a push up and over the final bridge. (Damn those bridges!)
"Ping One Down" by Gomez (okay, I had to keep some tried-and-true favorites!)
"I Always Knew" by Jem
"Witch" by Maps & Atlases
"Be So Happy" by Heartless Bastards
"Quiet Dog" by Mos Def
"Folding Chair" by Regina Spektor
"Dying Is Fine" by Ra Ra Riot
"Bombananza" by Bob Schneider
"Something, Somewhere, Sometime" by Dear Companion
"Ghetto Rock" by Mos Def
"The Underdog" by Spoon
"I Got Mine" by The Black Keys
"Boli Panieh" by DJ Rekha
"Morris Brown" by OutKast
"Hamoa Beach" by Gomez
"Bicycle vs. Car" by Bob Schneider
"Broken Hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy" by Glen Hansard
"Jesus Walks" by Kanye West
"The Calculation" by Regina Spektor
"Crazy" by Jem

Music: Maps & Atlases

As promised, here's another music update:)

Last night Keith and I snuck out after Eleanor was asleep to go to the Maps & Atlases show. The headliner was actually Frightened Rabbit; Maps & Atlases played second of three bands. We would have liked to stay around for part of Frightened Rabbit's set (if just for the Scottish accents!) but the first band didn't even start until 9 o'clock, and we're old.

We first saw Maps & Atlases when they opened for Ra Ra Riot last Fall. We had never heard of them and weren't expecting much, but they blew us away. I'm glad we had a chance to see them again so soon. Their first full-length album is coming out next month. Check it out!

Race Day Success!

It was a good, wet weekend. I finished the 10k in 1:06:10, which is a 10:41 pace. Especially considering that it rained the entire race, I'm very happy with those results. Happy to have made progress, and also encouraged to shoot for getting a new 10k PR by the end of the summer. Madness, you say? It just might be. But I'll give it my best shot!

The clouds hovered but didn't open up for Eleanor's race on Saturday afternoon. After running around the house all morning, she fell asleep in the car on the way to the race and was completely out of it. I thought I was going to have to carry her, just to get her stinkin' medal! But she did consent, at the last minute, to standing on her own and ambling the 25 yards. To her, the best part was the balloons at the finish. Balloons!

Keith and Karen also had a great, soggy race on Sunday morning. Keith wanted to finish somewhere between 3:30 and 4:00 (obviously, the closer to 3:30 the better), and finished in 3:42:51, which is an 8:30 pace. Karen just barely missed her under 5 hour goal, finishing in 5:06:42 (11:43 pace).

Congrats to all of us, and everyone that participated!

Flying Pig 10k

Training is over and race day is on the horizon!

We're leaving this afternoon for Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky. I'll run the 10k on Saturday morning, Eleanor will run the Kids' Fun Run (25 yards) on Saturday afternoon, and Keith and my mother-in-law Karen will run the entire Flying Pig Marathon on Sunday morning.

Last year, the Flying Pig 10k was my first race since having Eleanor. I was woefully out of shape. I finished in just over 70 minutes, which is a pace of 11:20 minutes/mile. That's slow, even for me. The good news is that I ran the half-marathon the following fall in just over 11 minutes/mile. Still not fast, but faster, and over double the distance.

I was disappointed with how crappy and slow I felt during the half-marathon. Plus, I ran the half-marathon on Sunday and we left for Costa Rica on Wednesday. Then Winter happened. So, without realizing it, I just stopped running.

On the plus side, however, since mid-January I've been working out 5 times a week. I've had a few off weeks, but only a few. My eating has been good and bad, but the workouts have been remarkably consistent. Since mid-March, those workouts have included 3 days of running per week: 1 tempo run (slightly faster than normal), 1 speedwork session (running short distance repeats much faster than normal), and 1 long run (plodding pace). I've done everything I can, training wise, to prepare for the race.

So now I'm to the point where I try to predict the outcome. I've adopted Keith's method of coming up with three different goal times. The first is the baseline level—the very worst time that you could still be okay with, even without severe food poisoning/cramping/other extenuating circumstances. The next is your real goal, which you think is feasible even if it's a bit challenging. The third is your wildest dreams goal: the one where all of the conditions would have to be perfect to achieve it.

For me, for this race, the lowest goal is merely to finish faster than last year. If I finish the race in 1:10:21 (a second faster than last year), this goal will be met. This is really shooting low, however, because last year's race was one of the slowest paces of ANY race, 5k to half-marathon, that I've had in the past 6 years. I've only run one race slower, and that one did involve extenuating circumstances, primarily insane heat and humidity.

My real goal is to run a 10:15 or 10:20 pace, which would mean finishing in about 64 minutes. I would be incredibly pleased with this result. It would mean that I've made huge strides since last year, and it would be in line with many of my other races. In actuality, my best 10k result ever was a 10:21 pace, so beating that would be very exciting. Based on my tempo runs and speedwork, I think this is a possibility.

My crazy goal would be to finish in under an hour. This would be a huge long shot, because that would mean a 9:39 pace. I've only run less than a 10:00 pace a handful of times, and they all happened the summer before I got pregnant, when I was training really hard for my first half-marathon. The stars really would have to align perfectly, the course would need to be straight downhill (it's not), and I would also require a formidable wind at my back to make this happen. So I'm not planning on anything close to this ... but I can dream.

Wish us all luck!

Getting Better All the Time

Becoming a parent is a frightening thing. No matter what age, or how parenthood comes about, nearly everyone I know is awed and scared of the responsibilities involved.

Now that Eleanor's 21 months old, it's hard to even remember what I was thinking when I was pregnant. Particularly because all of my preconceptions went out the window after, oh, maybe 24 hours of being a parent. Whatever I was thinking, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I do know that I was a little worried about how I would relate to a newborn. I've worked with school-aged children from 5 up to high school, so I knew that I would be okay once the child was reading and counting. But such a tiny baby? What do you do? What is required?

Eleanor's first 6 months were really, really rough. I didn't feel like a very good mom at all. I was tired, frustrated, and depressed all the time. I couldn't handle constantly being at her beck and call ... when even she didn't know what she needed! I felt like every time I learned how to do something, the situation would change. I was never getting ahead, always doing everything wrong.

I felt like a terrible mother, even though I was trying my best. And to be a terrible mother is the worst failure of all. Because this was the first time that I wouldn't just be disappointing myself, but also a small, helpless creature who was completely dependent on my abilities and compassion to keep her alive.

This sounds really depressing, doesn't it? Because it was, at the time. It was really difficult, because I felt like I was always going to be a terrible mother. I would constantly be doubting my abilities and whether Eleanor was getting all of the love and attention that she needed and deserved.

But things slowly changed. We'd had a really difficult time with breastfeeding, and we phased that out by 8 months. Eleanor was eating better, sleeping through the night, and developing her own personality. She started calling me "Mama," and actually seemed to be a relatively happy, well-adjusted baby.

Finally, as we get closer to Eleanor's 2nd birthday, I can accept that I'm really a very good mom. I'm not a very good mother of a newborn, and I'm okay with that. There's a lot about such a small baby that stresses me out, from the lack of sleep to the complete unpredictability of every day. With that obviously being the first experience as a parent, I was worried. Would it all be like this?

But it's not. I wasn't a particularly happy mother of a newborn, but I'm a kick-ass toddler mom. And just wait until she's reading! We're going to have so much fun.

It's a Blessing ... and a Curse

A few weeks ago, I bought a book about running for Keith, since he was in the midst of marathon training. It wasn't a training manual, though, but more of a writer's thoughts about the act of running. In What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami ruminates on what running has meant to him throughout his life, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Why does he consider himself a runner? What does that mean? What traits set runners apart from others?

How do I know that's what the book is about, when it was a present for Keith? Because I gave it to him, and promptly stole it off his nightstand and started reading it. Keith did steal it back a few days later, so I'm not very far into it. But I've already read quite a few ideas that have stuck with me.

In particular, Murakami talks about why he started running regularly. Pretty much, when he quit tending bar and started writing full-time, he also started to put on some weight and wasn't happy about it. Unlike his wife, who could eat whatever she wanted and never gain a pound, he sat at a computer all day and his waist was expanding. So he started running.

This is pretty typical. What I found refreshing—and challenging—was how he turned his slowing metabolism and new-found love for running into such a positive. He argued that those of us (and I am definitely included in this group) whose bodies are more sensitive to bad influences like the lack of exercise and an overabundance of unhealthy food are actually the lucky ones. We have motivation to change our bad habits because we dislike the way we look and feel. People whose bodies don't reflect their unhealthy lifestyle are much less likely to change, and will be more unhealthy in the long run. In Murakami's words:

But when I think about it, having the kind of body that easily puts on weight was perhaps a blessing in disguise [....] Life can be tough, but as long as you don't stint on the effort, your metabolism will greatly improve with these habits, and you'll end up much healthier, not to mention stronger [....] For the reasons I give above, I think this physical nuisance should be viewed in a positive way, as a blessing. We should consider ourselves lucky that the red light is so clearly visible. Of course, it's not always so easy to see things this way.

I agree with so much about this attitude. Both that it's healthy and affirmative to see my body's sensitivity to food and exercise as a blessing .... and that it's a very difficult attitude to maintain. I'm working on it.

My Not-Quite Pajamas

Since I started teaching part-time, my morning routine has been adapting to being up several hours before going to work. I can't stay in my pajamas to run errands or take a walk. But I'm also not going to get dressed for work and go play in Eleanor's clubhouse.

I've ended up with a very predictable outfit. I think of it as not quite pajamas, but pretty close. I pull on an old, baggy pair of jeans with the knees worn out. (Playing on the floor with Eleanor has meant the first time I've legitimately worn out my knees in a long time!) Then I put on a t-shirt and a hand-me-down gray, hooded sweatshirt. The outfit is completed with ratty old tennis shoes.

I wear this pretty much every workday. I mean, I only wear it for an hour or two, three days a week, so that still adds up to less than a full day's wear, right? The only problem is if I run into the same people on our walks or errands, and they start to notice. I don't think anyone has, though. Probably we pay much less attention to other's apparel than we do to our own.

Nosy Neighbors

A few weeks ago, Keith went to bed early, even though it was Saturday night, because he wasn't feeling good in an allergy/cold kind of way. I joined him in bed a little after 11 o'clock. I was having trouble falling asleep, tossing and turning, when I opened my eyes nearly a half-hour later to see bright, flashing lights streaking across our ceiling.

When I saw the lights, it clicked in the back of my mind that I had heard sirens a few minutes ago, but they weren't right outside our house. I immediately poked Keith and crept out of bed to peer between the window blind slats. I knew that Keith would want to be up, because he's usually more of a nosy neighbor than I am. When we hear raised voices outside, he turns down the radio/TV to find out if people are arguing or not. What can I say? He's just a naturally curious person.

Gomez also kept us company at the window, while Beckett was completely uninterested. He revelled in having the bed all to himself.

So there we were, me, Keith,and Gomez, peering out through the blinds. The attention was focused on a house directly across the street, but we couldn't figure out what was going on. There were three fire trucks and an ambulance, but we didn't see any smoke or flames. Maybe it was a false alarm?

Watching the commotion, it made me realize again how little we know about this neighbor. He's older, with a flowing white beard and hair pulled back in a ponytail. We know this, because we've seen him. We also know that he drinks, because we've seen him weaving down the street, and heard him in the middle of the night. Not all the time, but more than once. The rest of what we "know" is conjecture and hearsay: he was in the Vietnam War and has never been the same since. He lived in the house with his mother, who recently passed away. She had a huge sum of money, yet lived in a modest house on a quiet, modest street. The house had been falling into serious disrepair for some time, with a dilapidated roof and overgrown shrubberies. In the past year or so, however, its appearance has improved. The roof was replaced, the shrubberies cut back and maintained.

This is what I was thinking about as we watched a firefighter lead our neighbor down the driveway to the back of the ambulance. He was walking on his own, holding onto one of the firefighter's arms. He sat in the back of the ambulance, which didn't move, so I hoped that meant he wasn't in too bad of shape.

We turned our attention back to the house. At this point, groups of firefighters had been surveying the house from all different sides. Finally they put up ladders to the second floor and started breaking windows. For the first time, we saw smoke come pouring out of the windows, and a few flames.

After that, the excitement of it was over pretty quickly. They threw some burning items (I saw a table, I know that for sure!) out of a window into the backyard, and the smoke disapated. I thought I could smell it on the air, but that may have just been my imagination. We went back to bed, although not to sleep; the sound of sawing and hammering filled the air as they boarded up the broken windows.

And now, nearly two weeks later, the house looks the same. It surprised me, the day after the fire, how little had changed. The windows were boarded up, and a smoky window blind lay half on the porch roof, half draped down the side of the house. But otherwise, it still looked the same. New roof, well-trimmed landscape.

One recent change is the dumpster that is now parked in the driveway. I've seen insurance company cars and workers' vans come and go, but the outside remains the same. What are they going to do with the house? Will he move back in? Are any of his belongings salvageable?

What is the point of this long, rambling post? I think this incident signified, for me, how the exterior can sometimes be such a poor indicator of what's happening inside. From the outside, the house still looks completely liveable. But who knows what it looks like inside?

Asychronous Relationships

I've been having issues with my Gmail lately. I've been getting and sending emails without a problem. The issue is with my chat status.

Any gmail users know that, when you log in to your email, you are automatically logged in to Google Chat as well. I have issues with this, because most of the time I'm lucky if I can squeeze in reading my latest emails and answering one or two of the older/urgent ones, much less settling in for a chat.

So, as a rule, I set my chat status to "invisible" so no one knows when I'm online. (Now you'll be wondering, won't you? The next time you open your gmail and I'm listed as offline—am I really?!?) If I decide I do have time to chat, I might send a message, but I hardly ever change my status to available.

But last week, gmail started flaking on me. As far as I knew, my status was invisible. But I started getting messages from others; so once I logged in, I thought I was invisible but I was showing up as available to others. Then I felt like a jerkface because my immediate, knee-jerk response was panic. "AH! I don't have time to chat! What am I going to say?!?" It felt like things were out of my control. And we all know how *ahem* well I do with things out of my control.

It reminds me of how much I prefer email to making phone calls. I'm really, really bad at calling people. It's the unpredictability of it. How long with the call last? Do I have time for this? Does the other person really want a phone call? What if he or she just settled in with a good book and nice glass of wine, and I'm disturbing that?

I find it so much easier to send emails. I'm not the only one like this, right? It doesn't mean that I don't love you, and that I don't like talking to people. It's just that I can do it at any hour of the day, and take as much or as little time as I currently have available. And then the recipient can respond in kind. Is that so wrong?

Sometimes I'm amazed that anyone still wants to be friends with me.

Cheat Days

Right, so. I ate refined sugar this weekend. But I don't really know what to call it. I wouldn't say that I "fell off the wagon" because it was sort of a planned event.

It was a pretty exciting weekend for us. My parents watched Eleanor from Saturday afternoon until Sunday afternoon, so Keith and I went out for a leisurely dinner on Saturday evening, full of adult conversation and even occasional silence. Then we came home, watched a movie, and slept in on Sunday morning.

Sunday afternoon, we picked up Eleanor from my parents and then went to my friend's house for her daughter's first birthday party. When I stopped eating refined sugar, I knew about our plans for this weekend. So I had already struck the bargain with myself, "If you can make it a whole week without eating sugar, then you can have cake and pop at the party."

So that's what I did. I had decided it beforehand, and had also decided that I wasn't going to let the "cheat day" get too out of hand. I ate well all day Saturday, until dinner. At dinner, I didn't even drink gallons of Coke, but just had one beer instead. (This may not sound like restraint to you, but trust me, it is!) At the party, I had one 12 oz can of Coke and shared one piece of cake plus ice cream with Eleanor. Then, Sunday night, with Keith's help I chopped veggies and cooked chicken breasts and got prepared for another week of clean eating. It all went according to plan.

Except, I just don't know how I feel about it. I can't decide what my policy is on cheat days. I mean, I do believe that I need to accept that, at times, I will be less than perfect in my eating. I need to know that it's okay to slip up once in a while, or else whenever it happens I'll get very frustrated and only make things worse.

But what is "once in a while?" Once a week? Once a month? Do planned cheat days even make sense? Maybe I should just take them when I'm having a really bad day.

FitGeGe: What do you do?

I do feel a certain amount of pressure to have this all figured out RIGHT NOW so that I give myself the optimal opportunity for success, this 237th time of trying to eat healthier. I'm afraid that, if I take the wrong strategy about cheat days, I'll be back here next week to confess that I'm back to drinking pop every day, feeling like crap, and have just completely given up. I do want to try, but at this moment I don't know if I can trust myself to stay away from the sugar.

Little Choice

My friends, I have been nearly sugar free for about 5 and a half days--since Sunday morning.

By "nearly" sugar free I mean that I've been following a pretty strict eating plan until dinner, and then eating with my family. During the day I've been having:

• Breakfast: Smoothie made of protein powder, skim milk, flaxseed, fresh fruit, and ice
• Morning snack: chocolate soy milk and lowfat cottage cheese
• Lunch: salad with chicken and other veggies (cucumber, carrot, mushrooms, bell peppers) and an oil-based (not creamy) dressing
• Afternoon snack: handful of raw nuts, either walnuts or almonds
• Drinks: regular tea or water

And that's it! For dinner we've had pasta or last night was steak and asparagus. Monday night Keith made some spicy chicken wraps with lettuce and whole wheat tortillas. Tonight we're having turkey burgers on whole wheat buns with a side of sweet potato fries.

I'm not sure how long this will continue. Why am I doing it? Because I'm tired of feeling tired and without energy, and without control over my cravings. I know that I eat refined sugar all the time and that it needs to stop.

I've been saying this for a long time, and for some reason I actually did something about it on Sunday. I'm not really sure why it was different. Maybe it was the fact that we went out for pizza on Saturday night, and I inadvertently drank so much Coke that I felt ill? Or maybe it's the fact that Eleanor now points to my can/bottle/glass and says, "Coke!" and wants to drink what Mommy's drinking, instead of her milk or water.

On the other hand, I have tried to eat better before and failed. Will this time be any different? One difference that might work in my favorite is, oddly enough, that it is so strict. Never before have I tried to cut out refined sugar; I've just said that I won't drink pop (but I'll still eat Oreos), or tried to reduce my overall calorie consumption.

I felt miserable for the first few days. I didn't feel deprived; I've rarely been physically hungry. But I had headaches and felt more tired and achy than ever. I'm doing better today, but I still don't feel great. Where is the boundless energy and enthusiasm that is supposed to come with quitting sugar?!? I'm waiting!

I need some kind of reinforcement to convince me to keep eating like this. I hope to stick with it for at least another week, and hopefully by then I'll start feeling the positive effects instead of just the negative effects of sugar withdrawal.

I've said so many times that I wanted to eat healthier—just be a healthier person in general. We'll see if I'm ready to take that plunge or not!

Too Many Choices

I hate Costco. There, I've said it!

I know many, many people who are big Costco fans. (Are there Costco stores in the UK or New Zealand? It is a big warehouse store, where you have to buy a membership to shop there, presumably saving much more money over the course of a year than an annual membership costs.) I've been trying, but so far I'm not convinced.

Being a warehouse store, of course, the place is huge. The carts are huge. Everything you get comes in bulk. Why buy one frozen pizza when you can get five? 10 gallons of soup at one low price!!!

Everything seems like such a good deal. Even if I go in with a short list, I buy much more than what's on it because our Costco is inconvenient for us to get to, and so I space out Costco trips as much as possible. So I always figure that, if I see something I want, I'd better go ahead and buy it now because it might be awhile before I come back.

There's too many choices. It's overwhelming! And I'm constantly trying to do math in my head to figure out if they really are good deals or not. Guess what? I was an English major. Math is not my strong suit. It just makes my head hurt.

Eleanor and I went earlier this week (necessitating this rant, of course!) and I came armed with a list and coupons. I didn't think I went too far off the list, although I did pick up a few items that are perennial favorites in our house. Some things I only bought because I had the coupons, and with the coupons they would be worth it. BUT, when I got to the register, I learned that the coupons weren't valid until 2 days later. WHY does Costco send coupons out to its members, like, 2 months before they are usable?!? It drives me crazy.

So every time I go, I spend $100-200, in addition to my regular grocery shopping. I always tell myself that I'm spending money now to save money in the long run. But I'm not really sure that I've ever seen that eventual savings.

Maybe I'm just not doing a good enough job of accounting for how the money is spent. Maybe if I tracked every penny, I would be convinced. But right now, I'm thinking that I will not be renewing the membership next year.

Who Am I?

A few weeks ago, I read the "Just a Mom" post at the Clover Lane blog. She talks about whether she calls herself a Stay At Home Mom versus "just a Mom" versus talking about working "outside the home." It's about the whole idea of what is the "right" term, and what do each of these phrases convey about being a mother.

It raised the question for me, once again: What do I consider myself?

Then, while I was already mulling this over, Keith and I watched a recent episode of the new show "Parenthood" (which we are really enjoying), and it came up again. It's a story about four grown siblings with their own families. One of the siblings is a woman who is constantly working overtime as a lawyer, while her husband is the Stay at Home Dad to their elementary school-aged daughter. Every week, I go back and forth as to whether I like the workaholic lawyer or not. Is she a workaholic or is she just doing what she needs to, to support her family?

In this particular episode, everyone is at an auction to benefit the school. She is bidding on a prize against another mother and, as the bidding escalates, one of her siblings questions who the other woman is. Lawyer Mom whispers back, "I know! It's not even like she works!" ... forgetting that she was holding a microphone for the bidding process. It was a well-directed, excruciating moment. And I couldn't decide who I empathized with.

I realized that my gut reaction was actually on the side of Lawyer Mom. But that realization gave me a moment's pause. Hadn't I always said that I wanted to be a SAHM? If we could have afforded it, I wouldn't be working at all?

Of course, that isn't how it went. Luckily, I had a very understanding boss and had the opportunity to work from home for awhile and then only work part-time in the office. Once she left, I got lucky a second time and was hired as a part-time English professor at a community college. In some ways, I feel lucky that I never had to make that black and white choice of "working mom" or "stay at home mom," because I'm a bit of both.

And now that I've spent time living in the gray area, having whole days home with Eleanor, and also having 8-hour workdays, I don't think that I could give up either one. It's very important to me that I'm Eleanor's main caregiver. We're together every morning, for at least a few hours, and I usually tuck her into bed 6 nights a week. I know what foods she likes, what is her current favorite book or activity, and what she's asking for when she wants to go to the "yado" (window). We go to music class, and the store, and sometimes we don't go anywhere at all. I cherish our time together, and watching her grow up in front of my eyes.

But. I will be the first person to acknowledge that I think being a SAHM is really hard work. Not having 5 minutes to myself all day, should Eleanor decide to go without her nap. Making food, cleaning up the kitchen, entertaining Eleanor, changing diapers, doing laundry, picking up toys ... over and over and over again. Nothing is ever done because it's undone as soon as I turn my back. Trying to get anything done and keeping Eleanor occupied at the same time is usually impossible and an exercise in frustration. Wondering, at the end of the day, what I've actually accomplished?

On the other hand, it's always so much easier to see the light at the end of the tunnel with paid employment. For starters, you get a paycheck! And with teaching, it's even more pronounced. A semester starts with a fresh syllabus of readings and writing assignments and lesson plans. At the end of the semester, readings have been discussed, writing has been graded, lessons have been taught. Students either pass or fail, and it's time for a fresh, new syllabus. I appreciate being seen as a professional with expertise and the ability to impart useful knowledge. My students may not always be convinced that it's useful or necessary, but I try to convince them of that, too.

The path used to be so clear. Working outside the home, for many women, just wasn't an option. But then feminism questioned the wisdom of such a forced lifepath, and other options opened up. For awhile, it seems that every woman was expected to work outside the home and bring home a paycheck, just like the men.

I feel like we've arrived at a place where either, or both, option seems equally valid and yet incomplete. I don't know yet what the right answer is. The only conclusion I've been able to draw is that the right answer is different for every mother. In real life, I've met very few women who are either all Lawyer Mom or SAHM. Most of us are trying to find the right balance of mothering and professional work to make us feel like good mothers, valued workers, and balanced women. It's a balance that can change on a daily basis, often seeming just out of reach.

I am very grateful to have the opportunity to even ask the question: Who am I? What do I want? At times, I just wish the answer were a little easier to define.

Music: Ben Sollee

In keeping with the idea of being more of a music evangelist, here's a song from Ben Sollee. Keith recently introduced me to his music as a surprise. Keith's mom was visiting and, on a random Thursday night, he whisked me out of the house to a concert I knew nothing about. The opening band, Family of the Year, blew me away. But it only got better with the headliner, Dear Companion. Dear Companion is made up of two solo artists, Ben Sollee and Daniel Martin Moore. They're both from Kentucky, and teamed up to raise money to stop mountain top mining.

Unfortunately, being me, I only made it halfway through Dear Companion's set before I asked Keith to take me home. I didn't want to embarrass myself by falling off the bar stool, half asleep. I know! I'm so old.

Since the show, however, we've been listening to both Ben Sollee and Daniel Martin Moore's solo stuff, as well as Dear Companion tunes. I really enjoy all of it, particularly Ben Sollee's, and am looking forward to the next time they come through town. Hopefully I'll be well rested and ready to enjoy the entire set.

It's Been Cold and Lonely in Cyberspace

Fellow Bloggers,

Please keep in mind that, if you have installed specific site tracking code on your blog, when you change the design template you also need to remember to manually add that side tracking code back in.

Since my big blog update on March 23, I haven't had any traffic tracking capabilities since I inadvertently wiped out the javascript I had installed for both Site Meter and Google Analytics. (Why both, you ask? Because I haven't yet made up my mind which I prefer. And this blip isn't helping.)

It's been a sad, sad thing to see that no one has visited my site for two weeks. Even though I know that's not true; there's been plenty of comments to show me otherwise. But for the record, this past fortnight will forever be considered the worst since I first set cursor to blank blog entry page.

It irks me. Like many bloggers (I'd assume, anyway), I use the stats to reassure myself that people are reading my blog, and to spur myself to post more, post better, just go ahead and post already instead of dithering about it. It's interesting to see what search terms land people on my blog (broken finger, anyone?), and if any of those random visits ever last longer than a few seconds. Every time I see a new Follower in the list, it warms my heart and inspires me.

I realized about a week ago that I needed to re-install my site tracking code, but just got around to it tonight. So for a week, I've been thinking about all of those lost stats. All those visits, random search strings, enthralled readers from around the world that I will never know about...

So yes, if you decide to update your theme, bring your tracking code with you. I understand that I may not have missed out on quite as much traffic as I'd like to believe, but I'd rather know the numbers than wonder!

Not Wrinkle Free

Related to yesterday's birthday post, I went to the drugstore earlier this week to get face moisturizer.

I'm a naturally pale person. I'm so pale that, after getting the best tan of my life on our honeymoon in Mexico, a few months later the dermatologist told me, "Wow! Your skin looks great for being in the Caribbean so recently!" Which is dermatologist speak for, "You don't look tan at all!"

Eventually, I just accepted my natural state, and wear sunscreen at all times. At least on my face and neck. If I'm not going to get tan anyway, I can at least try to prevent sun damage, right?

So yeah, new face moisturizer with sunscreen. That's all I wanted. But it took me at least 10 minutes to pick out something, because EVERYTHING was anti-aging.

When I was younger, I remember there being a million skin products for teen-aged, acne-prone skin. That seemed like the majority of the skincare section. But now that's a tiny corner of the vast shelves holding anti-aging serums, wrinkle-erasing creams, and skin-plumping moisturizers. They all have long, complicated, scientific-sounding names.They list many ingredients that are supposed to make you look 20-something again, overnight!

I don't want to look like I'm 20-something. I'm fine with being 32. I know that the wrinkles are creeping in around my eyes, but I don't think laugh lines are something that need to be erased.

All I want is moisturizer with sunscreen that doesn't feel too heavy. I don't want the last 10 years chemically removed from my visage. Is that so weird?

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yes, today I am 32 years old. Amazing how young that seems, now that I've arrived there. Because whatever age we are, "old" is at least 10 years past that, right?

No big plans for my birthday. I'm working most of the day. This evening, Keith promised to make me homemade pizza because I've been craving it all week. He also made me promise to not grade essays, work on lesson plans, etc. this evening. I hope I can stick to that promise without too much trouble.

This (pizza, movie, relaxing at home) has been my birthday celebration for the past few years. I'm okay with not making a big deal out of my birthday. But I do find myself wondering, as I get older, will I want to celebrate it more? Like, maybe I won't be very happy about getting a year older, so I'll need a big party to psych myself up and be okay with getting into my mid-30s, early 40s, and on upward?

For 32, however, I think homemade pizza and a movie suit me just fine. Not to mention the weather here is gorgeous and good-mood-inspiring. May everyone have a good Friday, and enjoy my birthday! :)

Music Evangelist

Last Sunday evening, Keith and I went to a Bob Schneider concert. We couldn't decide if this was the 3rd or 4th time we've seen him in concert; we know we went once in Cincinnati, and then another 2 or 3 times here since we moved up to Cleveland.

Even though we own several of Bob's albums and always go to see him in concert whenever he's coming through, both of my sisters were like, "Bob Who?" And I was a little surprised at myself that I had apparently never tried harder to convert them to Bob Schneider fans.

SIDEBAR
Bob's concerts are amazing. There's bands that I like to see because I love all of their music (Gomez), and every song holds meaning for me because I've listened to them so many times. We all have bands like that, where their concerts are an experience outside of normal life.

For some people, Bob's concerts might be like that. But what is more impressive to me is that, whether you're familiar with his music or not, if you enjoy going to concerts you will LOVE seeing Bob Schneider live. More so than any other performer I've seen, he engages the audience. He tailors the music and between-songs chatting to that particular night, in that particular city, at that particular moment. He makes jokes, takes requests, dances, drinks, and engages the audience the entire time.

Some performers prefer being in the studio, reluctantly dragged onto tour by their agents to drum up fan support. Bob Schneider is not one of those people. You can tell that he feeds off the audience's energy, and his performance is amazing and different every time.

There's not many bands that I've ever been tempted to follow, but Bob is one act that I would love to see, several nights in a row, to see what kind of show he puts on. I think that it would be different, and entertaining, every time.

END SIDEBAR

Right, so. Bob is awesome. And how is it that I had never really mentioned his name or his music to my close family and friends? I don't want to be that person who's constantly pushing everyone around me to like whatever I like at that moment.

But surely, if I like something that I think certain other people would enjoy (not necessarily everyone in the world), then shouldn't I mention it to them? Send a link or make a mix CD? Should I be more of an evangelist for the music that I enjoy, or does that just drive people crazy?

Catching Habits

Why do the bad habits catch on, and not the good ones?

I'm starting to be a slob about laundry in the bedroom, like Keith. Somehow, his clothes never quite seem to make it into the laundry hamper. Many of them clog the narrow pathway to his side of the bed. Others are in the vicinity of the hamper, without actually being in. Clean, folded clothes are piled high on top of his dresser.

I used to be good about keeping my clothes where they belonged. Clean clothes were in the dresser or closet. Dirty clothes in the hamper. Clothes to be worn the next day on the dresser.

Lately, though, we never seem to get around to putting the clean clothes away. The clean laundry stays in the hamper, and we pull out what we need on a daily basis. Since the hamper is full of clean clothes, the dirty clothes pile up where the hamper should be. Clothes that I take off at the end of the day could be on the dresser, on the floor, or wherever.

Like so many things in life, why is it so much easier to do the wrong thing? Even though walking into the bedroom and seeing clothes everywhere, in a complete state of disarray, stresses me out, I know it'll continue. Right now, there's a hamper of clean clothes waiting to be put away. We washed it just this morning, so it hasn't been too long ... yet.

Spring Cleaning!

No, you're not in the wrong place. I just FINALLY went ahead and changed my blog template to a free one I downloaded from Blogger Templates.

I don't know if I'll keep this one or not. I really do want a custom header, and I'm not sure how good it would look with this layout. There's already a lot going on. But I wanted to at least take the plunge and make a change.

Oh, the scent of change is invigorating!

Friended John Adams

I'm not a big Facebook person. I think I've been on for a year? Maybe more? I thought I would get addicted, but I vastly overestimated how much free time I have to play online. And I also vastly overestimated how much I would be interested in stalking people from my previous lives. Sure I looked up a few high school crushes or long-lost college friends ... but there weren't that many.

So yeah, I'm not on Facebook very much. But this morning I did get a request to friend John Adams, who is looking for "Networking," and whose status since last Tuesday is, "Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence." And I accepted the request.

His employer is United States Congress, and he is a fan of Statler and Waldorf.

It's "inside jokes" like this that make me value social media.

Fabulous Footwear

Once again, I'm vowing to myself that I will make myself buy a few "accent" pieces for my wardrobe that are vibrant, attention-grabbing, and say something about my personality.

The other day, I was walking to class and my eye was immediately drawn to the woman in front of me. She was so chic and fashionable, from her short, sleek haircut to her amazing boots: knee-high, shiny boots that were an energizing, flamboyant orange. I wanted her entire outfit.

Okay, not that exact outfit because that orange would just make me look even more pale (if possible). But it did remind me that everything in my closet is a very safe, neutral shade. My pants are all black, gray, and brown. My sweaters are maroon, green, or blue. For some reason, I've bought wayyy too many maroon pieces lately. Like maybe I'm in the store thinking, "What color don't I have? I'll try maroon!" And then I get home and realize that I've done that EVERY TIME I've gone shopping for the past year.

For the most part, I'm good with basic, coordinating pieces. I don't like to spend a lot of money on clothes, so I want interchangeable clothes that will work with many different items and last a long time without going horribly out of style.

But I need to add in a few more vivacious pieces, too. Mixed in with all the gray, brown, black, blah, a scarf here or some boots there that proclaim to the world, "You might think I'm staid and predictable. But you can't be entirely sure ...."

I did go out on a limb a few years ago and buy some hot pink kitten heels when a nearby shoe store was going out of business. I thought they were wild and crazy and I would only wear them once. I only convinced myself to do it because they were 50% off. But I wear them quite a bit (or I will, when I'm finally convinced it's Spring for good), and it's made me buy more pink, rather than maroon, so I have an excuse to wear the shoes.

Next time I go clothes shopping, my goals will be: no maroon, and make people wonder about what I have hidden up my super-fashionable sleeve.

Spring Forward to Darkness

I feel like I'm the only one who isn't happy about the time change this past weekend. Everyone else I've talked to is excited about having more light in the evenings. It's a sign of Spring—longer days filled with sunshine and warmth.

I'm all good with the sunshine and warmth part. But I really liked it better when it got light early, and dark early. Last summer, when Eleanor was a year old, I finally accepted that I would have to work out first thing in the morning if I wanted any kind of guarantee of exercising on a regular basis. I ran a lot in the mornings leading up to my half-marathon on November 1. I completely fell off the exercise wagon through the holidays.

In mid-January, I started exercising again (although not running—it was still much too cold and snowy for that!). I've generally been working out 5 days/week, 4 weekdays and Sunday. Keith leaves for work around 7 o'clock, so I try to get up at 6 and be finished working out by 7. I figure even if Eleanor's awake by then, she can talk to herself for a few minutes while I shower and get dressed.

So yeah, 6 o'clock. Before time change, I was really enjoying the fact that the sun was coming up with me. I felt so much more cheerful when I would go down into the basement to work out, and come up to be greeted by a bright new day, already in progress.

But now, it's still the middle of the night before, during, and after my morning workout. Surely, that must be the reason why I've been completely unable to drag myself out of bed and missed every workout this week. I had gotten a glimpse of life in the sun, and I miss it.

On the other end of the day, for me, early darkness is better. When it was dark by 7:30, it was perfect for putting Eleanor to bed. I would close her blinds and "blackout" curtains, turn off the lamp, and the room would be perfectly dark. She would settle in against the curve of my shoulder, happy to fall asleep with the knowledge that the excitement of the day was done.

But now, I go through the usual ritual, turn off the lamp ... and her room is still lit by daylight seeping in under the blinds and through the curtains. It keeps her alert, looking around at her books and toys and ready for the playing to continue.

I know that, eventually, the mornings will become light at 6 o'clock. And by that time, it will also be warm enough that I'm excited to get up and out for an early run. But the early evening light isn't going away anytime soon. Maybe I need better blackout curtains .... or I can convince Eleanor to wear those night sleep masks?

March Madness

In the past week or so (probably because all of the snow piles have FINALLY melted), I've been noticing that quite a few people still have their outdoor Christmas lights up.

This isn't very unusual. Living in a city where the exterior of the house disappears behind snow from January-March, many people wait until warmer weather to take down their lights.

No, what bothers me is that they're still TURNING THEM ON. It's the middle of March! I can definitely understand waiting until the end of January/early February to take down the Christmas decorations. Winter can be so cold and bleak after the holidays, and I also like to maintain some semblance of holiday cheer for as long as possible.

But it's March. The weather is warming up, early Spring flowers are poking through the ground, buds are on the trees. We don't need holiday cheer anymore! We have Spring.

Stop turning on your holiday snowflake lights or red and green bushes. Even better, go out this weekend (when it's in the balmy 50s) and take them down.

Less Stressful 2nd Semester

Over Spring Break, I've been thinking a lot about how this semester is going. So far, I'm happy with it.

I'm teaching two classes, instead of only one like last semester. They are both new classes for me, so all new textbooks, assignments, tests, and lesson preparation. There's also more than double the grading, because the one class is higher level than I've taught before and the students are required to do a lot more writing.

And yet, I can definitely tell that my stress level is significantly lower than it was last semester. All throughout the Fall, I always felt like I was behind. I never felt ready for class, I was uncertain about all of my decisions, and constantly worried that class would be unhelpful or boring, or both!

It's amazing what a difference it makes to have one semester under my belt. I'm much more willing to go with the flow. I don't feel like I need to have every lesson planned out to the minute, weeks in advance. I have more confidence in my teaching, grading, and general subject knowledge.

Last semester, I really wasn't convinced that I was a Professor. But now, it's starting to grow on me.

Spring Break!

I've been on Spring Break this week, for the first time in many years. And it's been fantastic!

I actually think I've been busier than I am during a normal work week. On Monday, Eleanor and I went to the zoo with Ashley and her daughter Noe (who turns 1 in April). Eleanor loves them both, and talks about them constantly, so she was very excited. My sister Erin was also headed to the zoo that day with her husband and son, so we hung out for a bit, too. The weather has finally turned (hopefully for good, although I'm sure we still have one big snow left). We had a great time walking around in the warm spring air.

Part of the reason that this week has been so nice is that I still did have a few hours of childcare during the days, so I could get some things done. Tuesday morning Eleanor and I went to the library for story hour and some playtime afterward. That afternoon I went to the coffee shop for a few hours and worked on our federal tax return (exciting!).

Wednesday morning Melissa came again to watch Eleanor and I finished the federal taxes and did a bit of grading. Wednesday afternoon, Keith's mother, Karen, arrived for a mid-week visit since she is on Spring Break from her Kentucky community college job, as well. From Wednesday afternoon to Friday morning, we all went outside to blow bubbles and take walks on many occasions. Karen also gave me some wonderful, leisurely alone time to go shopping,
get a little bit more work done, and read in peace and quiet.

Today, we all ate lunch and then Karen got Eleanor down for her nap while I cleaned up. Then we said our good-byes. So by one o'clock, Eleanor was napping, the house was (relatively) clean, and I got to sit and put my feet up for a bit. Karen and Keith's brother Nick passed each other on the highway during the afternoon, as Nick arrived around 5:30 tonight to spend the weekend. Right now Eleanor is in bed, and Keith and Nick and I are relaxing in the basement. They're watching college basketball, and I'm trying to catch up on a few things that were neglected this week (aka blogging).

Even though it's been busy, it still feels like a break because everything I did was what I chose, and pretty much on my schedule. I feel re-energized and ready for the rest of the semester. I don't actually have any lesson plans for this coming week ready, but there's time for that on Sunday evening.

I'm ready for summer vacation!

The Benefits of a Family Photographer

As I mentioned yesterday, we went to the Newport Aquarium with Eleanor a few weeks ago. But it wasn't just the three of us; Keith's parents, and his sister Jessi and brother-in-law Jeremy (aka "Uncle Hot") came, too.

Other than just her being a generally nice, funny person, there's one big advantage to hanging out with Jessi: she likes to take pictures, and lots of them. She has the same camera that we do, but has multiple lenses to get the perfect shot. At first, Keith was also taking pictures. But I think he only took less than 10. Jessi was snapping away, here there and everywhere, and it was easy to put the camera away and relax.

We knew that there would be plenty of beautiful pictures of the trip, so we didn't have to worry about it. We just did our best to keep Eleanor happy and enjoy the moment with her. She flitted from one adult to the other, soaking in all the attention and the fact that there was always a fresh pair of arms, ready to hold her. If anyone got too far away (particularly Jessi), Eleanor would call out for him or her, "Jessi? Are you?" until the wayward relative was located.

Here is just one of the many great shots that Jessi got that day. A talented photographer for a sister-in-law is a wonderful thing! Thanks, Jessi.

Visit to the Aquarium

A few weeks ago, we went to the Newport Aquarium when we were visiting Keith's family in Northern Kentucky. I'm always torn about when to do certain activities with Eleanor. On the one hand, I want her to experience as many things as possible right now. On the other hand, I know the longer we wait, the more she will understand and enjoy it.

I think going to the aquarium at a year and a half was a good midway point. She was old enough to see the fish, turtles, sharks, penguins, etc. and follow them through the water. She wasn't old enough to care about stopping and reading any extraneous material.

Throughout the trip, we got many excited "ooh!"s out of Eleanor. What I really need to do is to get it on video, so you can truly understand just how excited Eleanor gets about, well, everything. Her mouth becomes a big "O," and when she says "oooh," she does it with her entire body. She forces the air out through sheer force of wonderment. You just have to smile.

We had talked about going to the aquarium when it first opened over 10 years ago. But it was rather pricey, and it never seemed worth it when we were just as happy with less expensive activities. Now I'm glad that we waited, and I got to see it for the first time with Eleanor.

Possibly for the last time, as well; as I mentioned, it's overpriced. And there were So. Many. People. It was so crowded and difficult to maneuver through the pathways. Oh, and everything was a pathway. There were very few large open areas where one could just back away from the flow of visitors and just take a breather. No matter where I was, I was always in someone else's way.

Where was I? Oh yes. Eleanor loved it, and it was all worth it.

Primetime Meta-critical

I recently watched an old episode of "Bones" where the lead character makes no secret of the fact that she despises TV. She makes a comment about how she has time for many other activities (including deep sea diving) because she doesn't waste time on watching TV. She doesn't have a TV in her house and is happy not knowing anything about popular TV shows, or about pop culture in general.

My first response, as usual, was to feel guilty. Why do I watch TV?!? My life would be so much more exciting if I didn't! But once I thought it through, I decided that—in most cases—it's not a fair comparison. If I didn't watch an episode of "Bones" every now and again or laugh with Keith through "Modern Family" or "The Office," would I be out deep sea diving or traveling the world?

No. TV doesn't prevent me from taking up fabulous, exciting hobbies. General lack of time and disposable income are the culprits there. Most of our time is spent around the house, unless we take advantage of the kindness of family or pay handsomely for a babysitter. Not to mention, I like spending time with Eleanor when she's awake, and she's not allowed to watch TV.

The part that does concern me a bit, though, is what could be accomplished at home in the 30 minutes to 1 hour of watching TV here and there. Could I be writing the next bestselling romantic comedy? Finishing a baby blanket for a friend, or getting to those dusty scrapbooks that haven't been touched for 2 years or more—unfinished scrapbooks of events that took place more than 5 years ago?

I'm still not convinced, though. When I want to watch TV, it's because I don't want to think or do. I just want to be still for a bit. As much as I might complain about the undue influence of TV, I will agree that there's a time and place for it.

I'm not really going to worry until I turn down a chance for a fabulous weekend ski trip or visit to Paris because a "House" marathon is on that weekend.

Quiet Evening

It's been a quiet, restful evening. We went to my parents' house this afternoon for my sister's birthday party. Ergo, we ate well, celebrated, and didn't have any dinner dishes!

When we got home, I put Eleanor to bed right away. Keith wasn't feeling very well, so by the time I was finished singing lullabies to Eleanor, Keith was also tucked into bed. I (with the pets' company) have been on my own since about 8 o'clock.

I have to admit, I've enjoyed it. Usually, I have a conflict on Sunday evening. On the one hand, I want to spend time with Keith and enjoy the waning hours of the weekend. On the other hand, I'm always tempted to try and run around in circles, getting done all of my list items that I hadn't gotten to earlier—or at least as many as possible.

But tonight, no such dilemma! I've been washing clothes, folding laundry, balancing the checkbook, and blogging of course! All while enjoying a nice glass of red wine and watching a few Season One episodes of "Bones."

I hope Keith wakes up tomorrow, feeling better. And I will be happy to take it easy tomorrow night, relaxing on the couch together. Especially since I got so much done tonight!

How Surreal

In the James Cameron interview on "Fresh Air," when talking about dreams he also said that surrealists directly translated their dreams onto canvas. That was their goal.

This makes me want to go back and give surrealism another try. I've never been a big fan, really. I'm not one of those people that argues surrealists paint such wacky images because they can't paint realistically. It's just that, generally, that style of painting has never appealed to me.

Who sees clocks melting in the sun in their dreams? For me, the reason dreams are so strange is because of the elements only I know are out of place. That whole, "Okay, so it started out in our house. But actually, it wasn't anything like our real house. It was bigger and the furniture was all different and we lived in California. But in the dream I just knew it was our house." But if I tried to paint that (putting aside the issue that I have no talent for painting whatsoever), it would just look like a big house in California. Out of my personal context, the weirdness just wouldn't be there.

On the other hand, I do really like Magritte's work, and he is also considered a surrealist. To me, his work does a better job of emphasizing the surrealist aspect of dreams. The fact that, in a dream, everything seems perfectly logical. It's only after one wakes up and tries to describe the dream that one realizes how odd it is to have an eye in the middle of one's crepe.

Image credit: Wikipedia

The Possibilities of Dreams

I heard a very interesting interview with James Cameron on NPR's "Fresh Air" the other week. He was talking about how many of his best ideas for Avatar came to him in dreams. He then mentioned in passing that many children can fly in their dreams, but adults typically can't.

What does this say about the infinite possibilities of childhood, and the restraints we, or circumstances, place on us as adults? To a child that believes in Santa Claus, Harry Potter, and the monster under the bed, it's an easy thing to dream of flying off to Neverneverland or on her own personal adventures. Anything could happen at any point in time.

It makes me wonder what I dream about these days, if I even know. Do I dream about work? Sometimes I know I do. Do I dream about cleaning? Or walking the dog? Surely I dream up unusual situations too, right? I might not fly, but maybe I am side-by-side with Matt Damon, destroying our enemies with nothing other than hardened ninja fists and razor-sharp minds. If I kept a dream journal, would I find it elucidating or depressing?

The comparison also makes me think about why we get nostalgic, particularly as Keith and I are coming up on our 10-year college reunion. I loved being a college student, and almost everything about being on a college campus. I loved taking classes, learning new things, eating from the cafeteria and not having to cook or wash dishes. I loved meeting new people and, really, the newness of everything—knowing that new experiences were always just around the corner.

But I am very content with my life now, too. I have a wonderful husband, daughter, and extended family. I feel incredibly blessed and fulfilled. So why do I get so nostalgic, thinking about the good old days?

I've decided that, for me personally, sometimes it's hard to admit that the possibilities of our lives are dwindling as we get older. When I was 22 and a senior in college, I could do ANYTHING, and I could do it by age 30. When was I going to get married and have kids? Where would I settle down? What kind of adventures would I have? Just like in dreams, the possibilities were endless. One day, I would imagine myself as a world traveler with no permanent home, just a duffel bag on my back. The next, I would sit in class and imagine my dream house, right down to the kitchen cabinet hardware and workout room paint color. I could see diametrically opposed possibilities as equally appealing, because they each appealed to a different side of me.

But now I have a house, and a career, and a family. I don't get to wonder about whether I'll travel or marry or have kids, because it's all been done. I feel like my daydreams now revolve around paying off students loans or the home equity line of credit. Sometimes I feel like my dreams are smaller, because many of the big questions in my life already have answers.

So I don't think I feel nostalgic for the actual college years. I miss the possibility inherent in the years after college. Much of which has been replaced by actual fact.

How do I recapture that sense of possibility? Maybe I'm too short-sighted. Maybe I need to be thinking more about Maslow's Hierarchy of needs, and instead of looking at concrete, external milestones (marriage, children, house, career), I need to focus on the internal milestones. There's still PLENTY of potential for personal growth. Maybe I should be fantasizing about finally writing (and getting published!) a novel. Being happy with myself on a regular basis. More traveling, to further reaches of the Earth. Learning a new language, or picking up a new hobby.

Maybe I will learn to fly in my dreams.

Yes, Seriously Mommy!

Eleanor is nearly 19 months old now, and talking up a storm. It's been fascinating to observe as she learns more and more words, and adds them to her working vocabulary.

The earliest words were very elementary: "Mama" and "Dada" and "eat" or "baba" (baby). Then she started to get into animal sounds. Even now, she still says "woof" when talking about the dog, or "meow" and points to the cabinet where we keep the cat treats, indicating she wants to call the kitten. She also does pretty decent elephant and monkey imitations, even though we don't have any of those wandering about the house.

And of course, there's the whole category of sounds that I'm pretty sure are words, in Eleanor-land, but I can't always interpret them. Sometimes it's because it's a word I haven't taught her; one of the earliest was "touch" because her regular caregiver always talked about "touch gentle" with the animals. Since I had never used that particular phrase, it took me a few days of her pointing to the pets and saying "utch!" before I made the connection. It probably took me a week before I realized that "gogo" was actually "cocoa," as my sister Erin calls it. Keith and I call it "hot chocolate." Currently I haven't yet figured out what "nah-ni" or "ase" is, so if you have any guesses feel free to pass them along.

I am fascinated by the fact that, before learning new words, she sometimes goes back and refines the words she already knows. "Baba" disappeared a long time ago, to be replaced by "baby." Just this week, she has started using "Mommy" and "Daddy" instead of "Mama" and "Dada." She knows at least 4 ways to say "no" (no, nope, head shake, and uh-uh), and uses them much more often than those other words—: yeah, yes, yuppa (her own invention), yup, and the affirmative head shake.

So she is using a lot of the words that I would expect a 1-1/2 year old to say, wherever she learned them. But other ones come out of the blue. Her hand got stuck the other day when I was dressing her and she looked at me and said, "Thumb!" When did she learn "thumb"? I suppose that my being sick lately is the cause of her learning "tissue," with pretty good pronunciation. But definitely the biggest surprise came the other night when we were in the kitchen before dinner.

Keith was telling me that his longest night run (sometimes he goes out after Eleanor is in bed, so heading out the door a bit after 7pm) is going to be 14 miles.

I shook my head. "Seriously?"

Suddenly, a little voice piped up. "See-oh-seely?"

Keith and I stared at Eleanor.

"Did you just say 'seriously'?" I asked.

"Yuppa," Eleanor confirmed.

Seriously.