Tuesday, March 30, 2010

I love my family.

Today, I loaded up the BoilerBrats post school and we headed downtown to visit my aunt, cousin, and kids and swim in a pool that we weren't actually supposed to use since we weren't actually paying for a room at that hotel. But, they were. And, I'm bitchy, so just go ahead and challenge me! 'cause I'll sic my 7 year old yellow belt on your ass. BOOYAH! I love being all cocky about her. *snort*

The Youngest went drama queen on me and he incessantly complained about being cold and was clamped onto my side. And hungry. He's always hungry. He eats every 20 minutes, but yet, has a mini 6 pack going on. Clearly, I have doubts that he is mine. WAIT. Back it up. No doubts he is mine over the eating habits. Doubts over the mini six pack abs. Yeah, that ain't my spawn! The Oldest was loving being in the water. It's been awhile since she's been in the pool. And, she was appropriately adorned in an itty bitty, teeny weenie, yellow polka dot bikini. Okay, not so teeny weenie as I refuse to pimp out my 7 year old ala that disturbing show about the mini beauty pageants. She just loves it 'cause it has ruffles. She was impressing her great aunt with handstands and underwater somersaults. And, oh no, she didn't LOVE the attention.

After Youngest decided to perch himself on a lounge chair and have his great aunt and cousins dote on him by swathing him in towels for warmth and feeding him food for sustenance, my aunt and I got to chitchat as I can leave Oldest in the pool just under watchful eye. Damn, I love that woman. She's like the great bits of my mom with some objectivity since I'm not her kid and a dash of my beloved grandma all rolled into one. And it makes me want to be around the bulk of them (not the LOONY ones!) all the more. I've made promises to myself before to make it back home more often. I need to deliver on that this summer. I do.

The ankle update. Yeah, well, I think I'm going to have to cave and get xrays. The swelling is going down. The pain is lessening but I'm finding some very, very tender spots and it is a bit warm to the touch in spots. In breaking news, since it will be pushing 80 at week's end...I have unpedicured toenails perched on the edge purplish black toes! WOOT! Oh, and a cankle and a club foot. I miss my dainty feet. That's about the only thing on me that doesn't get bigger when I fluctuate weight. And, I'm still distraught that I couldn't try on my brand new, just arrived within minutes of my sprain, Burberry wedges!

Monday, March 29, 2010

Someone, somewhere hates me

No, actually, they do. I know. However, I really mean this is the most of sarcastic tones. With a side of woe is me, thrown in for good measure. Per my last post, I owned up to the fact that any seismic activity in the greater Chicagoland area was due to me getting my rather copious backside out on the tennis court for the first time in FOREVER. I was feeling so grand about that and loving that heady rush from the fact that I did not die while exercising that I got all brash and sassy and scheduled round two of tennis for Tuesday. Yeah, tomorrow. And, I blogged about not canceling said appointment with TH. whelp...I canceled.

BUT BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME...there is a story behind this cancellation...I swear. And, any seismic activity in the greater Chicagoland area on Friday afternoon can also be attributed to me.

Friday was one of those days where you look back and go "dumbass" to yourself. If only I had slowed down then, I'd be better off today. Those that know me well no that I am not known for my patience, my gentle manner, my gracefulness, or a general good mood. Honestly, Friday was moving along rather swimmingly. Yeah, I was sore and tired, but only one of those things is unusual. The soreness. But, it was a good soreness. I like to tell myself this in hopes that one day I really will embrace that thought process. Alas, I digress. Anyway...swimmingly. Until I went to the post office.

The post office in Chicago is a real treat. Real treat. I don't know that I could ever, effectively explain a Chicago post office. It is really something you can't comprehend until you experience it. For instance, after several Netflix DVDs going missing when I returned them, I called Netflix fearful they would ban me. They asked my zip code and I gave it. The customer service rep starts laughing and promptly tells me that my zip code is on their top ten list of worst zip codes. However after visits to many different post offices, I had felt fairly confident that I had found one of the less sucky of Chicago post offices, and NOT my local one. What a triumph that day was for me!

Friday, though, the nonsucky post office was sucking. Usually dead around 2ish in the afternoon, it was not that day. I HAD to mail something for the Husband and there was no getting out of it. I also HAD to pick up the oldest of the rugrats at 3pm. An hour. To go to the post office just 2-3 minutes from the school. No problem. Right? Not when 3 people are getting passports and every shipping challenged person in the city showed to ship 327 different random little packages with nothing filled out. GAH. I couldn't even really bitch because two of the people getting passports were children of a friend. Damn.

We escaped, mail properly posted, with about 10 minutes to get to the school. Parking was INSANE. Normally, that would be plenty of time to find parking, though not prime spaces. Friday, no go! I circle the block. I get the green light and kindergarten dad comes moseying across the street, in front of me. Me with the green light and he gives me the flippant hand wave, oh you can wait gesture. It was all I had not to run him over. *grr* Finally get back to our side of the school to pick up and park illegally in someone else's parking pad (along with several others from school) and sprint over to get the oldest. We get back in the car and after what seemed like an eternity to get out of this nonprime parking spot...huge telephone pole, narrow spot, narrow alley, big car...I get half a block away and Oldest announces, oh, I forgot my lunch box again. And, it has food in it. ICK.

Circle the school AGAIN. I swear I am NOT a Catholic School vulture. Cut through alley in hopes of being able to slide out of alley and backup just a smidge to park in front of school and sprint in before they shut the doors for the day. I do NOT want a festering lunchbox. Other mom cuts off my plan by parking right at alley edge. I contemplate backing down the one way. Though, given my current run of luck, I figured this would be the one time CPD heads down that street, catches me, and then bludgeons me, nearly to death, in front of my children. Or, maybe just give me a ticket. You never quite know with them. Either way, it's not a happy ending for me.

I find a parking spot and time is quickly running out to get back to the school to retrieve the lunchbox. Youngest has a smoothie without lid that Oldest bought him in a rare nice move towards her brother! Imagine the following series of events in rapid fire succession. Literally, seconds.

Try to get kids out of car quickly.
I grab smoothie as it is precious cargo.
Get them out.
Close car door.
Usher children.
Carry smoothie.
Try not to bitch about someone being irresponsible and leaving their possessions scattered about Chicago.
Start sprint back to schoolyard.
Trip, fumble, roll off of curb,no more than 2" tall.
Right ankle caves, makes popping noise.
I go down, full out collapse.
Scream out in pain.
Terrify children.
Try not to vomit.
Try not to cry.
Try not to let loose the litany of vulgarities surging through my head.
Limped to schoolyard.
Got a friend to retrieve the lunchbox.

The most important thing...not one single drop of spilled smoothie. As several friends pointed out, it is good to know that I did learn something in college. How not to spill my drink when falling down. HAIL PURDUE!

So, this time around, a sprained ankle shoots down my plans.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

It's not fun being fat in Chicago in March

Why? Because when you recommit yourself to exercise, it is virtually impossible to find anything in the stores that will accommodate the wild and erratic temperature swings that accompany March in Chicago. And, well, I threw away all my fat clothes because I just knew I would NEVER go back to fat clothes. Hahaha...joke's on me.

So, I'm digging through old clothes trying to find things that will allow me to run outside without the fear of someone worried that a Beluga got lost from the Shedd or calling animal control reporting a rare, two legged, albino cow chugging along Southport. And, then when it turns the odd warm thing, there is the fish belly whiteness to deal with. I must remember to try to use that gradual and faint faux tan stuff that is mixed in with lotion. I learn to live with the boiled potato smell to keep from scaring or scarring :) the masses.

Today, though, I did get back on the tennis court. I am happy to report that it really is like riding a bike. Only without the awkward weaving, deer in headlights look, and the momentary lapse of remembering which hand brakes which wheel and the sense of doom that you might, very well, fling yourself headfirst over the handlebars. Or perhaps, that only happens to me. Hm.

Was I on my A game? Nope. Hell no. Then again, even my best game would not be described as an "A game." But, it was good to be back. And I'm very happy about that. It was fabulous to see my coach, that I refer to as Tennis Hottie, aka TH. Not just because he was hot, but because he is a friend and a good guy. Okay, okay, it is partially because he is hot. *shrugs* I had some great points, some almost legit winners, and I've scheduled for next week. Now, not to cancel. I must get out of the anti-exercise funk I've been in!

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Skinny Hands

Me and the lil' Miss B during the summer of '08 prior to a minor league ballgame at Wrigley. I miss those hands. Veiny, skinny goodness that they were. I strive to have those hands, and collarbones!, again.

This is my latest triumph.

Yeah, yeah nothing to do with weight loss, running, or anything remotely fat chick related. Alas, I'm going to brag anyway! I cranked this out while dealing with strep and then a repeat performace of strep, meaning that I didn't kick it in the first place. I absolutely loved quilting again. I hope that I can find time to do so more often in the future. Of course, both kids have been pestering me for their own quilts. Now, they've seen me in action and well, it's hard to believe that they've ramped up the pestering!!

Tomorrow, the quilt goes up on the auction block. Bigger than that, though, we head back to the dojo where my daughter continues her quest for her orange belt. I'm still a little amazed that I have a (potential) martial artist in the household. Even more amazing is her determination to make this happen. She is such a serious and determined student. Oh, and fyi, that is NOT just me saying that, but also coaches! :)

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

I cannot seem to get well. Dammitalltohell.

So...I woke up yesterday feeling like a turd on a stick, dipped in shit, and sprinkled with poop. 2/16, I went to the Minute Clinic with strep and a sinus infection. Ten days of antibiotics completed. Three days of feeling human. Next morning, yesterday, gah. Back to the Minute Clinic, where I tried, unsuccessfully to convince the nurse that I had strep AGAIN. Nope. The Rapid Strep was negative. Have to send off another culture. PUH-LEEEEEEEEEEZE, I'm telling you this is strep. I just had it a scant two weeks ago. I've not forgotten the searing pain of a throat that feels like it has been scoured with steel wool dipped in bleach! Nope. She stuck to her guns. And, well, good for her. One of my GIANT pet peeves as a former Infectious Diseases researcher that spent her entire career discovering nothing and reading about resistance is those that prescribe antibiotics willy nilly. So, I understood her point, but damn, I hurt!

Last night, I slept fitfully. Trying not to swallow due to pain and trying not to choke to death on my own spit because I was trying not to swallow due to pain. Human instinct to swallow rather drown won out and I ended up waking up, sporadically, in pain. Alas, I'm not dead due to spit drowning. Running on about 4-5 hours of sleep does not for a happy Boiler make. Toss in some pain and I'm ugly. Well, uglier than usual. The littlest of the Boiler Brats had a playdate scheduled and that allowed me to work on the quilt for the school fundraiser that was due last Friday. The fundraiser being this Saturday. That's me...always on time! *snort* It'll be done. No fear. And, I know I'm not the only one sliding in at the 25th hour.

Anyway, I got to work in peace and I forgot how cathartic sitting in front of the sewing machine could truly be. Several years ago, I made my Aunt a quilt and while I was working on it, I saw my hands morph into the weathered, aged, and oh so wise hands of my grandmothers. Both of my grandmothers were quilters. Out of all the grandchildren, I'm the only one to carry on the tradition. Well, so far. And, I might very well the LEAST likely of all the grandkids to carry on said tradition! Ever since that moment that took my breath away and left me in tears, tears of happiness, I see my grandmothers' hands when I sew. I lost my maternal grandmother 18 years ago. Wow, is it really 18 years?!? My paternal grandmother passed this past year, just shy of her 98th birthday. Both eccentric in their own ways, they gave so much to me in love and spirit and I'm so honored to be carrying on their tradition. But, I'd enjoy it more if I didn't feel like death warmed over!

So, as expected, yet another wrench in my running plans. Strep. I called off tennis this week. I think I really need to focus on getting myself healthy. And maybe getting more than four hours of sleep...

Monday, March 1, 2010


I'm back and I'm *almost* fatter than ever. Almost.

Turns out my screw plantar fascitis game plan was really a screw Boiler game plan in disguise. Yeah, moral of the story, don't fuck with plantar fascitis. That also led to the further sidelining of my tennis game. What is really bad is that I continued to eat like I was playing tennis 2-3x a week and running 3x a week. Thus...


And, low and behold, those medical types aren't jacking with you when they say that weight gain adversely impacts your joints. And, if your joints are already jacked up, guess what...you are really screwed! ~~~mooooooooooooo~~~

I have signed up for my first 5k of the year. The annual Race to Wrigley. I missed last year thanks to, hello, plantar fascitis! *grr* But, this year, come hell or high water (excepting plantar fasicits!), I will do it. There's a good chance that I'll have to walk parts, but so be it. So be it. Never have I felt better than I did when I was running. Well, not while I was ACTUALLY running, but the non hellish moments of my life that didn't involve running but happened when running was part of my exercise routine. Now, yeah, not so much. ~~~mooo~~~

And the diet thing. I have pretty much given up on Weight Watchers. Not my WW friends, but the program. For me, I feel like that there has been too much emphasis on faux food. Everything fat free. Everything reduced calorie. Everything sugar free. Everything chock full of chemicals and other stuff to compensate for the lack of everything above. Now, no fear, I am NOT going all granola here. I will not be dousing myself in patchouli to drown out my body funk and I've no intentions of corn rowing my pit or leg hair. However, I've started watching a bit more of the stuff that goes into my food. And, I've found less phony and more real...less hungry Boiler. I've switched to the Daily Plate and find that watching calories at the end of day is working better for me today than anything else. Is it the magic bullet? Oh hell no. I'm sure it isn't. If there were a magic bullet, wouldn't we all be skinny? Right now, though, it's working better than WW or anything else.

Hm. What else is up...not that anyone cares. Yet, I'm going to blather on anyway! So there. ha! I am finally doing something, not a lot, but something, with my photography. This Christmas, I photographed several different families for their Christmas cards. I've done some full fledged portrait sessions, too. And, I've been photoshopping other people's photos for them. It's not going to pay the mortgage, but it gives me something of my own. Something that is mine! And, I was able to buy my mom's Christmas out of the profits and a little gift for myself.

I want to get my butt back in gear. This winter, though, seems to have been the winter of eternal sickness. I just finished up a 10 day course of antibiotics for the double whammy of strep throat and a sinus infection. The sinus issue had lingered for three freakin' weeks, happily accompanied with the barking seal cough. Today, I wake up to a sort throat. Again. Back to the Minute Clinic. We've also been to Children's Memorial for x-rays of a potentially, but thankfully not, broken foot. Minute Clinic visits for both kids for strep. One positive, one not. One husband with strep. And assorted other colds, sniffles, and general malaise. ugh. And, no miracle elixir, hot toddy/homemade Nyquil has my lovely husband has wiped out the whiskey stash. Tonight, him. Pillow. Smothered. Silently. In the dark.

We are staring at the week's end saying 40 and I am about to pee myself from excitement! Of course, post children, chances of me peeing myself at some point this week, is, well, highly likely. Coughing fits, hysterical laughter, sneezing, and jumping jacks can all produce unwanted effects. :/ Alas, though, the thought of spring around the corner makes me forget about considering Depends and think more about running. Wait...there is a chance I could pee myself running...