tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40858587281606996502024-03-05T10:45:30.974-06:00Yes! Hell *has* frozen over!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-57141987954163922412011-10-11T00:18:00.003-05:002011-10-11T00:26:14.292-05:00The resurrection of a dead blog...I'm not sure how, where, or what happened to me along the way. really. But, I do know that I lost my way some time ago. I got hurt. I didn't really try to recover for whatever reason. Lots of reasons. None which I care to divulge here other than dealing with me and my things. And I'M BACK!<br /><br />I woke up a couple of weeks ago and I said enough. This isn't fair to me or to my kids and I need to get back to me. So, I've gone from hell freezing over due the fact that I was running to me getting my life back and gaining control again.<br /><br />It was a long journey to get fit, for me!, the first time around. It will be this time around, too. But, well, I will do it. I need to do it for me. I need to do it for my kids that depend on me daily. So, here I go again... (without the backwalkover on the Jaguars.)bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-15769226409426376352010-04-22T18:54:00.002-05:002010-04-22T19:00:52.541-05:00Four weeks out...Tomorrow, I am going to play tennis. Well, attempt to play tennis. I can't stay away anymore with this ankle. I missed so much this winter with my illnesses, the kids' illnesses, travel, randomness, and then the ankle just when I get back to the groove. My coach knows the story and promises he won't abuse me. Thankfully, I trust him and know that he won't.</p>My mother, in true mother fashion, told me (basically) that I was just plain stupid to get back on it in such a short time frame. Uh, a month Mom! I'm pretty sure Venus or Serena would not have sat out a month. I refrained from saying this, though, for fear of unleashing her "those girls are on steriods", which may or may not be true, diatribe. I really should stick to Billie Jean King or Chrissy Evert Lloyd references in the future! Truth be known, I think she is worried about next weekend when she is coming up to meet the kids and I at Tulip Time in Holland, MI!!! :) I bought an ankle brace which now brings the number of assorted braces contained within this household to about 37! I'm hoping that helps and if nothing else, I guess I will serve for an hour. And will probably end up needing brace #38 for the shoulder if that comes about...bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-45454836613639569432010-04-13T21:11:00.002-05:002010-04-13T21:20:46.976-05:00Not broken, but slow healing...and a good dinner!The ankle is still swollen. Not profusely, but enough to make me feel like I'm sporting a cankle. That and to feel rather lopsided. When I get fat, the few things that don't get fat too are my ankles and feet. Not so for my right one right now. It is finally warming up here and I want to wear capris and I'm sporting the cankle. Would it be wrong for me to stick a post it on it stating "I was recently sprained. Don't judge me."?!?!? On that note, I've long since forgotten how long it takes to recover from a sprained ankle. Pisser.</p>I made an awesome dinner tonight. Very simple, but very tasty. I had stir fry in mind, but thanks to some brain bombs from a friend, I decided to spice and herb it up. Fab-U-lous! I diced chicken tenderloins and soaked in Trader Joe's Island Soyaki sauce for an hour. Heated up a bit of roasted garlic flavored olive oil and dumped the soaked chicken and soaking juices (?) into the wok. Seared for a quick two minutes and turned down heat and let slowly cook a bit. To that, I tossed in onions and tricolored bells. Then some Sriracha, a twice round the wok dose. Two dime sized squeezes of basil in tube. Don't judge me! It's all my grocery had!!! I taste tested a bit down the road and decided more herby sweet and another quarter sized squeeze from the basil tube. All stirred until the bells were crisp tender. And it was GOOD. Better than take out...and much lower fat, calories. I ate mine sans starch (rice/noodles) and did dinner at around 200 calories. YES!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-83998591025805535492010-04-05T14:09:00.002-05:002010-04-05T14:22:04.433-05:00NOT BROKEN!Yea! The ankle, not broken. I called the doc and finally got in. Of course, not to my regular doc, but rather to see someone with the personality of a toad. Actually, that is degrading to the toads across the world. Thank heavens, he is not my regular doctor. Seriously, a sense of humor never really killed anyone.</p>As I suspected, I had to have xrays and then wait for radiology to talk to Dr. Zero Personality and then wait for him to get back to me. All told, about 24 hours after my appointment. Not too shabby in today's world of wait and see, I guess. What I find particularly irksome is that he told me on Thursday that, if it wasn't fractured, it was definitely a grade two sprain. He then said there was no point in wrapping or taping it. No point in icing it, even though it swells up at the end of the day. And, ibuprofen is really pointless, despite the fact that it is still painful. Alrighty, then.</p>Friday evening, he calls me and tells me that it is not broken and I ask him again, what to do about managing the pain, the swelling, the weakness in the joint and was told nothing. This all sounded off to me so I turned to my trusty friend, Google. And, eventually, I landed on some rather official looking site that had to do with the American association of ortho docs of some sort. That site along with several others said that a grade two sprain should be wrapped, taped, or preferably put in an air cast. Ice for swelling. Anti-inflammatory as necessary. Dude. Seriously? And one of sister in laws, a RN, was not happy either. I really don't know what was wrong with this guy, but I do know when my opinion form comes in the mail, it won't be returned favorably.</p>Today for several hours, I was able to walk with no limp! Of course, to me, this means I'm ready to get right back on the tennis court. But, I won't. As I sit and type now, it is throbbing and aching and feels like someone has a vice grip on my ankle bone. So, I guess I'll be taking it easy. And, there goes another Race to Wrigley 5k out the door for me. I now own more t-shirts for the Races I didn't run than those that I did. :( I'll get 'em next year. I hope. As for tennis, I'll take this week and possibly next off. See how I feel. Watching Roddick win the Sony Ericsson this weekend was brutal. I want to be back on court! With that, back to the marathon spring cleaning. I figure if we aren't going anywhere, I might as well make the slave labor, uh, I mean kids, useful this week!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-43246940129960239822010-03-30T21:20:00.003-05:002010-03-30T21:42:31.873-05:00I 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* <p></p>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. <p></p>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. <p></p>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!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-85726479932558925522010-03-29T18:12:00.003-05:002010-03-29T19:04:04.262-05:00Someone, somewhere hates meNo, 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.<br /><p></p>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.<br /><p></p>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.<br /><p></p>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!<p></p>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.<br /><p></p>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.</p>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.<br /><p></p>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.<br /><p></p><br />Try to get kids out of car quickly.<br />I grab smoothie as it is precious cargo.<br />Get them out.<br />Close car door.<br />Usher children.<br />Carry smoothie.<br />Try not to bitch about someone being irresponsible and leaving their possessions scattered about Chicago.<br />Start sprint back to schoolyard.<br />Trip, fumble, roll off of curb,no more than 2" tall.<br />Right ankle caves, makes popping noise.<br />I go down, full out collapse. <br />Scream out in pain. <br />Terrify children. <br />Try not to vomit. <br />Try not to cry. <br />Try not to let loose the litany of vulgarities surging through my head. <br />Limped to schoolyard. <br />Got a friend to retrieve the lunchbox.<br /><p></p>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!</p>So, this time around, a sprained ankle shoots down my plans.bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-48842131467286633172010-03-25T18:52:00.003-05:002010-03-25T19:07:10.102-05:00It's not fun being fat in Chicago in MarchWhy? 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.</p>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.</p> 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.</p>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!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-74734243443785410192010-03-06T00:34:00.005-06:002010-03-06T00:47:25.104-06:00Skinny Hands<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWxuiiR4uWuM1nc9wbRjDzp0F4Rumlki4hpR3ZWmcEVL99tD54Ym5k3WLLQR-lql2gnKE29j64srvEoQNYMmFT3NbENVdq7kYhXj4rmnMW-BCbCFwHEn8kT8v5tWDJlSQmcWjN7wFgOMg/s1600-h/skinny+hands.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445405635553846450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWxuiiR4uWuM1nc9wbRjDzp0F4Rumlki4hpR3ZWmcEVL99tD54Ym5k3WLLQR-lql2gnKE29j64srvEoQNYMmFT3NbENVdq7kYhXj4rmnMW-BCbCFwHEn8kT8v5tWDJlSQmcWjN7wFgOMg/s320/skinny+hands.jpg" /></a><br /><p></p>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.<br /><br /><br /><br />This is my latest triumph.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtEIBUQ8sy21n9W8rcdSIibvyCVgCmCS1Sk5rXxNVMp-3vhbOxprLyYeqCuoxsHM2YmlxPuMBh4JmVJh1HmhikG_5hICd5JhKxYDGGOpZkpl0-BjHbg3_CWB6IKTuY1gRpDtxAe2ZOSeI/s1600-h/finally+done.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445407077001203346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtEIBUQ8sy21n9W8rcdSIibvyCVgCmCS1Sk5rXxNVMp-3vhbOxprLyYeqCuoxsHM2YmlxPuMBh4JmVJh1HmhikG_5hICd5JhKxYDGGOpZkpl0-BjHbg3_CWB6IKTuY1gRpDtxAe2ZOSeI/s320/finally+done.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />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!!<br /><br />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! :)bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-74761077707511143682010-03-02T17:51:00.004-06:002010-03-02T18:05:39.723-06:00I 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!</p>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.</p>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!</p>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...bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-64898837391729649862010-03-01T18:22:00.003-06:002010-03-01T18:48:25.330-06:00~~~mooooooo~~~I'm back and I'm *almost* fatter than ever. Almost.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />~~~mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo~~~<br /><br />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~~~<br /><br />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~~~<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-51907073150805973952009-08-12T18:26:00.002-05:002009-08-12T19:04:07.859-05:00Fat Girl, Revisited.That's it. I'm back at it. I need input from Chicago area people for fall 5ks. (mind you...I'm scared of the suburbs. fyi.)</p>Plantar fascitis be damned. Giant gut be damned. I must run again. It's not that I actually "like" running. It's more that I like me when I run. Most of the time when I am running, there is a litany of curse words running through my head. If there were sailors in my family, they would probably be horrified and proud...all at the same time. I don't think kind thoughts when running. I can't say that I've experience that "euphoria" that others talk about. Mostly I think about death. Mine, the organizers, the fools that I blindly followed into this running thing, the runners around me, etc. Yet, I'm oddly thrilled when I finish a race. And, yes, I'm fully aware that 5k is only 3 miles and NOTHING to real runners. But, it works for me with my crappy knees and now, apparently, bad feet. I want to race that random person to the finish line again. I want another PR!</p>Soooooo...Chicago people, again, help with the fall 5ks!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-40893497423266961792009-01-02T18:07:00.002-06:002009-01-02T18:22:26.597-06:00Stupid ass resolutionsYeah, it's that time of the year. For once in ages, I did NOT make any bizarro weight/diet resolutions. I resolved to stay in better contact with long distance friends and family. To be more patient (this one is gonna be a tough one!). And, to run, at least, five 5ks this year. So, I signed up today for one. The Race to Wrigley which I ran with a broken rib last year. However, I've not been running ages, so I'm gonna have to hoist the fat ass up off the couch and concentrate on getting the groove back.</p>My hopes for 2008 are a better year for my family heathwise. I nearly lost an uncle this year. I've a cousin that had some severe eye trauma. And, my aunt's husband was in a car accident that he was lucky to survive with just a broken vertebrae. All in all, we were lucky in that everyone survived, but I do hope for better health for all of them. And, because I'm selfish, for me too!</p>I'm toying what to do for personal growth for me this year. I learned so much about myself this past year. Through some circumstances, I got the chance to do a lot of soul searching and emotional growth and I think I've come out on the other side a far better person than I went into it. A growth spurt if you will. I've made some new friends that I wish I had given a fair chance ages ago. I learned a lot about people I thought were my friends. Most of all, I've learned that toxic people and dramarama is best left for my hourly dose of the Young and the Restless on weekdays! I've found such comfort in my photography that I'm contemplating doing something more with it. What? I don't know. I'm thinking about a year long program, maybe. I am going to go do a real shoot for a friend of mine in Atlanta. I'm so excited about that, well, I could pee my pants! I need to figure out what I want and make a game plan and go for it.</p>My weight and physical fitness is, as always, a source of concern for me. Somewhere in the summer, my give a damn left the building. Probably about the time I quit running. I kept eating like I was running, but I wasn't. Thankfully, I kept up with tennis so while I'm nowhere near where I would like to be, it isn't as bad as it could be! There is still some muscle under the jiggle. Now, to get rid of the jiggle.</p>So, that's that. My random ramblings staring down the barrel of a new year. I wish my friends a happy and prosperous New Year!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-74130583562594250342008-12-07T00:30:00.002-06:002008-12-07T01:01:06.736-06:00Oh the irony...So, I can't sleep. That's really not that much new or really astounding. I frequently can't sleep. At times, well at a lot of times, it is due to the snoring that consumes my home. That's going on tonight, but that is not the reason. In fact, I'm not sure of the reason. I mean, I should be tired. Hell, I am tired. But, I just can't sleep.</p>We are in Indy this weekend. My mom's family, the people I am referring to when I say "my family", are having a holiday get together. Tomorrow. Well, by now, actually today. They decided to split the difference between Thanksgiving and Christmas and have just one get together. This saddens me for variety of reasons, but what is done is done and I have to deal. My husband, however, is opting to go to the ballgame instead of seeing my family which we now only see one time a year. Me, well, I'm not thrilled with this. However, I'm quietly tucking away the "get out of some family shit I don't want to do with his family" card in my pocket to be played at a later date.</p>So, here I sit. In a suite, where my snobbish kids have complained about not having their own bedroom and the fact that there is only one bathroom! I'm hoping the light and the noise doesn't wake them as they snooze on the sofa sleeper. I don't think it will as they were both nodding off in their mac and cheese at dinner. I can hear the drunks wandering in and out of the Wild Beaver Saloon, classy name, 9 stories below. And, the men in the room next to me appear to be also drunk and rather belligerent about the best Bloody Mary ever. EVER. Right now, the votes are in favor of some place in the French Quarter. And, I think I heard someone yacking.</p>The irony in all of this, is that while I sit here, at the foot of the pullout listening to both children snore blissfully, a little over seven years ago, my husband and I spent one night in this very hotel. We'd been to a Pacers game. We'd gone out afterwards to the bar attached to this hotel. We proceeded to get very, very ripped. The bartender refused to serve us anymore without proof that we were NOT driving home. So, my husband went and got a room (there was no way we were driving home!) and showed the bartender the room key and we kept right on drinking until close. I think. I don't really remember. But, what I do know is that, roughly, 41 weeks and 2 days later, my daughter was born. As we were driving down here today, I asked my husband where we were staying and he told me. I said "have we ever stayed there before?" meaning on our trips back home for football. I didn't voice that though and he smirked and said, oh yes, we spent ONE night there. One very productive night. And then, it clicked. Somehow, though, I feel a little dirty! I'm such a dork.</p>I'm so looking forward to, but also frightened by, tomorrow's family fun. My uncle, my mom's oldest brother, has not been quite ill and I'm scared at what I might see. He is my rock, my father figure since my dad died and I don't know how much I can handle. Holidays always suck for me when it comes to dealing with emotions surrounding my dad and then to have my fave uncle being ill. I just don't know. I don't. It is, however, so good to be going home. While I love Chicago, I miss my family something awful. And, honestly, at times, I miss my old life. I cannot believe how vastly different my life is now than I ever imagined it. When I was young, I dreamt of the big farmhouse with no neighbors and acres of land. A barn full of livestock and a large garden for me to can and freeze from. When I come back to my family, some of that comes flooding back. Can you imagine that? Me, on a farm. I know that for those of you that only know me during my Chicago years that has to be mind boggling. I'll let you in on a secret...I still have a pair of cowboy boots from my 20s. And, I still wear them every now and again.</p>So, here I am, in a hotel where I conceived my first child a little over seven years ago, listening to her snore and the drunks down at street level, which I was one a little over seven years ago, and worried about my aging family when I'm doing that myself. Yeah, life. What ARE you really going to do about it?bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-28719326424325884302008-12-04T18:16:00.002-06:002008-12-04T18:28:12.831-06:00Long time, no postWhy is it that whenever things start to click for me, I get leveled by something. Tennis was going phenomenally and WHAMMO, I end up with bronchitis and a sinus infection. Add to that a lingering cough that has had me on an asthma inhaler, even though I don't have asthma. I've gone nearly a week now without the inhaler. This is the first time in what seems like FOREVER that I've played tennis twice in one week. It was good. I'm tired and I'm achy, but it was good. I hope to do a couple of weeks at 2x and then ramp back up to 3x or more a week. And, today, like a sign the registration info for the first 5k I signed up for (not that I ran, but signed up for) arrived in the inbox. I ran it with a broken rib, so why in the hell have I not been out there running lately?</p>It's time for me to get back in the groove of things. I feel so much better when I'm active. However, now, it feels like I'll have to start the C25K at the beginning!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-18251302064254788302008-10-26T20:33:00.002-05:002008-10-26T20:46:52.662-05:00Another hour of tennis...Tomorrow, I hit the court at noon for a lesson with a new hitting partner. We tried to hook up previously, but she had some unexpected things come up and couldn't make it. We've never met. But, we did play on courts side by side a few weeks ago. I was having my usual lesson, she was playing with someone else. She has since pestered my coach nonstop to hit with me. It's shocking for me to think that someone considers me good enough to play. That's a new thing for me. I've never been someone considered an athlete, so this is all new! I am so glad to start adding hours of tennis back to my week though.</p>I've been toying with doing a Team in Training event. I've some very personal reasons for this. Since I've opted to make this a public blog, I'll just leave it as personal reasons. Just when I wrote it off, though, a brochure appeared in my mailbox. I don't know if this is some sort of sign or something. I don't. My concern is, largely, that training for such an event will screw up my tennis. That is my first love, really. Though, I feel compelled to do something, to reach out, to try to make a difference. I'm torn on many levels about this. Ugh.</p>The weather has turned now. There is talk of snow flurries tonight. Most of the leaves have dropped. It is wet and cold and I could swear there was sleet hitting our windows earlier today. I'm still toying with some 5ks this fall, but I've not signed up for any. I need to get on the ball!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-19418731221224063542008-10-23T18:12:00.003-05:002008-10-23T18:34:45.271-05:00Is there such a thing as Tennis Ass?If so...I have it. My butt is killing me. And, my thighs. My usual routine is Tuesday/Thursday for tennis. And, then I added Zumba on Wednesday. But, I was so friggin' sore from tennis on Tuesday that the mere thought of Zumba made me want to vomit!</p>Is my coach punishing me for branching out? I don't know! He's decided that I could play a full level higher than what I am playing at and is now determined to make me play up to my full potential. Playing at my full potential apparently means developing a wicked topspin on both fore and backhand. An amazing backhand slice. And being able to muscle the yellow fuzzy beyond even a Williams sister. *snort* Oh goodie. I did get a very legit winners by him on Tuesday, though, so I guess he is right. And judging by the pain I am feeling right now, the aforementioned ass and thighs and assorted upper body parts, well, it was two hours of this week that were definitely harder than the same two hours last week! Tonight, I'm sitting here with throbbing gluts and twitchy thighs sipping a Cab. Hey! I deserve it after an hour of pretending to be a windshield wiper running from one sideline to the other.</p>I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my running. I'm not. More 5ks, of course. I don't know if I want to go beyond that or not. I have a motivational factor right now, but I don't want to screw up tennis! That's my first love.bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-40786190094106438472008-10-18T16:51:00.002-05:002008-10-18T16:59:54.908-05:00Should've been in Miami...I'm sad that I'm missing the festivities in Miami and the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in support of my friend. I hope that she and my friends that went had a great time. And will have a great time tonight!</p>I did log 5k today, but not all running. I must ease back into this with the foot. I did intervals and it felt good. It was a beautiful day here in Chicago. Kinda weather I love! I do so love fall.</p>I was also able to clear out some more clutter from this place I call home. We are streamlining and downsizing. We all have way too much shit and there is no need for it! The way things are economically right now, I know there are those that can use our excess a lot more than we can. I took three bags of DD's outgrown clothing to a friend whose sister has several children and not a lot of cash. I had contemplated just calling the Salvation Army, but as I dropped this off to my friend and saw her smile, a deep down inside smile, I knew I'd made the right decision to drive a bit out of my way.</p>My public service announcement, do not buy TunesPlus2.0 as an alternative to iTunes. It sucks hairy monkey balls. I'm going to use the CD as a coaster for my beer. I've been trying to figure out a way to get the music off of my ipod and onto my new computer. It looks like I might be able to use Rhapsody to do this. Well, since they finally have a 64 bit Vista version! Woo!</p>Date night tonight. I'm lacking any sort of enthusiasm. I really just like to curl up with a Twilight book. Something tells me that is NOT DH's game plan. eh.bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-14225697425758821432008-10-16T16:39:00.003-05:002008-10-16T17:34:01.445-05:00Weirdness<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC68OEmlvHqPMS6cidg2fHVQnjvIRFLCVHrnw7kcxrz2-dKVXwaufSIn4PbzDNFFgaiVmdILsPWmSxH3pmsQJC743cRAtVKsurbq1Mg4UEhvf5gmMemUbC_cktnQ8xPIU__-CFbAQK8Ow/s1600-h/fence+and+grass.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC68OEmlvHqPMS6cidg2fHVQnjvIRFLCVHrnw7kcxrz2-dKVXwaufSIn4PbzDNFFgaiVmdILsPWmSxH3pmsQJC743cRAtVKsurbq1Mg4UEhvf5gmMemUbC_cktnQ8xPIU__-CFbAQK8Ow/s320/fence+and+grass.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257883060908174162" /></a></p><br />It's been a weird 24 hours. I can't fully express it, but it has me down in the dumps. Most likely, those of you that read this know why, so that's that. I can't dwell on it, but it was heavy on my mind this morning. I did something I should always think to do when I feel shitty. Grab my camera. I dropped the kids off at school and headed to the lake, camera in hand. I sat there, watched the waves roll in, the fishermen fishing, the scattered sailboats bobbing about, the gulls circling, and wondered at the silence. Here I am, in Chicago, and the sound of the waves breaking and the random chirps from the gulls could drown out the sirens, traffic, airplanes, El, and general city chaos. And, I found some relief. I also found a neat lil' nature sanctuary that I can't wait to return to.</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FMwvwn7_QPu04DYHSQH3aWEB6kdFqizKRw9cVpxKGbIbNKUaVD7Dpd7_DiZyDs4gk1Bujq1ysgmSkDI5zKdciT4vOCtT7UaddY-cP4zFBTEsArNEYLrlgz_OiSgcd3Kg0neF2fVklFs/s1600-h/fishermencolor.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FMwvwn7_QPu04DYHSQH3aWEB6kdFqizKRw9cVpxKGbIbNKUaVD7Dpd7_DiZyDs4gk1Bujq1ysgmSkDI5zKdciT4vOCtT7UaddY-cP4zFBTEsArNEYLrlgz_OiSgcd3Kg0neF2fVklFs/s320/fishermencolor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257883067474378642" /></a></p>So, in this moment of release, relief, and freedom, I decided to resurrect my photography blog in hopes of posting a Chicago photo on a daily basis. And, if I can't post a Chicago photo, to at least post something. Photography is such a release for me.</p>I also played tennis today. Sweated so profusely that I had salt crystals on my face! I was playing so far beyond how I normally play. I don't know where it came from other than a good distraction to the demons in my head. I played a good full level, maybe more, than what I normally do. My coach even remarked on it. He broke a legit sweat too and said he was hitting at me harder than he ever had. I hope this is not a flash in the pan, but something that I can continue. Again, it was a great source of relief. I'd forgotten what a great joy and sense of release that a good workout really was. And, this was on the heels of Zumba! I did that again last night.</p>I've gone three solid days with NO plantar fascitis pain. WOO HOO!!! So, with that, back to the running. I've also met to other women that would like to play tennis, so hopefully, I can get some more games going and get back to tennis 4-5 times a week. Slow and steady, though. Don't wanna piss off the foot!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-58713741844440602582008-10-11T23:00:00.003-05:002008-10-11T23:16:53.545-05:00I've got a new laptop!!! And, I Zumba'd!!!I don't recall what exact number of laptop this is for me, but since I've moved to Chicago, it is number three. #1 is still working, though it is archaic. #2 died in it's toddler time. Only 18 months. This one, shiny and newborn as of (well, to me) today. Already, I've had issues. Wouldn't boot properly the first time powered up. My cell phone is acting wonky, too. Will only charge with random chargers at random times. The house alarm mocks me at times. My dishwasher used to make random beeping noises at me. My dryer's electrical brain went on hiatus not long after we got it, leaving me dryerless for almost two months. My DH's fish tank barks out alarms when it is only me in the house. The baby monitor spontaneously screeches at me. I'm beginning to think I have bad electronic karma.</p>Though my joy of the new laptop means little to you, I'm beyond excited. I can FINALLY start processing pictures again. The archaic laptop and Photoshop had a very tumultuous and hateful relationship. It was NOT good. So, in the next few weeks, I hope to update the hell outta my private blog. I also hope to migrate the Tipsy Chef website to a free, Boiler's not paying for it!, blog too.</p>I'm now back to WW meetings. A good friend that works at our club sweet talked me into going with her. She's a doll. She's taken care of my kids through her department for years now. So, off we went. It is good to be back in control again. I'm so proud of her as she has always bailed just a few weeks in. On Friday, she bought a monthly pass!!!! She's committed. I'm so happy for her!</p>However, in addition to her talking me into going back to meetings, she talked me into..... ZUMBA! I'd flirted with it, but our club had not offered it. I couldn't see joining the Y, or elsewhere, just for that. Recently, they brought it to our club! So, Wednesday night, I zumba'd. And, holy shit, I'm still sore!!! I played tennis on Tuesday, Zumba Wednesday, tennis Thursday. And come Saturday, I'm still sore? I mean, I consider myself somewhat fit. I can hold my own on the court. You can bounce quarters off of assorted body parts, mostly legs and ass. But, Zumba made me this achy?!?!? Of course, I've never been an aerobics class kinda gal, but hey, this was fun! So, I'm back. I'll go back. It was fun despite the fact that I felt like a schmoe. That the kitchen staff was watching. That I was red faced, sweaty, and uncoordinated. Yeah, it was fun!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-41427262185113955292008-10-07T17:36:00.005-05:002008-10-07T17:53:58.881-05:00Is there really more than one Wenkus in Illinois?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLItHpqFJxhuXlmbulpdXLLTZrHWuhaF-nC0F7P9kirk6jo3S6_Xh0tiA3wTPoqyrlmjtQOl60idceAIv72d33_ZGHJhyphenhyphenUMJE9SxN9NFDJms09HAXjwEbd2nw-WCqA-N7S1VI4hCqmqTs/s1600-h/wenkus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLItHpqFJxhuXlmbulpdXLLTZrHWuhaF-nC0F7P9kirk6jo3S6_Xh0tiA3wTPoqyrlmjtQOl60idceAIv72d33_ZGHJhyphenhyphenUMJE9SxN9NFDJms09HAXjwEbd2nw-WCqA-N7S1VI4hCqmqTs/s320/wenkus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254545051000529394" /></a></p>Honestly, is the number really necessary on this license plate? Are people really and truly lining up for Wenkus plates? And, why do I find this so amusing? This is one I had no explanation for the Boiler Brats when they asked why I was laughing so hard.</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3pGeijC7gIlNhLgkumV5HXF21ypczqqYn4TjWUbmA6J4zVQiGKQcsMTpjNh6GaFmUuYytglLg63xCcuikXSURt5hLrLxlF6pXIs3tqa_fY_hFq_WiEd1hil3p3V9sOWI6On5E8Y6y7oc/s1600-h/chick+on+bike.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3pGeijC7gIlNhLgkumV5HXF21ypczqqYn4TjWUbmA6J4zVQiGKQcsMTpjNh6GaFmUuYytglLg63xCcuikXSURt5hLrLxlF6pXIs3tqa_fY_hFq_WiEd1hil3p3V9sOWI6On5E8Y6y7oc/s320/chick+on+bike.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254545911955658786" /></a></p>This one was more self explanatory as even they found blue ponytails sticking out of a bike helmet amusing.</p>And, I leave you with a scene from the ONE playoff game I got to go to. Stupid Cubs. ~grr~ We had great seats, but it was a bizarre night weatherwise. If you notice, up in the sky, is the DirectTV blimp. That's the closest thing that Wrigley has to a big screen.</p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkZgwn12kn3Q46I4tOIMYt49n3yenoufav7mel6yLd4pP_BPjPlY8CM6ICCnrPiDSwxuSBTMnPqkEfdBYmEpD9ZeK-D-fg5uHr7bHZZ9YB2XDg39Uh_U2quSdKp5S5IRIL179SqYF6Os/s1600-h/ballgame.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkZgwn12kn3Q46I4tOIMYt49n3yenoufav7mel6yLd4pP_BPjPlY8CM6ICCnrPiDSwxuSBTMnPqkEfdBYmEpD9ZeK-D-fg5uHr7bHZZ9YB2XDg39Uh_U2quSdKp5S5IRIL179SqYF6Os/s320/ballgame.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254545051846267298" /></a></p>Tennis was good today, but I'm sore. We've been working on getting more power into my shots and the delt in my right arm is quivering. As are my thighs. The plantar fascitis has not reared its ugly head today, so if all is good...I'm going to attempt Zumba tomorrow. This. Could. Be. Amusing. From there, it is back to tennis on Thursday, and then possibly a run on Friday. I've three room mom meetings in the next two days. I'm gonna be peeved is this cuts into my ME time!!!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-84663244013458615742008-10-05T21:53:00.002-05:002008-10-05T22:03:27.085-05:00Just as I was about to off myself...The Colts pulled it out.<br /><br />Seriously, people, I was just about ready to scale the Hancock and then fling myself off the top and onto some unsuspecting diva leaving Louis Vuitton on her way to American Girl to purchase overpriced doll crap for her princess daughter. Not that my princess daughter doesn't have a shitload of that overprice crap (thanks MIL!) But, I don't carry Louis.<br /><br />I'm back on the wagon, "for reals", now. Went back to a meeting with a friend from our club. She said she was envious of the success that I've had and wanted to experience that. I think she must be blind 'cause I'm portly now. But, okay. So, I'm buckling down, again. Hopefully, for the last time. I'm tired of the yo-yoing thing. I'm in a good place now, too, so that helps. Promise me, that if I do it this time, you people won't let me turn into a psycho WW know it all, okay?<br /><br />So, those of you that know me, know that I am also the Tipsy Chef. I'm really thinking about shutting down the website. I don't think it is worth the cash, honestly, as I get nada back. Based on some stuff I've seen others do, I'm thinking about moving it to a blog. Any thoughts on that?<br /><br />The plantar fascitis is staring to let up some. So, hopefully, I'll be able to get back to the running. I can walk, most of the time now, without too much pain. So, hopefully, this was my flair up and it will subside for sometime. ~crossing fingers~<br /><br />Given my late night last night watching my beloved Cubs suck butt, I think I shall head to bed in a few.bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-62015110787821129572008-09-17T08:37:00.003-05:002008-09-17T08:56:16.396-05:00Stupid girlsNah, not the Pink song, but something similar. The trixie type straight out of Lincoln Park. I was happy post Cub hard fought victory over the Milwaukee Brewers. Widening our lead in the division, cutting our magic number to 4. It was a grand and glorious evening in Wrigleyville. Perfect ballgame weather. So, we went to meet up with some friends at Bernie's. They were fortunate to have scored a table. We had a few beers with them and I headed to the ladies room. I use "ladies" loosely because rarely is there a "lady" in the bathroom of a bar right across from Wrigley Field post Cubs night game. Or any game for that matter.</p>Score! No line! It's my lucky day. I did notice the two, heavily painted, super low cut top wearing bimbos at the mirror, but whatever. Nothing was gonna ruin my evening! I do my business, flush, and exit the stall. They are still camped out in front of the mirror. Spread out before them made a Sephora look like a second rate purveyor of nothing but Wet and Wild cosmetics. I kinda look at them and look at the sink. I can't get to the sink. They are blocking the w I say "excuse me, please." Nada. Again, slightly louder, I say "excuse me, please." I get the eyeroll. Once more I try and they don't move. So, mentally, I say aw fuck it and move in. I reach for the sink which triggers the hurricane force turbo hand dryer on the wall. Under the hurricane force turbo hand dryer sat the Trixie's beer. Directly under the nozzle. Now, you don't have to be a science major to realize what is going to happen when a concentrated column of high speed air that is about the diameter of, oh say, a beer cup hits a full cup of beer. It sort of resembled Old Faithful. A column of beer shot into the air. In my happy state I didn't quite figure out that I had caused this, or actually, what it was at first. I was thoroughly soaked. Drenched in beer. But, so were the Trixies. And, they were out a beer, so it was worth it. There were, of course, some vulgarities flung at me. At which point, I pointed out if they had been kind and responsible bathroom participants it would never had occured.</p>And, I went back to our table, thoroughly drenched and slipped on my clean, dry sweatshirt and wiggled out of my jersey and tank top and no longer reeked of beer. They, however, had to spend the rest of the night smelling like a brewery.bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-12743928234968025052008-09-15T19:29:00.005-05:002008-09-15T21:43:03.791-05:00There's a giant blue W in my front window!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BPy-8BLibO6DQpjp-Qa5hr6DDbuFlu02W2qKfneW4Sglg105RZFuDFPo4P63e8amYJMDUylhQ8ZZo5mBnh7TKHhqeJv0BvGbf6FO0l_6RxUU-RBu7Vzv5ypAwOb18UK7XWwgcIDz6YU/s1600-h/w+and+d.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BPy-8BLibO6DQpjp-Qa5hr6DDbuFlu02W2qKfneW4Sglg105RZFuDFPo4P63e8amYJMDUylhQ8ZZo5mBnh7TKHhqeJv0BvGbf6FO0l_6RxUU-RBu7Vzv5ypAwOb18UK7XWwgcIDz6YU/s320/w+and+d.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246442562557211602" /></a></p><br />I got off my fat ass today!!!!</p>I was feeling horrid after some crappy lunch choices. Left me with next to no points for the night. I hauled the stroller out of the basement storage area, shrieked in girlie horror over the multitude of centipedes milling about in the storage area <shudder>, and loaded my son into the stroller. We hauled butt down to Wrigley Field in quest of the W flag that flies above Wrigley Field every time the Cubs have a home win. For some reason, my son is obsessed with that Cubs blue W on the white flag. In fact, we had to stay until it was hoisted the last game we went to. Thank God, they won!</p>So, after hoofing it down there and finding the flag, we went to see the firetruck. The firetruck was behind closed doors and it was starting to cloud up throwing a wrench in my plans to wander around until time to pick up my daughter. So, I hauled ass back home. Stopped at the Quickie Mart to grab something to drink because I was trying to hack up a lung while running with the stroller only to find out that DS had crashed while I was running. ~grr~ Now, I'm all the way back home with a sleeping kid (he needed it...he was up all night. Which means I was too!) So what to do? I'm back home with a sleeping kid that I can't take out of the stroller because he will wake up and instantaneously channel Satan. Only Satan would be a generous soul also sweet, gentle, kind, and caring compared to my child. So, I slugged down my cold drink and decided to head back out. This would be a good time to do some birthday shopping for the sleeping spawn of the Devil.</p>After a couple of backtracks, I finally found the coveted Woody Jibbitz for his Crocs and was off to pick up DD from school. All told, I logged close to 5 miles today, some of it running!</p>My knees hurt. My plantar fascitis is very angry with me. But, damn I feel good.</p>And, I realized I need a bra for my gut.bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-64769978948223881442008-09-08T22:47:00.003-05:002008-09-08T23:52:35.436-05:00There's a crayon in my Kate Spade!<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpfpalY4NPVjVeXluIPYd0HVwYhSrGOF9BsJk_SbQvABA4wDLEWwY9EeeJpTRMIl-G79EMstAfuxA8FF2St-7kLnJDyU7gi2L5-0lLXX6It8Q_GDq_vU9t2vTk2I_nYTFVV4XFg_tl3g/s1600-h/purse.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243879279725412466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpfpalY4NPVjVeXluIPYd0HVwYhSrGOF9BsJk_SbQvABA4wDLEWwY9EeeJpTRMIl-G79EMstAfuxA8FF2St-7kLnJDyU7gi2L5-0lLXX6It8Q_GDq_vU9t2vTk2I_nYTFVV4XFg_tl3g/s320/purse.jpg" border="0" /></a> <p></p><i>umbrella, gum, tampon, grocery receipts, and *the* crayon</i> </div align="center"><p></p><br />What? <p></p>Yeah, you heard me...there is a CRAYON in my KATE SPADE! An orange one, to be specific. Crayon that is. The Kate Spade is pink. The crayon orange. Or sort of orange. It is streaked with various other colors from being tossed in the giant box of crayons. The wrapper, dingy and peeling, only half hanging on. And, when I spotted it there, I cried. It's been an emotional week with my daughter starting kindergarten in her cute lil' Catholic school girl jumper. My son, starting preK. Mr. Independent now. I'm so proud, but also so heart broken. They both have their "own" things now. Things I'm not a part of. Even though I'm a room mom for both classes, it is still theirs, not mine. I'm a moon orbiting their planet. A sidebar. Something there. Not the main event, just an accessory. It's what I wished for, but I also dreaded. It's a shift in the dynamic that I knew would happen, but wasn't prepared for. <p></p>Our school had a fire drill this week. The preK class practiced it the day before which resulted in a lot of tears, fears, and general chaos. I offered, the next morning, to come back for the drill and our teacher took me up on it. I figure it something I should do as a room mom and something that I'm blessed to have the ability to do because I don't work. I'm happy to help out in that way. So, I returned to the school. Rang the buzzer. Explained myself. Signed in. Talked to the principal whom was thrilled to see me (he'd assisted with the previous day's practice!) and I headed to my son's classroom. He took one look at me and told me to go home. He didn't need me there. I chewed on the inside of my cheek hoping the pain would keep me from crying and entertained myself with some other children in the class. A few I knew, a few I didn't. We lined up the kids for the drill before the alarm went off (to avoid the noise) and started the march across the street to the gym. I had two wonderful little boys assisting me in finding the gym since I didn't "know" where I was going. My son, well, he wanted nothing to do with me, despite his fear the previous day, of the drill. He was buddied up with another friend whose Mom had asked me to smooch on if necessary. I didn't have the heart to tell her later, neither one of them needed us. <p></p>After it was over, I helped usher the kids back across the street and my son stood at the top of the stairs and told me that I could go home now. It was over. And, so I did. Tail between my legs. Bruised Mommy ego weighing heavily upon me. In addition to his disregard for me, my daughter had spotted me during the fire drill as she marched by, hands clasped behind her back. She whispered to me, "I'm fine. I have my friends." I headed home in a funk. Feeling somewhat rejected, sad, and generally useless. <p></p>I loaded up the dishwasher. Threw a load in the laundry. Turned on the tv to some sort of garbage. Fired up the laptop to pay bills, catch up on email, do some school stuff. I grabbed my purse and fished around, blindly, for my wallet. My hand came across something small and round and unfamiliar to my fumblings in my purse. I pulled it out. That dingy, stubby, worn orange crayon. And I smiled. <p></p>I think, from now on, there will always be a crayon in my Kate Spade. That crayon, to be exact.bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4085858728160699650.post-18744895008059100022008-09-04T20:44:00.003-05:002008-09-04T20:54:59.679-05:00~dancin' like the Caddyshack gopher~I played tennis sans knee brace today! And, I lived to tell about it. And, AND, so did my knee. Oh, I'm sore. But, I'm not hitting the leftover painkillers from the broken rib '08 debacle, nor am I having to ice or slather myself with Mineral Ice! I feel the need to keep checking over my shoulder for the Four Horsemen, but Hey! It's a step in the right direction. Just last week, I was having to even sleep with it immobilized. Woo hoo!</p>Yesterday, my son and I walked to the school to pick up my daughter. She early releases on Wednesday and we thought, okay I thought, we could beat the rain. Whelp, I was wrong. It didn't full out rain, but we did get misted on. Ever since the random, torrential downpour during the Cubs game, DS has been a wee bit terrified of the rain. Oh, he'll take a shower, but rain. Egads the rain!!! We made it through though, hauled butt, but made it. And because of a phone call right before our depart from home time, I had to haul ass to the school. So, I did about three miles, in flip flops, at a break neck pace (well, for nursing a bad knee and wearing flip flops!) pushing a stroller containing one 40 pound kid with the other 40 pounder intermittently riding the trailer board. Oh, and we stopped on got groceries!</p>So, in lieu of that, I think I may try some intervals tomorrow to see how it holds up. I'm not due back on court until Tuesday, so I'll have some recovery time. Keep your fingers crossed for me!bg_94http://www.blogger.com/profile/00229079597534567508noreply@blogger.com2