Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Weight of the Matter

  The other morning I was making an attempt to enjoy some breakfast with my two daughters.  Every time my can came close to hitting the chair I would notice there was something I'd forgotten to bring to the table or my three year old would pipe up.  "Mom, I wanted juice, not milk,  mom, I wanted a sippy cup not a regular, mom I wanted pink not green , mom, I need a fork AND a spoon."  Ready to blow, but smart enough not to tell her to do it herself, which would tack on another fifteen minutes,  I began to wonder how we moms manage to struggle with weight issues when we can't even sit down to a meal.   Add the rest of the family in at dinnertime to make it an official circus.
    But somehow, along the way, my plate gets cleared.  Not only the first serving, but the second. Maybe not nice and toasty warm as is the preferred method of consumption, but definitely edible to a not so fussy palate. 
    Then, the family wanders away from the table and I glance at the plates left behind, ready to call each child back to clear their spots.  But I notice that some of those plates have the best stuff left behind, and that should not be wasted on chicken food.  So out comes my fork, and  I begin spearing a little of this and a dab of that and shoveling it in, until all plates are cleared to my satisfaction .
    Huffing a sigh at the thought of clean up waiting in the kitchen, I get to my feet and wander there to take a peek at what is left over.  One dish reveals a salad that would surely go soggy if stored overnight, so I grab the serving spoon and polish it off.  After all, have you SEEN the prices at the grocery store? No sense in wasting.  The next pot is showing only a couple spoonfuls left, so it doesn't pay to take the time to put it in a storage container. Down the hatch is much more convenient.  And on and on it goes.
     In between my cleaning up , I feel the need to sneak in something sweet, and I know there just happens to be a bag of m&m's in the baking cupboard.  For baking purposes only, but a couple handfuls gone missing won't be noticed.  Until the same hand hits the bottom of the bag. Oh well,  chocolate chips will work just as good.
     Finally, all the dishes are cleared up and washed up.  That calls for a coffee break.  The cake left over from the "just in case there is company" baking would be just the thing to go with a good cup of decaf.
    So I take my coffee and cake with just a "couple" scoops of ice cream and go sit down next to my dear sweet husband, and ask him the question that has been burning in my mind all day, "Honey, why can't I seem to lose any weight??"

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Gum Flapping

    My baby is now eleven months old, and besides screeching rather loudly and giving her version of  "all done" on occasion, her interest in vocabulary is minimal.  She is way too busy filling her mouth with flies and toilet paper.  A deficiency, perhaps?  Or just practicing making a quality spit wad, I don't know.
    But one thing I am just about certain about.   When her mouth opens with words flowing from it, my aspiring singing career will once again be put on the shelf.  I love to sing.  I have inherited my paternal grandmothers singing gene.  My grandfather, who was one of the sweeter, more subtle guys, was the one who broke it to his wife, when one day after church he told her,"Maybe you shouldn't sing."
    Anyway, back to my point.  When my previous babies had been learning to talk,  I was spending a lot of time blissfully rocking them and singing quite contentedly right in their ears.  Like a dose of cold water, there came the day with each of them, when they  reached up, put their sweet little hands over my mouth, and gave instruction.  "Stop."
     Yep, words are harsh, but you also do learn some interesting things once those little educators start telling you how it is.  The explanations given for actions are sometimes quite priceless.
      When my boys were about three and two, I received many  of those explanations.   After one particular trying evening, I had just gotten the little guy to sleep for what I had hoped was the night.  I told his big brother, "Mom is going to jump in the shower.  If you need anything, dad is right outside. 
     Well, I had enough time to get the shower on and the temp set just right before I heard knocking on the door.  I opened it to find not one, but two little boys standing there looking at me.
   "I don't know what happened, but I think all the loud roaring noises from the North Pole woke him up."  Good one, and good-bye shower.
      Then one day, they had been playing upstairs and when I decided to go check on them, the sight that greeted me probably didn't do good things to the blood pressure.    The humidifier was taken apart and water was puddling all over the hallway.  I could feel a gasket about to blow and wasn't even about to ask for an explanation on this one.  Big brother decided to give one anyway.  "We were baptizing."
    Around the corner comes little brother dripping wet.  How can you even yell at that?
    When my husbands heifer gave birth to her first calf, my eldest who was about six at the time, was the first who found it and went to check it out.  He came back in the house and informed me, "It's a bull."
   "Oh, really?  And how do you know that?"
    " Because it has curly hair on its forehead."  I guess it was no surprise to me when my husband came home and announced the new calf was a bull.
      There have been times when explanations have been strangely silent or missing completely.  This comes with "faulty" memories of otherwise intelligent children.
      The weather had been growing colder for some time when we decided to break down and finally order some oil for the winter.  The oil man happily took our check and went on his way.  The hubby turned on all the necessary gizmos and gadgets while I waited upstairs to feel the first blast of blessed heat coming into the place.  Strangely, nothing happened so I finally went down to see what the hold up was.  He was sitting beside the furnace with a puzzled look on his face and said, "Man, it almost seems like there is water mixed in this stuff.   After several hours of tinkering and draining chalky white gunk, he decided to go find his sons.  They, of course had no idea how vast amounts of water could have ever found its way into the oil tank.  Little by little, bits and pieces of memory came back.  "Maybe" they were playing with the hose in the summer.  "Maybe" they might have played oil man with the hose.  "Maybe" was the word of the day, with details remaining rather sketchy.
   When little sister came along, I figured girls would be a different story, but she too has given some rather "reasonable" explanations for her actions.  Like crawling into mom and dads bed two minutes after lights out because she "had a scary dream."  Nothing fishy with that one, like maybe you should actually fall asleep before you claim these grand dreams.  And she suddenly decided she can no longer eat cheerios "because them have holes in 'em."  Like someone pointed out to me, doughnuts have holes too, and she doesn't seem to have a problem with that.  Definitely "holes" popping up in that info, little darling.
  Yep, lot's of lip smacking, eyelash fluttering, and "becausing" from the girl section too. Another year or two of them putting their heads together might bring some stressful moments to this house, but I'm hoping more for comic relief. And so help me if they turn out to be self baptizing oil men farmers who hear noises from the Northpole.