The boys decided Baby N.'s nap was finished.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Adventures in pebbles and baby poop
It was bound to happen sometime.
Baby N. enjoys putting things in her mouth. A lot. More than the boys did at the same age, let me tell you. We are constantly scooping stuff out of her gob, everything from pennies to sticks to dust bunnies. She always complains loudly every time we rescue her digestive system from these objects.
Yesterday, however, she triumphed. Yesterday, she swallowed a pebble.
We were out on the back step. I was hanging laundry while Baby N. sat at my feet, playing with a toy. I had scanned the step for swallowable objects when we came outside. Nothing, I thought. Then Baby N. got that gleam in her eye.
She dived. I scooped her up, grabbed her cheeks, pushed on them to open her mouth, and inserted the trusty swiping finger. I could see the pebble at the back of her mouth. We struggled. She screamed, pulled her head back and went gulp! The pebble was gone.
I sighed, brought her inside, and called the BC Nurse Line.
She wasn't choking, wheezing or in pain; in fact, she was sashaying around the living room, enjoying her success.
The nurse told me to keep an eye on what comes out her other end.
"If she hasn't passed it in a week, bring her to the doctor," she said.
Princess Plumber Butt passed the pebble this morning in her ritual morning deposit.
And I wonder why I'm going gray.
Baby N. enjoys putting things in her mouth. A lot. More than the boys did at the same age, let me tell you. We are constantly scooping stuff out of her gob, everything from pennies to sticks to dust bunnies. She always complains loudly every time we rescue her digestive system from these objects.
Yesterday, however, she triumphed. Yesterday, she swallowed a pebble.
We were out on the back step. I was hanging laundry while Baby N. sat at my feet, playing with a toy. I had scanned the step for swallowable objects when we came outside. Nothing, I thought. Then Baby N. got that gleam in her eye.
She dived. I scooped her up, grabbed her cheeks, pushed on them to open her mouth, and inserted the trusty swiping finger. I could see the pebble at the back of her mouth. We struggled. She screamed, pulled her head back and went gulp! The pebble was gone.
I sighed, brought her inside, and called the BC Nurse Line.
She wasn't choking, wheezing or in pain; in fact, she was sashaying around the living room, enjoying her success.
The nurse told me to keep an eye on what comes out her other end.
"If she hasn't passed it in a week, bring her to the doctor," she said.
Princess Plumber Butt passed the pebble this morning in her ritual morning deposit.
And I wonder why I'm going gray.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Trip, Day One: Yellowknife to High Level
Note: This is the first part in a series describing our adventures on the trip south.
Our last morning in Yellowknife started well enough. The Hubby and I got up early, fed the children, then washed, dressed and diapered the brood. I started packing everything in sight in the hotel room while Hubby dragged luggage and backpacks and cooler and squeaky toys down to the Bratmobile.
We finished packing; we checked out; the children said good-bye to each Yellowknife landmark as we passed. It was 9 a.m.
"Good-bye, family centre! Good-bye, park! Good-bye, Co-op!"
We turned onto the highway. We started the big drive. And then Hubby noticed a sound. A strange, whirring sound. It was coming from the back, right-hand side of the minivan.
"There's something wrong with the back right-hand tire," he said.
We started discussing what to do. Should we turn around now, or get it fixed in High Level? Were we safe?
And then Hubby said, "Cin, where's the laptop? I don't remember packing it in the minivan."
We turned the Bratmobile around and headed back to Yellowknife.
"Hello, Co-op! Hello, park! Hello, family centre!" A. announced cheerfully.
Back at the hotel, Hubby tore apart the hotel room and found the laptop. I had put it in a "safe place" and promptly forgot about it.
From there we headed to the Chrysler dealership. The mechanic, after listening to our sob story, brought the van in right away (bless him). Sure enough, the bearings in our right back wheel were worn out.
We went to lunch while he doctored up the van.
Finally, repairs complete (thank goodness for our extended warranty!), we all piled back into the minivan and headed to High Level.
It was 1:15 pm. The drive to High Level is eight hours. I was trying my very best to be grateful we had caught the problem with the wheel and not left behind our computer.
The boys took to driving fairly well. Baby N., however, decided about two hours in that the trip was a plot to kidnap her and sell her to a baby-slavery ring. She screamed almost nonstop, unless she was sleeping or had my nipple in her mouth.
About that nipple: in order to nurse her while the two of us were safely belted in, I had to remove my shoulder strap, lean forward and dangle the breast over her car seat. That involved pushing my right ribs into the hard plastic of her seat, sometimes for hours on end. I still have bruises on my ribs from the five-day ordeal.
We reached the ferry across the Mackenzie River in the late afternoon. Break-up of the river ice had happened only a week before, and the boys were amazed at the giant slabs of ice floating around the boat. We snapped the picture above, one of the few we took on the road.
We finally arrived in High Level around 10 at night. After some Daddy-Sons wrestling, we all hit the beds with a resounding thump.
I went to sleep thanking the kids' guardian angel I forgot the computer. The mechanic said if we hadn't have turned back, we would certainly have broken down on the road before Fort Providence. And there is NOTHING on the roads between towns in the Northwest Territories: no houses, no garages, no gas stations. Nothing.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Congratulations, Stace and Trevor!
Stacey and Trevor enter together.
The vows (yes, she's crying; it was sweet.)
Stacey and me!
Stacey and Megan share a sisterly laugh. 
Still catching up over here!
This past weekend I went to a happy and beautiful wedding, and watched my "sister" step into the world of The Marrieds, holding the hand of the man she loves.
Congratulations to you both, and many, many blessings to you.
Here's some shots from the wedding, above.
Whaddya think of the new duds?
Do you like the new template? I think it's rather appropriate, myself.
C'mon, tell me what you think.
C'mon, tell me what you think.
To my father
Dad,
I called you on Father's Day, but there was no answer. My guess is you were swinging a golf club. Good.
Dad, you were the person in my childhood who showed me the pleasure of a good discussion, the value of thinking on the bigger things in life. Although we have come to markedly different conclusions about all that, I was introduced to it all by you, and at a very early age! Who else would have talked to a skinny ten-year-old about aliens and eternity and the depravity of human nature?
You were also the one who helped me through the storms produced by a sensitive nature and teenage hormones. I can't count how many times I curled up in your arms at 16, 17, 18 years old and cried. Thank you.
I don't think I ever told you how much I admired your decision to return to school when I was a kid. As I watch my husband struggle to get his homework done while making time for his family, I think about how much harder it must have been for you, with a full university course load of math and physics. And yet you succeeded.
Thanks for being there, Dad, and for showing me what a man should be. Happy belated Father's Day!
I called you on Father's Day, but there was no answer. My guess is you were swinging a golf club. Good.
Dad, you were the person in my childhood who showed me the pleasure of a good discussion, the value of thinking on the bigger things in life. Although we have come to markedly different conclusions about all that, I was introduced to it all by you, and at a very early age! Who else would have talked to a skinny ten-year-old about aliens and eternity and the depravity of human nature?
You were also the one who helped me through the storms produced by a sensitive nature and teenage hormones. I can't count how many times I curled up in your arms at 16, 17, 18 years old and cried. Thank you.
I don't think I ever told you how much I admired your decision to return to school when I was a kid. As I watch my husband struggle to get his homework done while making time for his family, I think about how much harder it must have been for you, with a full university course load of math and physics. And yet you succeeded.
Thanks for being there, Dad, and for showing me what a man should be. Happy belated Father's Day!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Jumping on the Ickler vent
Okay, so I know I owe you about a month's worth of stories and explanations (and I will get to them, I promise), but I couldn't resist joining Sally and Megan. I need to vent my spleen on Rebecca Eckler.
Ickler is the Paris Hilton of Canadian journalist mothers. Self-absorbed to the point of mental incapacitation. She's one of these wealthy people who moan and complain about their lives all the freaking time. She's got it sooo hard. Being a mom of one spoiled brat with two nannies is soooooo difficult. (One nanny for the week, one for the weekend, mind you.)
She recently posted a time line of a typical day so you can get her hard work and motherly devotion.
Mademoiselle Eckler, try my day on for size.
5:30 a.m. Nurse baby for the fourth time that night, but wake up during the process because the sun is up. Realize I need to get up in half an hour, meaning I got six hours of sleep -- a good night.
6 a.m Get up, wash and dress (a little early -- usually up at seven.)
6:25 Eat breakfast, wake house guest, clean up mess in kitchen and dining room.
6:50 Start a load of laundry.
7:10 Kiss husband goodbye -- he's been awake since 5:50, and is dressed in immaculate uniform with shined shoes.
7:15 Check email, CBC.ca, G&M, Facebook and the HER Foundation.
7:25 Children wake up. Washing, dressing and feeding frenzy begins.
8 a.m. Chivvy kids into shoes and coats, pack diaper bag and snack, head out door.
8:16 Leave for airport with house guest and three kids in minivan.
8:50: After much swearing, arrive at airport. Have Tim Horton's with Megan and kids. Send Megan back to the North.
9:30 Potty break.
9:40 Pack kids in minivan. Head home.
10:30 Arrive at home. Carry sleeping baby into house.
10:40 Log food at Weight Watchers Online.
11:00 Clean more messes.
11:16 Baby awakes. Carry her downstairs.
11:30 Make lunch for children and self.
12:15 p.m. Clean up lunch.
1:00 Pack boys in stroller and baby in backpack. Walk to rec centre (20 minutes). Register boys in swimming lessons.
1:30 Arrive at rec centre playground. Push swings, hand out water and snacks, etc.
2:30 Pack kids in stroller and backpack. Walk up steep hill to grocery store while all three kids nap.
2:50 Pick up supper supplies.
3:10 Walk home (25 minutes), then put away stroller and backpack. Sit on front step and watch boys play and baby try to eat grass.
4:00 Start supper prep (roast chicken and potatoes.)
4:10 Kiss Hubby hello.
6:10 Serve supper with Hubby's help. Hubby and I clean up.
7:00 Free time. Read book.
7:30 Chat with neighbours.
8:00 Hubby bathes all kids. I dress and diaper baby.
8:20 to 9:55 Nurse ravenous yet sleeping baby while surfing Net.
I still have an enormous amount of housework to do.
And you know what, Ickler? Today was a GREAT day.
Ickler is the Paris Hilton of Canadian journalist mothers. Self-absorbed to the point of mental incapacitation. She's one of these wealthy people who moan and complain about their lives all the freaking time. She's got it sooo hard. Being a mom of one spoiled brat with two nannies is soooooo difficult. (One nanny for the week, one for the weekend, mind you.)
She recently posted a time line of a typical day so you can get her hard work and motherly devotion.
Mademoiselle Eckler, try my day on for size.
5:30 a.m. Nurse baby for the fourth time that night, but wake up during the process because the sun is up. Realize I need to get up in half an hour, meaning I got six hours of sleep -- a good night.
6 a.m Get up, wash and dress (a little early -- usually up at seven.)
6:25 Eat breakfast, wake house guest, clean up mess in kitchen and dining room.
6:50 Start a load of laundry.
7:10 Kiss husband goodbye -- he's been awake since 5:50, and is dressed in immaculate uniform with shined shoes.
7:15 Check email, CBC.ca, G&M, Facebook and the HER Foundation.
7:25 Children wake up. Washing, dressing and feeding frenzy begins.
8 a.m. Chivvy kids into shoes and coats, pack diaper bag and snack, head out door.
8:16 Leave for airport with house guest and three kids in minivan.
8:50: After much swearing, arrive at airport. Have Tim Horton's with Megan and kids. Send Megan back to the North.
9:30 Potty break.
9:40 Pack kids in minivan. Head home.
10:30 Arrive at home. Carry sleeping baby into house.
10:40 Log food at Weight Watchers Online.
11:00 Clean more messes.
11:16 Baby awakes. Carry her downstairs.
11:30 Make lunch for children and self.
12:15 p.m. Clean up lunch.
1:00 Pack boys in stroller and baby in backpack. Walk to rec centre (20 minutes). Register boys in swimming lessons.
1:30 Arrive at rec centre playground. Push swings, hand out water and snacks, etc.
2:30 Pack kids in stroller and backpack. Walk up steep hill to grocery store while all three kids nap.
2:50 Pick up supper supplies.
3:10 Walk home (25 minutes), then put away stroller and backpack. Sit on front step and watch boys play and baby try to eat grass.
4:00 Start supper prep (roast chicken and potatoes.)
4:10 Kiss Hubby hello.
6:10 Serve supper with Hubby's help. Hubby and I clean up.
7:00 Free time. Read book.
7:30 Chat with neighbours.
8:00 Hubby bathes all kids. I dress and diaper baby.
8:20 to 9:55 Nurse ravenous yet sleeping baby while surfing Net.
I still have an enormous amount of housework to do.
And you know what, Ickler? Today was a GREAT day.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
In Victoria!
We're here! We made it safe and sound, and didn't even kill any of the kids during the 5-day drive.
More info when we're settled.
More info when we're settled.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Last Yellowknife post
We're desperately "pre-packing" our house right now. (Yes, I typed "we"!) Although we don't have to pack the house, we do have to separate what we're bringing in the minivan from everything else, and it's a lot of work.
Things are good. We're settling in as a family again. Hubby and I are learning to parent together again, too.
We met Hubby at the airport, signs and banners waving. When he stepped off the plane, I didn't recognize him. He's lost 30 pounds! That was a shock.
It's good to be together again. I missed him desperately.
This will probably be my last post until Victoria.
Goodbye, Yellowknifers! It breaks my heart to leave such wonderful friends. I love you. Know I pray for you.
Come visit!
Things are good. We're settling in as a family again. Hubby and I are learning to parent together again, too.
We met Hubby at the airport, signs and banners waving. When he stepped off the plane, I didn't recognize him. He's lost 30 pounds! That was a shock.
It's good to be together again. I missed him desperately.
This will probably be my last post until Victoria.
Goodbye, Yellowknifers! It breaks my heart to leave such wonderful friends. I love you. Know I pray for you.
Come visit!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
M5 W1 D5: Thoughts on my last night alone
I have been alone with my three children for four full months and five days.
Tonight is the last night I will put them to bed on my own in a very long time. The Hubby returns tomorrow.
My feelings are a stew right now, but the stock is certainly gratitude. I'm so grateful to the friends who watched my kids and cooked me meals and cleaned my house. Grateful to my parents for listening to me moan and complain. Grateful to my in-laws (both sets!) who helped me during a tight financial squeeze. And to the staff at the MFRC, who were an unfailing help and support through this, the longest, hardest and most accomplished winter of my parenting life.
To all of you, thank you a million times over. Please give me a chance to return the favour; call me anytime you need a hand.
And thank you, God, for giving all these beautiful people to me as my family and friends.
As for the other feelings floating in that stock? Excitement, certainly, and elation. But also some nervousness and fear. Will we fit back together as a family easily, or will we squabble and fight? How has he changed? How have we? Can I let go? Will the kids be royally ticked off and show it? I'm expecting the worst, but hoping for better; after all, we have a very long drive ahead of us.
If you're the praying type, drop one for us tomorrow, will ya?
Tonight is the last night I will put them to bed on my own in a very long time. The Hubby returns tomorrow.
My feelings are a stew right now, but the stock is certainly gratitude. I'm so grateful to the friends who watched my kids and cooked me meals and cleaned my house. Grateful to my parents for listening to me moan and complain. Grateful to my in-laws (both sets!) who helped me during a tight financial squeeze. And to the staff at the MFRC, who were an unfailing help and support through this, the longest, hardest and most accomplished winter of my parenting life.
To all of you, thank you a million times over. Please give me a chance to return the favour; call me anytime you need a hand.
And thank you, God, for giving all these beautiful people to me as my family and friends.
As for the other feelings floating in that stock? Excitement, certainly, and elation. But also some nervousness and fear. Will we fit back together as a family easily, or will we squabble and fight? How has he changed? How have we? Can I let go? Will the kids be royally ticked off and show it? I'm expecting the worst, but hoping for better; after all, we have a very long drive ahead of us.
If you're the praying type, drop one for us tomorrow, will ya?
Sunday, May 13, 2007
M5 W1 D2: To my mother
Mom,
Although you are an entire country away, you have been my rock and strength these past two years.
In the midst of your own health concerns and worries, you pulled me through mine.
In the midst of your own concerns this winter, you helped me face four months alone with three small children.
You listened. You let me cry. You gave me encouragement and advice and sometimes a verbal spank.
And you did it all over phone lines and through computer screens.
I have always admired your strength, your fierce will, the way you raised us.
Thank you for my childhood. Thank you for still mothering me as an adult. Thank you for refusing to be my friend, and insisting on being my mother.
I love you very much.
Happy Mother's Day.
Although you are an entire country away, you have been my rock and strength these past two years.
In the midst of your own health concerns and worries, you pulled me through mine.
In the midst of your own concerns this winter, you helped me face four months alone with three small children.
You listened. You let me cry. You gave me encouragement and advice and sometimes a verbal spank.
And you did it all over phone lines and through computer screens.
I have always admired your strength, your fierce will, the way you raised us.
Thank you for my childhood. Thank you for still mothering me as an adult. Thank you for refusing to be my friend, and insisting on being my mother.
I love you very much.
Happy Mother's Day.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
M4 W4 D4: The adultness of life
I was a very sensitive child. Oversensitive, really. I always had intense emotions. I was wildly happy, deeply sad, overwhelmingly hurt. I also had an uncanny ability to sense a person's true mood, even when they were faking another one.
This was not easy on my parents. I was always bursting into tears about something, out of sadness or happiness. I realize now it must have been intensely stressful.
A. is the same way. His goldfish died on the same day that we sold the tank of tropical fish (angelfish, a gourami, and sundry others. Yes, we had two tanks of fish!) Losing all of his pets on the same day was just too much for his little heart to bear, and he sobbed about it for 20 minutes, curled in my lap. Then he looked at me and said, "Loving is hard, Momma."
Oh yes, it is hard. A.'s first lesson in the adultness of life: Loving is hard.
I've been watching that happen around me this month. Friends struggling with love and family and loss.
A family that attends our church lost a son to suicide this week. My heart is broken for them. How inexpressibly awful. And yet they pray and hope and struggle to work through this grief. My admiration for them knows no bounds, as well as my sadness for their son and for the disease that took him from us.
I've also been watching three sets of friends struggle with married love. I'll say no more about that here, except I love them all and am praying for them.
In my own family, my grandmother saw her heart doctor in the past two weeks, and was greatly relieved she would not need another heart operation. But my mom and I want to shake her because she would have been fine if she'd listened to her doctor rather than a cab driver. The doctor told her to take her meds. The cabbie told her not to. She listened to the cabbie. So now she is on a much "tougher" drug for life.
One of my life's mentors, a childhood friend of my father's, is very very sick again. His cancer has returned, and he's too sick and weak for chemo. This man has now had cancer three times in his life. I'm praying for a miracle at this point. His mother's prayers produced one when he was a teenager. He is one of the kindest people to ever walk the Earth, and we will all have lost something if he leaves us early.
Loving is hard.
And yet, with all this, my life continues with its busyness and happiness. I have always felt deeply, but then the feelings move on. Happiness is never really far. I wonder if I am essentially shallow.
But then I remember the quote another blogquantance recently posted, from Albert Camus: "In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."
I have always had that invincible summer. God willing, I hope I never, ever lose it.
This was not easy on my parents. I was always bursting into tears about something, out of sadness or happiness. I realize now it must have been intensely stressful.
A. is the same way. His goldfish died on the same day that we sold the tank of tropical fish (angelfish, a gourami, and sundry others. Yes, we had two tanks of fish!) Losing all of his pets on the same day was just too much for his little heart to bear, and he sobbed about it for 20 minutes, curled in my lap. Then he looked at me and said, "Loving is hard, Momma."
Oh yes, it is hard. A.'s first lesson in the adultness of life: Loving is hard.
I've been watching that happen around me this month. Friends struggling with love and family and loss.
A family that attends our church lost a son to suicide this week. My heart is broken for them. How inexpressibly awful. And yet they pray and hope and struggle to work through this grief. My admiration for them knows no bounds, as well as my sadness for their son and for the disease that took him from us.
I've also been watching three sets of friends struggle with married love. I'll say no more about that here, except I love them all and am praying for them.
In my own family, my grandmother saw her heart doctor in the past two weeks, and was greatly relieved she would not need another heart operation. But my mom and I want to shake her because she would have been fine if she'd listened to her doctor rather than a cab driver. The doctor told her to take her meds. The cabbie told her not to. She listened to the cabbie. So now she is on a much "tougher" drug for life.
One of my life's mentors, a childhood friend of my father's, is very very sick again. His cancer has returned, and he's too sick and weak for chemo. This man has now had cancer three times in his life. I'm praying for a miracle at this point. His mother's prayers produced one when he was a teenager. He is one of the kindest people to ever walk the Earth, and we will all have lost something if he leaves us early.
Loving is hard.
And yet, with all this, my life continues with its busyness and happiness. I have always felt deeply, but then the feelings move on. Happiness is never really far. I wonder if I am essentially shallow.
But then I remember the quote another blogquantance recently posted, from Albert Camus: "In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."
I have always had that invincible summer. God willing, I hope I never, ever lose it.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
M4 W3 D6: The big dates
It's all official.
I'm having a massive garage sale Saturday, May 12, 8 to noon.
Hubby arrives home Thursday, May 17 (two weeks.)
We leave for Victoria in our minivan the early morning of Saturday, May 26.
Our house is for sale -- anyone want to buy a house in Yellowknife?
And now the roller coaster ride begins.
Hands in the air, people!
I'm having a massive garage sale Saturday, May 12, 8 to noon.
Hubby arrives home Thursday, May 17 (two weeks.)
We leave for Victoria in our minivan the early morning of Saturday, May 26.
Our house is for sale -- anyone want to buy a house in Yellowknife?
And now the roller coaster ride begins.
Hands in the air, people!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
M4 W3 D5: The big news
Acting Sub-Lieut. Hubby called tonight. I am happy to announce he has signed a lease on a personal married quarters, or PMQ, for our family. For you civvies, that's a house.
And what a house! Four bedrooms, a front yard, a back yard, living room, dining room, kitchen. Only one bathroom, but who cares! It sounds like an enormous palace to me!
For those of you who do not know me in real life, Hubby, the three children and I live in a single wide trailer with two bedrooms and a small addition. The computer nook and the front porch/mud room comprise the addition. There is a small square of grass in the front and a small rectangle on the side.
The new house is two streets away from the public school in which I have already enrolled A. It is a brand new school, and I can walk him there every day. It is also close to the MFRC, where Little I. will be attending pre-school twice a week.
There is a maple in the front yard and little flowers poking up through the grass.
Hubby is finalizing the details of his moving leave, so I can't post much about that until tomorrow. However, the children and I will see him very, very soon. And then we will be headed to our new home.
The final lump of sugar in this sweet news: We will be in Victoria in time to see one of my "sisters" marry the love of her life.
"Rejoice to the LORD always, and again I say rejoice!"
And what a house! Four bedrooms, a front yard, a back yard, living room, dining room, kitchen. Only one bathroom, but who cares! It sounds like an enormous palace to me!
For those of you who do not know me in real life, Hubby, the three children and I live in a single wide trailer with two bedrooms and a small addition. The computer nook and the front porch/mud room comprise the addition. There is a small square of grass in the front and a small rectangle on the side.
The new house is two streets away from the public school in which I have already enrolled A. It is a brand new school, and I can walk him there every day. It is also close to the MFRC, where Little I. will be attending pre-school twice a week.
There is a maple in the front yard and little flowers poking up through the grass.
Hubby is finalizing the details of his moving leave, so I can't post much about that until tomorrow. However, the children and I will see him very, very soon. And then we will be headed to our new home.
The final lump of sugar in this sweet news: We will be in Victoria in time to see one of my "sisters" marry the love of her life.
"Rejoice to the LORD always, and again I say rejoice!"
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
M4 W3 D3: Size eight and other amazing moments
On Monday's weigh-in, I met a new weight-loss goal: 20 pounds lost. Whoopeee! My reward to me is some new clothes, so Baby N. and I went shopping this morning while the boys hung out at the MFRC.
Having lost 20, I expected to go down in size. However, I was realistic: I'd been squeezing myself into size 13/14 pants and XL shirts before Weight Watchers. I expected to be a size 10 and a L shirt, and I was very excited about that.
I arrived at Reitman's (the only decent store in town that caters to women who are not teenagers, whippet thin and/or rich) and picked a bunch of size 10s and L shirts off the racks.
I tried on a large T-shirt and size 10 jeans, very excitedly noticing how easily they zipped. I looked in the mirror. The jeans were TOO BIG. So was the shirt.
I started to cry a little bit. The saleslady asked if I was okay. I turned to her and said, "I have been overweight since I was 19 years old. I started WW 2 months ago and have lost 20 lbs. This is the first time I've bought clothes and a 10 is too big."
She looked at me, smiled and said, "I knew the 10 and the large were too big when I hung them for you. I was wondering why you chose them. You still see the old you, but honey, I see you as you are, and you are a size 8 and a medium shirt."
I cried a bit more, and she gave me a big hug and went looking for clothes in the right sizes.
I bought two pairs of size 8 jeans and five size medium shirts. They all fit perfectly.
I was hoping I'd hit a size 8 at the end of my journey. Looks like I will really be a 6/7. I haven't worn those sizes since high school.
I came home and calculated my body mass index, or BMI. It's 25, which is the highest end of "normal, healthy weight."
I am no longer obese. I am no longer even overweight. I am NORMAL.
I am in shock.
*************************************
There is some very exciting stuff happening on the Big Move front, but I can't say anything about it until tomorrow night. Things will be more final then.
Hubby is in Victoria, busting his butt to get himself settled and our nest ready. More info tomorrow night!
Having lost 20, I expected to go down in size. However, I was realistic: I'd been squeezing myself into size 13/14 pants and XL shirts before Weight Watchers. I expected to be a size 10 and a L shirt, and I was very excited about that.
I arrived at Reitman's (the only decent store in town that caters to women who are not teenagers, whippet thin and/or rich) and picked a bunch of size 10s and L shirts off the racks.
I tried on a large T-shirt and size 10 jeans, very excitedly noticing how easily they zipped. I looked in the mirror. The jeans were TOO BIG. So was the shirt.
I started to cry a little bit. The saleslady asked if I was okay. I turned to her and said, "I have been overweight since I was 19 years old. I started WW 2 months ago and have lost 20 lbs. This is the first time I've bought clothes and a 10 is too big."
She looked at me, smiled and said, "I knew the 10 and the large were too big when I hung them for you. I was wondering why you chose them. You still see the old you, but honey, I see you as you are, and you are a size 8 and a medium shirt."
I cried a bit more, and she gave me a big hug and went looking for clothes in the right sizes.
I bought two pairs of size 8 jeans and five size medium shirts. They all fit perfectly.
I was hoping I'd hit a size 8 at the end of my journey. Looks like I will really be a 6/7. I haven't worn those sizes since high school.
I came home and calculated my body mass index, or BMI. It's 25, which is the highest end of "normal, healthy weight."
I am no longer obese. I am no longer even overweight. I am NORMAL.
I am in shock.
*************************************
There is some very exciting stuff happening on the Big Move front, but I can't say anything about it until tomorrow night. Things will be more final then.
Hubby is in Victoria, busting his butt to get himself settled and our nest ready. More info tomorrow night!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
M4 W2 D6: Hubby graduates. I scrub floors.
Acting Sub-Lieutenant Hubby called last night, overflowing with good humour and a few drinks, to fill me in on the plans for today, Graduation Day. We had a few laughs, wondered if he'd ever get his hands on his ticket to Esquimalt and eagerly discussed the soonest date we would all be together again.
I told him I am extremely proud of him and his accomplishments. I am always proud to be my husband's wife, but that pride shone a little more brightly last night and today.
Tonight, though, I had the inevitable come-down. Little I. was being a B-R-A-T at bedtime, making messes and trying to keep his brother awake. When I finally settled him to bed, I started in on housework, as always.
And then it hit me: here I am, scrubbing the kitchen floor, while my husband celebrates one of the most significant accomplishments of his life. I can't be there. I can't even talk to him on the phone unless he finds a moment to call (unlikely since he will be entertaining his mother, sister and future step-father after the graduation.) I don't even know when I will see my husband again.
It's cruel, this uncertainty. The people around me expect me to be happy and excited and say things like, "Almost done!" But who knows if I'm almost done? I don't. Neither does the Hubby. All we know is he flies to Esquimalt tomorrow to start his new career, without wife or children.
About other people's expectations: I honestly wish they'd think them through before sharing them with me. The people who expect me to be miserable all the time tick me off just as much as the people who expect me to be happy. They foist their own fears and beliefs and foibles on me. I wish some of these people would just ask me, "How are you doing? How do you feel about that?"
My good friends and family do, thank goodness.
There is a woman I frequently bump into who always says or does the wrong thing with me. She has a background with military life. I try to be nice, since I am trying to follow Jesus, and that means looking for Him in every person I ever meet. But I wanted to rip her face off the day she asked me when Hubby was done, then smugly announced it would be harder when he came home than it is now.
Why did she say that? I understand reintegration is difficult for families. Heck, the MFRC offers reintegration sessions for spouses, it's that stressful. I expect bumps. But HARDER THAN NOW? We may argue when he returns, but when the Hubby is back I will be able to shower with the door shut, eat my food before it is stone cold and sleep in until 7:30 on weekends. I will go grocery shopping alone from time to time. I will have someone else to step in at bedtime when I'm about to lose it.
I can think of a lot of things that would be harder than now: flood, fire, tsunami, cancer, another HG pregnancy, a death in the family. Having my husband come home does not tip high on my freak-o-meter.
Some people are only happy when they are making others miserable.
Okay, rant over.
Once again, CONGRATULATIONS HUBBY!!!!!!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!!
I told him I am extremely proud of him and his accomplishments. I am always proud to be my husband's wife, but that pride shone a little more brightly last night and today.
Tonight, though, I had the inevitable come-down. Little I. was being a B-R-A-T at bedtime, making messes and trying to keep his brother awake. When I finally settled him to bed, I started in on housework, as always.
And then it hit me: here I am, scrubbing the kitchen floor, while my husband celebrates one of the most significant accomplishments of his life. I can't be there. I can't even talk to him on the phone unless he finds a moment to call (unlikely since he will be entertaining his mother, sister and future step-father after the graduation.) I don't even know when I will see my husband again.
It's cruel, this uncertainty. The people around me expect me to be happy and excited and say things like, "Almost done!" But who knows if I'm almost done? I don't. Neither does the Hubby. All we know is he flies to Esquimalt tomorrow to start his new career, without wife or children.
About other people's expectations: I honestly wish they'd think them through before sharing them with me. The people who expect me to be miserable all the time tick me off just as much as the people who expect me to be happy. They foist their own fears and beliefs and foibles on me. I wish some of these people would just ask me, "How are you doing? How do you feel about that?"
My good friends and family do, thank goodness.
There is a woman I frequently bump into who always says or does the wrong thing with me. She has a background with military life. I try to be nice, since I am trying to follow Jesus, and that means looking for Him in every person I ever meet. But I wanted to rip her face off the day she asked me when Hubby was done, then smugly announced it would be harder when he came home than it is now.
Why did she say that? I understand reintegration is difficult for families. Heck, the MFRC offers reintegration sessions for spouses, it's that stressful. I expect bumps. But HARDER THAN NOW? We may argue when he returns, but when the Hubby is back I will be able to shower with the door shut, eat my food before it is stone cold and sleep in until 7:30 on weekends. I will go grocery shopping alone from time to time. I will have someone else to step in at bedtime when I'm about to lose it.
I can think of a lot of things that would be harder than now: flood, fire, tsunami, cancer, another HG pregnancy, a death in the family. Having my husband come home does not tip high on my freak-o-meter.
Some people are only happy when they are making others miserable.
Okay, rant over.
Once again, CONGRATULATIONS HUBBY!!!!!!!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!!
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Little Miss Upright!
Oh, Baby N., please stop growing. I can't have another baby after you (unless we adopt) and I am sooo not ready for you to become a toddler!
Your father is not going to recognize you.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
M4 W2 D2: Acting Sub-Lieutenant's wife!
The Hubby called yesterday. He has passed Basic Officer Training. On Thursday, April 26, he will graduate and take the rank of acting sub-lieutenant.
Congrats, honey! I'm so proud of this accomplishment. I know it was probably the hardest thing you've ever done. Way to go.
Congrats, honey! I'm so proud of this accomplishment. I know it was probably the hardest thing you've ever done. Way to go.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
M4 W2 D5: The me underneath
I was having a laundry crisis this morning, something that now happens with regularity since I am too fat for my skinny jeans, but too thin for all my other pants. I finally located a pair of pants that stay up with the aid of a belt but don't look like clown trousers.
I started searching for a clean shirt, soon realizing all I had clean were sweaters too warm for the weather. I opened my closet and started digging. All I could find was a "peek-a-boo" blouse: a blouse that I can button up, but which gapes between the buttonholes at the bust.
I sighed and put it on. Another frump day, I thought. Then I looked in the mirror.
The blouse no longer gaped at the bust. In fact, it fit perfectly.
Losing weight has been strange. When I look in the mirror undressed, I see very little difference. But my clothes tell a different story. My clothes say I AM 10 per cent lighter than I was 7 weeks ago.
16.5 lbs gone. 16.5 lbs to go.
I started searching for a clean shirt, soon realizing all I had clean were sweaters too warm for the weather. I opened my closet and started digging. All I could find was a "peek-a-boo" blouse: a blouse that I can button up, but which gapes between the buttonholes at the bust.
I sighed and put it on. Another frump day, I thought. Then I looked in the mirror.
The blouse no longer gaped at the bust. In fact, it fit perfectly.
Losing weight has been strange. When I look in the mirror undressed, I see very little difference. But my clothes tell a different story. My clothes say I AM 10 per cent lighter than I was 7 weeks ago.
16.5 lbs gone. 16.5 lbs to go.
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