Before we get to the food, I have an exercise comment.
I was not able to go to BCS Fitness last week at my regularly scheduled timed because I had to work later than usual, so Brad let me come on Wednesday instead. That means I worked out Tuesday AND Wednesday, and at the end of the workout Wednesday I wanted to lay down on the floor and not move again until Friday. Wednesday was hard - beyond hard - and I almost didn't finish. Luckily, during partner work I was teamed up with Patty (I think that was her name), someone who obviously is no stranger to hard workouts, and she encouraged me and maybe picked up my slack a little.
I didn't want to go from Wednesday to the following Tuesday without working out, so this afternoon I went to the gym. I decided ahead of time that I was going to walk five minutes and then run five minutes for thirty minutes total. This is slightly more rigorous than my usual gym routine of setting the treadmill on a breezy 3.5 miles an hour and watching Ice Loves Coco.
Unfortunately, as soon as I started walking on the treadmill my knee starting screaming at me. I thought maybe I could stretch it out and it would feel better, but it just hurt more. This turned out to be a good thing because I got on the elliptical instead. I ellipticalled (I have an English degree that allows me to make up words) for thirty full minutes, and I would now call that a pretty easy workout. That's a long way from where I was.
By the way, Ice Loves Coco wasn't on, or that part of my workout would have been the same. Guilty pleasure tv, anyone?
It dawned on me today that my knee has never bothered me while working out at BCS Fitness. I have no idea why - my guess is that it's either because there's someone there making sure I'm doing exercises correctly OR because I'm so focused on not passing out that I don't notice.
And now food.
Currently I'm munching on baked sweet potato chips from a recipe I found on Pinterest. They are delicious and wonderfully, well, munchy. These are a little softer than I think they should be, and had I arranged them in a single layer on the baking sheet they would be even better.
Tonight for dinner we had shrimp with creamy orange chipotle sauce, and oh my holy goodness it was good. I found the recipe in a cookbook that a friend from work let me browse (thanks, Jenny), and tonight is the first time I've made it. It makes four servings and has about 138 calories per serving according to my fancy app. The recipe says to serve it with linguine, but I didn't have any so we ate it over brown rice. YUM!
We also had sliced avocado and asparagus. I don't think I've cooked asparagus before (maybe once) but Trish gave me a quick explanation of how she cooks it when I asked for suggestions on my facebook (thanks, Trish). I put it in a shallow container with a small dollop of butter and some salt and just enough water to cover it. She said to microwave it, but it occurred to me that I had no idea how long. Well, it turns out I have a very smart microwave because it has a setting for cooking fresh vegetables (you just punch in the weight in ounces) and the asparagus came out perfectly.
Then, I spent about 45 minutes tonight preparing some things for this week so that I won't be tempted to just have pepperoni rolls because I don't have time to cook.
First, I made prosciutto and green olive pasta salad and packed it in containers for lunch. I haven't eaten it yet, but it sure smelled delicious when I was making it. At three servings per "batch" it's about 276 calories. The recipe says it's four servings, but I could only find three empty containers and since I'm having it for lunch I decided that my version would just be three.
The pasta salad came from Jenny's cookbook, too. I can't remember the name of it, but I'll find out. Maybe she'll just post it here. :)
Finally, I made the stuffing for apricot stuffed pork tenderloin, which we'll have for dinner tomorrow. We don't have to be at the baseball fields until 7:00, so I've got time tomorrow to stuff it and cook it for 30 minutes This came from my niece, Jackie's, Paleo cookbook, The Paleo Diet (thanks, Jackie). I did a little taste test on the stuffing, and it seems pretty good. I guess we'll find out tomorrow.
Also on the menu for the week, Trey's green enchiladas. He usually makes them the night before and they heat up really well, so those are great for a night when we have to be at the baseball field at 5:30. I also want to make individual meatloaves again because they were perfect for lunches and a quick dinner last week.
My new favorite breakfast recipe: spinach and feta frittata. It smells heavenly when it's cooking and it heats up really well so you can make it ahead of time and have it for breakfast during the week.
So far, so good. While I'm working out better, I think food choices are going to be a huge part of me participating (and hopefully winning) the contest. I definitely feel better. Getting dressed in the morning takes about twice as long because the pants I wore two weeks ago are likely to fall down which could result in a very unfortunate flashing incident at my elementary school. My smaller sizes don't quite fit yet, but I think I'll get there. I feel reasonably certain I haven't peaked at a week and half!
In the last couple of years I have learned to love to cook, but I get easily bored with cooking the same thing all the time. I especially love spicy food and food that can be prepped or even completely cooked ahead of time. If you have a fantastic healthy recipe, please share!
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Triceps and Broccoli
Workout #3
This was the hardest workout I've done so far, and it might be the hardest workout I've done in my life. I guess that's not true. I'm sure I worked out harder during marathon basketball practices running a ridiculous number of bleachers and ladders, but I was in much better shape then. So that makes today my hardest ever non-sports workout.
The workouts are structured as half cardio and half strength. The concept for the cardio today was something about popcorn. We rotated through all four cardio machines, spending about 4-6 minutes on each one and going at around 70% most of the time. The popcorn part meant that one of us was going at 100% almost every second. Sam, the trainer, would say, "Okay, Stormy, you're at 100% for the next 20 seconds. Give it all you've got!" Then she would cheer me on as I tried to, well, give it everything I've got. Every person in my group got their turn over and over again on each piece of equipment. On the rower-thingy (its official name), I thought I was going 100%, and the number on the screen (I don't know what it's counting) read around 715. Sam came over and said, "Go for 800!" I thought she was insane, but I found myself going harder. Wouldn't you know it? I kept it over 800 on that round of my turn to popcorn. It surprised me a little bit.
Today I also ran. I have commented as an adult that I can't run. I used to run a lot when I was a teenager. But now I feel like my knees have been banged up too much and my ankles have rolled one too many times, and running is just impossible for me. Today, when I was on the treadmill and I was told to go 100%, I decided I should run. You know what? I did it, and it felt good. In fact, it was the easiest thing I did today. My knees and ankles didn't hurt at all, but that could be because my brain lapsed into a state of semi-consciousness from all the work I had already done. Either way, that surprised me a little bit, too.
The strength part today was mostly upper-body, I think. I pretty much hate weights, so I'm glad they make me do them. Maybe by the end of this thing weights and I will be able to find some type of dysfunctional relationship - continuing to dislike each other but recognizing that we need to visit every now and then.
I was doing some tricep thing, and I experienced something that has never happened to me before. I pulled the handles on the machine down, but my arms didn't move. It's like I was stuck. My brain was telling my arms to pull harder, but my arms were not listening, like a kid standing in front of me with his fingers in his ears. My friend and workout partner recognized my awkward situation, and she came over and gave me a little push. That was my very last one (#10) of that rotation, and I couldn't have finished without the help. It felt good to finish instead of just quitting.
Finishing with help is better than quitting by yourself. That's your little bit of philosophy for the day. You're welcome.
I saw today what I've heard from others who work out at BCS Fitness: I'll never push myself as much as someone else will push me. I think I push myself pretty hard in just about everything I do, and still I could never do what I did today without someone next to me telling me I could do more.
And now food.
Right this minute, as I'm typing, I'm eating broccoli.
Yes, broccoli.
I hate broccoli.
Or, I did hate broccoli.
I remember trying broccoli as a kid, and since then I've just always known I didn't like it. But it's really good for you, and part of me feels like a seven year old when something comes along that has broccoli in it and I say "no thank you" but what I really mean is "ewww...broccoli...gross." So, in my quest to have a healthier diet, I decided that I need to try broccoli again.
I bought those little single serving frozen broccoli trays because Trey loves them, so if I don't like it he'll eat the rest of them and they won't go to waste. Also, they're actually broccoli and cheese, and since cheese makes everything better I thought it would be good starter broccoli. I decided before I started that I would eat the whole thing.
It was fine, okay, alright, whatever. I could eat some broccoli, but I don't think I'll be craving it for every meal anytime soon. Maybe I won't turn up my nose at things that broccoli in them. Aren't I big girl for trying it?
The other thing I did tonight is precook some stuff for later in the week when we have baseball games. I made some individual meatloaves (maybe I'll take one for lunch) and some turkey burgers. They would probably be a little better if we cooked and ate them the same day, but if I don't make it ahead of time, we just won't eat it. That's the problem with meat courses around here - they take time and we don't have time on game nights, which right now happens to be four nights a week.
I have more to share, like my experience with yogurt (I don't eat that either because my brain knows it technically rotten milk), but instead I'll leave you with my favorite relatively healthy week night quick dinner.
BBQ Chicken Pizza: Take a whole wheat pita, add about a tablespoon of low-sugar barbecue sauce, top with roasted chicken, slices of red onion, about a 1/4 cup of mozzarella, and sprinkle the top with rosemary. You can cook in in the oven on a pizza stone, or, if you're really in a hurry, cook it in the toaster oven. When the cheese is melted, it's done. My fancy app tells me it's about 363 calories. I love this because the boys also make their own pizzas (with tomato sauce and pepperoni or whatever else they want), and they always eat it because they made it themselves.
I hope I can move my arms tomorrow.
This was the hardest workout I've done so far, and it might be the hardest workout I've done in my life. I guess that's not true. I'm sure I worked out harder during marathon basketball practices running a ridiculous number of bleachers and ladders, but I was in much better shape then. So that makes today my hardest ever non-sports workout.
The workouts are structured as half cardio and half strength. The concept for the cardio today was something about popcorn. We rotated through all four cardio machines, spending about 4-6 minutes on each one and going at around 70% most of the time. The popcorn part meant that one of us was going at 100% almost every second. Sam, the trainer, would say, "Okay, Stormy, you're at 100% for the next 20 seconds. Give it all you've got!" Then she would cheer me on as I tried to, well, give it everything I've got. Every person in my group got their turn over and over again on each piece of equipment. On the rower-thingy (its official name), I thought I was going 100%, and the number on the screen (I don't know what it's counting) read around 715. Sam came over and said, "Go for 800!" I thought she was insane, but I found myself going harder. Wouldn't you know it? I kept it over 800 on that round of my turn to popcorn. It surprised me a little bit.
Today I also ran. I have commented as an adult that I can't run. I used to run a lot when I was a teenager. But now I feel like my knees have been banged up too much and my ankles have rolled one too many times, and running is just impossible for me. Today, when I was on the treadmill and I was told to go 100%, I decided I should run. You know what? I did it, and it felt good. In fact, it was the easiest thing I did today. My knees and ankles didn't hurt at all, but that could be because my brain lapsed into a state of semi-consciousness from all the work I had already done. Either way, that surprised me a little bit, too.
The strength part today was mostly upper-body, I think. I pretty much hate weights, so I'm glad they make me do them. Maybe by the end of this thing weights and I will be able to find some type of dysfunctional relationship - continuing to dislike each other but recognizing that we need to visit every now and then.
I was doing some tricep thing, and I experienced something that has never happened to me before. I pulled the handles on the machine down, but my arms didn't move. It's like I was stuck. My brain was telling my arms to pull harder, but my arms were not listening, like a kid standing in front of me with his fingers in his ears. My friend and workout partner recognized my awkward situation, and she came over and gave me a little push. That was my very last one (#10) of that rotation, and I couldn't have finished without the help. It felt good to finish instead of just quitting.
Finishing with help is better than quitting by yourself. That's your little bit of philosophy for the day. You're welcome.
I saw today what I've heard from others who work out at BCS Fitness: I'll never push myself as much as someone else will push me. I think I push myself pretty hard in just about everything I do, and still I could never do what I did today without someone next to me telling me I could do more.
And now food.
Right this minute, as I'm typing, I'm eating broccoli.
Yes, broccoli.
I hate broccoli.
Or, I did hate broccoli.
I remember trying broccoli as a kid, and since then I've just always known I didn't like it. But it's really good for you, and part of me feels like a seven year old when something comes along that has broccoli in it and I say "no thank you" but what I really mean is "ewww...broccoli...gross." So, in my quest to have a healthier diet, I decided that I need to try broccoli again.
I bought those little single serving frozen broccoli trays because Trey loves them, so if I don't like it he'll eat the rest of them and they won't go to waste. Also, they're actually broccoli and cheese, and since cheese makes everything better I thought it would be good starter broccoli. I decided before I started that I would eat the whole thing.
It was fine, okay, alright, whatever. I could eat some broccoli, but I don't think I'll be craving it for every meal anytime soon. Maybe I won't turn up my nose at things that broccoli in them. Aren't I big girl for trying it?
The other thing I did tonight is precook some stuff for later in the week when we have baseball games. I made some individual meatloaves (maybe I'll take one for lunch) and some turkey burgers. They would probably be a little better if we cooked and ate them the same day, but if I don't make it ahead of time, we just won't eat it. That's the problem with meat courses around here - they take time and we don't have time on game nights, which right now happens to be four nights a week.
I have more to share, like my experience with yogurt (I don't eat that either because my brain knows it technically rotten milk), but instead I'll leave you with my favorite relatively healthy week night quick dinner.
BBQ Chicken Pizza: Take a whole wheat pita, add about a tablespoon of low-sugar barbecue sauce, top with roasted chicken, slices of red onion, about a 1/4 cup of mozzarella, and sprinkle the top with rosemary. You can cook in in the oven on a pizza stone, or, if you're really in a hurry, cook it in the toaster oven. When the cheese is melted, it's done. My fancy app tells me it's about 363 calories. I love this because the boys also make their own pizzas (with tomato sauce and pepperoni or whatever else they want), and they always eat it because they made it themselves.
I hope I can move my arms tomorrow.
Monday, April 9, 2012
A World Without Cake
I am fundamentally against dieting. Jumping onto the latest diet bandwagon is something I have never done, and I don't plan on starting now. I figure either I eat healthy food or I eat bad for me food, but I refuse to say I'm on a diet.
Granted, this may not be the best plan because look how much I've grown (literally, and not taller) since I was 25.
With the BCS Fitness challenge, I have not decided to cut out all carbs or cut out all sugar or eat only vegetables watered only with the filtered, icy run off of Antarctic mountain streams. I don't want to live in a world without cake or margaritas or my mom's chocolate chip cookies.
Granted, I could live in a world with many, many fewer cakes and cookies, and that's what I'm working on.
(Wait, are there mountains in Antarctica? Whatever.)
I'm just trying to eat more of the good stuff and less of the bad stuff and watch my overall calories in a day. I mentioned before that Brad suggested 100 grams of protein a day, so I'm trying to keep track of that, too.
I've been using this app that I've had on my phone for ages, My Fitness Pal. It's a web site, too, but I like the app much better than the site. It will track all of my nutritional intake and exercise as long as I use it. My favorite thing? The barcode scanner. If I'm having some HEB four pepper hummus, I can just scan the barcode, type in how much I ate, and all of the nutritional information is collected right there. That's everything - calcium, protein, sugar, cholesterol, fat, vitamins - EVERYTHING.
My second favorite thing about the app is that it has a recipe builder. I can enter all of the ingredients (with the barcode scanner) and tell it how many servings and it calculates the nutritional information for my recipes. This a) is awesome and b) keeps me from entering ingredients by hand every time I have the same meal.
I find this to be very interesting. I find that I usually get all of my recommended vitamin A with my breakfast. I find that 100 grams of protein is very difficult for me (I only got there once in the last week), I find that I have more sodium in my diet than I imagine I should (of course that's a guess because I really have no idea how much sodium I should have in my diet).
Brad the Fitness Guru gave me a food journal to complete so he can look it over and make recommendations, and I'm going to print out the diary and reports on my nutrition from each day of the past week and take it to him tomorrow. I thought about putting it in a spiral notebook with tabs for each day, but that might make me look like I'm trying to be an overachiever.
Things I love that I think I can eat and not feel guilty about:
four pepper hummus with baby carrots
sauteed squash
rotisserie chicken
I guess I'll find out for sure tomorrow when I hand over mytabbed notebook reports.
I've managed to stay around 1400 calories a day most of the week. I'll ask Brad tomorrow if that's even a good goal because we didn't talk calories before. (It's the magic number given to me by my magic MyFitnessPal app.) I've only been hungry a couple of times, like tonight when we didn't eat dinner until 8:30, but overall I have not felt like I'm missing out on anything by eating healthier. There have been a couple of days when I felt like I ate constantly all day long and still had less than 1200 calories. Weird.
Saturday was rough because it was our family Easter, and there was food-a-plenty. I took my own chicken salad (this is my favorite chicken salad recipe) and tried to make healthy choices. Then I ate some chips, but only because there was queso and you really can't eat queso without chips. Then I ate a piece of cake, but only because it was chocolate cake and I don't want to live in a world without cake. Then, later, I ate a brownie, but only because it was Blessings and Brownies Day, a very important made-up holiday that requires brownies to be eaten. Overall, I hit the 2000 calorie mark, and I only felt bad about it for about thirty seconds. Maybe I should feel guiltier.
I'm thinking I ambushed my body with that cheese and chocolate and sugar and it had to work extra hard to fight off the unhealthy food invaders and I probably lost an extra pound or two because of it.
That's how it works, isn't it?
It occurs to me now that I'm talking about all of this nutrition stuff like I know what I'm talking about, and really I don't know what I'm talking about. I feel like I should add some disclaimer to state that. Consider yourself disclaimed.
The first question everyone asks about workout #2 (last Thursday) is whether or not I puked. I did not puke. Brad's staff is encouraging and pushing me, but I don't really think they want me to pass out. Everyone else did 40 of each of these 10-12 cardio exercises, and the trainer told me to do 20 of each and then go back and 20 more of everything I had time for (you know, since I'm the new chick and they don't want me to pass out). I don't like not doing as much as everyone else, so I made sure I did 40 of everything (in two rounds of 20). Those last few incline push-ups weren't pretty, but I did them.
It was about 15 minutes after I finished working out, when I got home, that I thought I might lay down on my driveway and stay there for a few days. But I had a PTO dinner and a baseball game to attend, so instead I got in the shower. I'm glad I kept moving. If I hadn't, I might still be in the driveway.
Tomorrow is workout #3.
Granted, this may not be the best plan because look how much I've grown (literally, and not taller) since I was 25.
With the BCS Fitness challenge, I have not decided to cut out all carbs or cut out all sugar or eat only vegetables watered only with the filtered, icy run off of Antarctic mountain streams. I don't want to live in a world without cake or margaritas or my mom's chocolate chip cookies.
Granted, I could live in a world with many, many fewer cakes and cookies, and that's what I'm working on.
(Wait, are there mountains in Antarctica? Whatever.)
I'm just trying to eat more of the good stuff and less of the bad stuff and watch my overall calories in a day. I mentioned before that Brad suggested 100 grams of protein a day, so I'm trying to keep track of that, too.
I've been using this app that I've had on my phone for ages, My Fitness Pal. It's a web site, too, but I like the app much better than the site. It will track all of my nutritional intake and exercise as long as I use it. My favorite thing? The barcode scanner. If I'm having some HEB four pepper hummus, I can just scan the barcode, type in how much I ate, and all of the nutritional information is collected right there. That's everything - calcium, protein, sugar, cholesterol, fat, vitamins - EVERYTHING.
My second favorite thing about the app is that it has a recipe builder. I can enter all of the ingredients (with the barcode scanner) and tell it how many servings and it calculates the nutritional information for my recipes. This a) is awesome and b) keeps me from entering ingredients by hand every time I have the same meal.
I find this to be very interesting. I find that I usually get all of my recommended vitamin A with my breakfast. I find that 100 grams of protein is very difficult for me (I only got there once in the last week), I find that I have more sodium in my diet than I imagine I should (of course that's a guess because I really have no idea how much sodium I should have in my diet).
Brad the Fitness Guru gave me a food journal to complete so he can look it over and make recommendations, and I'm going to print out the diary and reports on my nutrition from each day of the past week and take it to him tomorrow. I thought about putting it in a spiral notebook with tabs for each day, but that might make me look like I'm trying to be an overachiever.
Things I love that I think I can eat and not feel guilty about:
four pepper hummus with baby carrots
sauteed squash
rotisserie chicken
I guess I'll find out for sure tomorrow when I hand over my
I've managed to stay around 1400 calories a day most of the week. I'll ask Brad tomorrow if that's even a good goal because we didn't talk calories before. (It's the magic number given to me by my magic MyFitnessPal app.) I've only been hungry a couple of times, like tonight when we didn't eat dinner until 8:30, but overall I have not felt like I'm missing out on anything by eating healthier. There have been a couple of days when I felt like I ate constantly all day long and still had less than 1200 calories. Weird.
Saturday was rough because it was our family Easter, and there was food-a-plenty. I took my own chicken salad (this is my favorite chicken salad recipe) and tried to make healthy choices. Then I ate some chips, but only because there was queso and you really can't eat queso without chips. Then I ate a piece of cake, but only because it was chocolate cake and I don't want to live in a world without cake. Then, later, I ate a brownie, but only because it was Blessings and Brownies Day, a very important made-up holiday that requires brownies to be eaten. Overall, I hit the 2000 calorie mark, and I only felt bad about it for about thirty seconds. Maybe I should feel guiltier.
I'm thinking I ambushed my body with that cheese and chocolate and sugar and it had to work extra hard to fight off the unhealthy food invaders and I probably lost an extra pound or two because of it.
That's how it works, isn't it?
It occurs to me now that I'm talking about all of this nutrition stuff like I know what I'm talking about, and really I don't know what I'm talking about. I feel like I should add some disclaimer to state that. Consider yourself disclaimed.
The first question everyone asks about workout #2 (last Thursday) is whether or not I puked. I did not puke. Brad's staff is encouraging and pushing me, but I don't really think they want me to pass out. Everyone else did 40 of each of these 10-12 cardio exercises, and the trainer told me to do 20 of each and then go back and 20 more of everything I had time for (you know, since I'm the new chick and they don't want me to pass out). I don't like not doing as much as everyone else, so I made sure I did 40 of everything (in two rounds of 20). Those last few incline push-ups weren't pretty, but I did them.
It was about 15 minutes after I finished working out, when I got home, that I thought I might lay down on my driveway and stay there for a few days. But I had a PTO dinner and a baseball game to attend, so instead I got in the shower. I'm glad I kept moving. If I hadn't, I might still be in the driveway.
Tomorrow is workout #3.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Sometimes I'm a little nuts
I like to do crazy things and call myself adventurous because of them.
My latest crazy adventure is signing myself up for the Battle of the Sexes at BCS Fitness. The concept is this: people on mybcs.com email to apply, and two guys and two girls are chosen to compete against one another. The contestants get eight weeks of free training and nutritional support at BCS Fitness, and the winners (guys or girls) get an additional eight weeks of training free. Updates are posted on the message board and BCS Fitness gets the advertising out of the contestants posting experiences and successes.
Of course I had to throw my name in. The possibility of getting in shape and being asked to write about the experience sounded right up my alley. I haven't been writing so much in recent months, and I blame a lack of material/inspiration. Lots of blog-worthy things happen during my days, but most of them are student related and I just don't want to get anywhere close to the line of breaching confidentiality.
I realize that I am not severely obese and in need of immediate health intervention. However, I do have clothes in my closet that I really like that also don't fit me anymore. The last two summers I've worn a swimsuit that covers as much of me as possible, and it ain't great. I recently did full blood work lab tests at a doctor's office check up, and I found that my cholesterol is pretty high. I've never once thought about my cholesterol! I realize that I'm headed down a slippery slope, gaining a few more pounds every year and slowly creeping up in sizes and down in health. If I don't do something, then I could be in really bad shape in twenty years. I sporadically go to the gym and I sometimes eat healthy food, but I can easily be talked out of a trip to the gym in favor of a cheeseburger.
So I entered, and I got picked.
Game on!
Wait...what the hell did I just do?
On Tuesday, I went for my first workout. Brad, the fitness guru, talked me through some nutritional stuff and asked me to work out with my group but only go about 80% because he needed to do some baseline tests for the contest. I have no concept of what 80% means, but I think I did okay.
Then the fitness testing began. I don't remember the exact order because I was a little nervous, but I do know the first thing I did was a plank. He wanted to see how long I could hold it.
"Ha!," I thought, "I've done planks in a class at my gym and I don't suck at them. I'm going to impress him with how well I can already do this!"
I started my plank, feeling focused.
After about a minute, he said, "Okay, that's ten seconds."
What? I knew I had been down there at least three times that long, and I was starting to shake. I think I made a comment about the strange time-warp continuum that must be at play in the gym, and then I very shortly fell to the ground.
So much for me being in "not that bad of shape."
I did as many push ups as I could (I'm pretty sure it was single digits), and a couple of other tests I don't remember. I could touch the floor with my knuckles while bending at the waist, so I took that away as my one win.
I may not be in shape or strong, but it must be because I've spent so much time working diligently on my flexibility. (wink,wink)
Then came the real challenge of the day. Measurements.
When Brad measured my waist and said the number, I thought I might have a panic attack. In that moment, I realized that I had agreed to have the size of waist posted on the internet. That, in and of itself, is true insanity. Not adventurous, only nuts.
I'll be no more specific here than "not small," but you can check out the mybcs thread if you really want to know.
Once I recovered from almost blacking out - not because of the workout but because of the measurements - I had Brad and one or two of the people in my group standing there telling me over and over again, "It's a starting point. Everyone has a starting point." I took a deep breath, and got a little bit excited that the number had already, because of the day's workout, started getting smaller. I thought about my favorite pair of jeans and knew that I will be wearing them soon.
Honestly, I do love my current gym. It has great people and facilities and offers me flexibility in workout times. But if I had measured my waist at my gym by myself I may have just made myself feel better with a little ice cream shake on the way home. If you know me, you know without a doubt this is true!
I've worked out one other time since then, but that will have to be saved for another post because this one is already too long. I am working really hard to make good nutritional choices, and I hope I can post recipes and tricks I learn along the way. Brad did tell me to try to get 100 grams of protein every day, and I've realized that could be very hard for me. He made some suggestions I'm going to try, and I'm sure I'll find a way.
While I may be a little nuts for doing this thing so publicly, I'm thinking the results are going to make me very, very happy.
My latest crazy adventure is signing myself up for the Battle of the Sexes at BCS Fitness. The concept is this: people on mybcs.com email to apply, and two guys and two girls are chosen to compete against one another. The contestants get eight weeks of free training and nutritional support at BCS Fitness, and the winners (guys or girls) get an additional eight weeks of training free. Updates are posted on the message board and BCS Fitness gets the advertising out of the contestants posting experiences and successes.
Of course I had to throw my name in. The possibility of getting in shape and being asked to write about the experience sounded right up my alley. I haven't been writing so much in recent months, and I blame a lack of material/inspiration. Lots of blog-worthy things happen during my days, but most of them are student related and I just don't want to get anywhere close to the line of breaching confidentiality.
I realize that I am not severely obese and in need of immediate health intervention. However, I do have clothes in my closet that I really like that also don't fit me anymore. The last two summers I've worn a swimsuit that covers as much of me as possible, and it ain't great. I recently did full blood work lab tests at a doctor's office check up, and I found that my cholesterol is pretty high. I've never once thought about my cholesterol! I realize that I'm headed down a slippery slope, gaining a few more pounds every year and slowly creeping up in sizes and down in health. If I don't do something, then I could be in really bad shape in twenty years. I sporadically go to the gym and I sometimes eat healthy food, but I can easily be talked out of a trip to the gym in favor of a cheeseburger.
So I entered, and I got picked.
Game on!
Wait...what the hell did I just do?
On Tuesday, I went for my first workout. Brad, the fitness guru, talked me through some nutritional stuff and asked me to work out with my group but only go about 80% because he needed to do some baseline tests for the contest. I have no concept of what 80% means, but I think I did okay.
Then the fitness testing began. I don't remember the exact order because I was a little nervous, but I do know the first thing I did was a plank. He wanted to see how long I could hold it.
"Ha!," I thought, "I've done planks in a class at my gym and I don't suck at them. I'm going to impress him with how well I can already do this!"
I started my plank, feeling focused.
After about a minute, he said, "Okay, that's ten seconds."
What? I knew I had been down there at least three times that long, and I was starting to shake. I think I made a comment about the strange time-warp continuum that must be at play in the gym, and then I very shortly fell to the ground.
So much for me being in "not that bad of shape."
I did as many push ups as I could (I'm pretty sure it was single digits), and a couple of other tests I don't remember. I could touch the floor with my knuckles while bending at the waist, so I took that away as my one win.
I may not be in shape or strong, but it must be because I've spent so much time working diligently on my flexibility. (wink,wink)
Then came the real challenge of the day. Measurements.
When Brad measured my waist and said the number, I thought I might have a panic attack. In that moment, I realized that I had agreed to have the size of waist posted on the internet. That, in and of itself, is true insanity. Not adventurous, only nuts.
I'll be no more specific here than "not small," but you can check out the mybcs thread if you really want to know.
Once I recovered from almost blacking out - not because of the workout but because of the measurements - I had Brad and one or two of the people in my group standing there telling me over and over again, "It's a starting point. Everyone has a starting point." I took a deep breath, and got a little bit excited that the number had already, because of the day's workout, started getting smaller. I thought about my favorite pair of jeans and knew that I will be wearing them soon.
Honestly, I do love my current gym. It has great people and facilities and offers me flexibility in workout times. But if I had measured my waist at my gym by myself I may have just made myself feel better with a little ice cream shake on the way home. If you know me, you know without a doubt this is true!
I've worked out one other time since then, but that will have to be saved for another post because this one is already too long. I am working really hard to make good nutritional choices, and I hope I can post recipes and tricks I learn along the way. Brad did tell me to try to get 100 grams of protein every day, and I've realized that could be very hard for me. He made some suggestions I'm going to try, and I'm sure I'll find a way.
While I may be a little nuts for doing this thing so publicly, I'm thinking the results are going to make me very, very happy.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Don't judge me! I am not ashamed.
Since I was little, I have loved Cadbury Creme Eggs. The original ones - not those wanna be caramel ones or mini-eggs. Those are lame. The original Cadbury Creme Eggs, however, are one of the greatest pleasures of life.
Since I started buying my own groceries about 15 years ago, I've purchased my very own Cadbury Eggs. On my weekly grocery trip, I always buy two -- one to have that night and one to have one other time during the week when I really need a delicious sweet treat. The Eggs have a season that lasts from about mid-February until Easter, so that does limit my consumption of them to about sixteen Cadbury Eggs per year. Only sixteen. Since I love them so, you can see why it's important that I not miss any of my planned Egg opportunities.
But this year, this year of 2012 when the Mayans predict the end of the earth, Keaton discovered my Cadbury Eggs.
It started innocently enough. One Sunday night after I had been to the store he saw the Eggs and asked, "What are those?"
"They are my favorite candy ever," I responded.
In hindsight, I should have said, "Vitamin rich spheres of dirt covered mud beetles."
What came next, of course, was "Can I have one?"
This is my youngest son, a child I carried within me for nine months and watched take his first breath. He is the bringer of joy and laughter into our home. I would give my right arm for him, my left one, too, even my life I would give!
But my Cadbury Creme Egg? Sometimes our children just ask too much.
I took a deep breath, warned him that the creamy texture inside isn't for everyone, and told him he could have one of the eggs, all the while secretly hoping that he would find it disgusting and run to the trash to spit it out.
But he loved it. He ate the whole thing.
I took a deep breath and adjusted my Egg shopping strategy in my head. It's okay if he likes them. It's really okay. I just need to make sure he has some and I can still have two per week. That's not so hard. I can do this. The Mayans weren't right -- the world will continue to spin.
The next Sunday, I proudly bought three Cadbury Eggs. That night, Keaton and I each enjoyed one. It was a wonderful, chocolaty bonding experience.
Then the next night it happened. After dinner he said, "Mom, can I have one of those creamy egg things?"
"I don't know if we have any more."
But I did know. I knew we had one more Egg and I also knew that it was mine. I was already one down on my sixteen for the year, and this little rat wasn't about to take another one of my Eggs. I even bought him one of his very own, and still he wants more and more and more. Am I destined to never have Cadbury Creme Eggs to myself again? Who does this child think he is wanting his "creamy egg things"? He doesn't even understand the delicacy that he is partaking of. He doesn't deserve that Egg.
He knew we had one, too. Innocently (or so he wanted me to believe), he said, "Yes, I saw one more on the counter."
I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I was having flashbacks of the episode of Friends where Joey couldn't go out with a girl because she kept eating food off his plate. I kept thinking "Joey doesn't share food!" Finally, in a moment of brilliance, I shouted, "WE HAVE ICE CREAM!"
"Do we have chocolate syrup?" he asked.
"YES!" I shouted, sensing I was about to win.
"Okay, that sounds good," he responded.
Sucker.
I made him a bowl of ice cream, and then I did what anyone else in my shoes would do. I took that extra Egg off the counter and I hid it. That's right, I hid that thing where no one would ever find it. No one but me.
I think he asked about it one other time that week, and I told him I wasn't sure what happened to it. Technically, I wasn't lying. I did put it in the cabinet, but it had been a day or two so something else could have happened to it since I last saw it.
A couple of nights later, we were letting the boys stay up a little late watching a movie in Tucker's room. Trey and I were watching tv in the living room, and I was on the couch enjoying my previously hidden Cadbury Creme Egg the proper way. (You must peel off just enough foil to get to one bite at a time, and then nibble away the chocolate in that section, scoop out the creamy filling with your tongue, marvel at its goodness, and then move on to the next small section, peeling the foil as you go. But anyone who's ever had an Egg already knows that.)
I was about halfway through the experience when Keaton came out of Tucker's room to ask for a glass of water or something. I tried to act cool, holding the Egg down so maybe he wouldn't see it, but trying not to be so obvious that he would know I was hiding something from him. I thought I was in the clear, but at the very last second he turned around and said, "Hey! Where did you get that?"
As I fumbled for words, my back-stabbing husband did not hesitate. "She hid it from you."
"What? Where did she hide it?"
"I can't tell you or she'll be really mad at me," Trey said.
Traitor!
I felt bad. I felt that my love for Cadbury Eggs had overtaken my love for my youngest child, and I felt guilty.
But then I took another bite, and I felt better.
Since I started buying my own groceries about 15 years ago, I've purchased my very own Cadbury Eggs. On my weekly grocery trip, I always buy two -- one to have that night and one to have one other time during the week when I really need a delicious sweet treat. The Eggs have a season that lasts from about mid-February until Easter, so that does limit my consumption of them to about sixteen Cadbury Eggs per year. Only sixteen. Since I love them so, you can see why it's important that I not miss any of my planned Egg opportunities.
But this year, this year of 2012 when the Mayans predict the end of the earth, Keaton discovered my Cadbury Eggs.
It started innocently enough. One Sunday night after I had been to the store he saw the Eggs and asked, "What are those?"
"They are my favorite candy ever," I responded.
In hindsight, I should have said, "Vitamin rich spheres of dirt covered mud beetles."
What came next, of course, was "Can I have one?"
This is my youngest son, a child I carried within me for nine months and watched take his first breath. He is the bringer of joy and laughter into our home. I would give my right arm for him, my left one, too, even my life I would give!
But my Cadbury Creme Egg? Sometimes our children just ask too much.
I took a deep breath, warned him that the creamy texture inside isn't for everyone, and told him he could have one of the eggs, all the while secretly hoping that he would find it disgusting and run to the trash to spit it out.
But he loved it. He ate the whole thing.
I took a deep breath and adjusted my Egg shopping strategy in my head. It's okay if he likes them. It's really okay. I just need to make sure he has some and I can still have two per week. That's not so hard. I can do this. The Mayans weren't right -- the world will continue to spin.
The next Sunday, I proudly bought three Cadbury Eggs. That night, Keaton and I each enjoyed one. It was a wonderful, chocolaty bonding experience.
Then the next night it happened. After dinner he said, "Mom, can I have one of those creamy egg things?"
"I don't know if we have any more."
But I did know. I knew we had one more Egg and I also knew that it was mine. I was already one down on my sixteen for the year, and this little rat wasn't about to take another one of my Eggs. I even bought him one of his very own, and still he wants more and more and more. Am I destined to never have Cadbury Creme Eggs to myself again? Who does this child think he is wanting his "creamy egg things"? He doesn't even understand the delicacy that he is partaking of. He doesn't deserve that Egg.
He knew we had one, too. Innocently (or so he wanted me to believe), he said, "Yes, I saw one more on the counter."
I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I was having flashbacks of the episode of Friends where Joey couldn't go out with a girl because she kept eating food off his plate. I kept thinking "Joey doesn't share food!" Finally, in a moment of brilliance, I shouted, "WE HAVE ICE CREAM!"
"Do we have chocolate syrup?" he asked.
"YES!" I shouted, sensing I was about to win.
"Okay, that sounds good," he responded.
Sucker.
I made him a bowl of ice cream, and then I did what anyone else in my shoes would do. I took that extra Egg off the counter and I hid it. That's right, I hid that thing where no one would ever find it. No one but me.
I think he asked about it one other time that week, and I told him I wasn't sure what happened to it. Technically, I wasn't lying. I did put it in the cabinet, but it had been a day or two so something else could have happened to it since I last saw it.
A couple of nights later, we were letting the boys stay up a little late watching a movie in Tucker's room. Trey and I were watching tv in the living room, and I was on the couch enjoying my previously hidden Cadbury Creme Egg the proper way. (You must peel off just enough foil to get to one bite at a time, and then nibble away the chocolate in that section, scoop out the creamy filling with your tongue, marvel at its goodness, and then move on to the next small section, peeling the foil as you go. But anyone who's ever had an Egg already knows that.)
I was about halfway through the experience when Keaton came out of Tucker's room to ask for a glass of water or something. I tried to act cool, holding the Egg down so maybe he wouldn't see it, but trying not to be so obvious that he would know I was hiding something from him. I thought I was in the clear, but at the very last second he turned around and said, "Hey! Where did you get that?"
As I fumbled for words, my back-stabbing husband did not hesitate. "She hid it from you."
"What? Where did she hide it?"
"I can't tell you or she'll be really mad at me," Trey said.
Traitor!
I felt bad. I felt that my love for Cadbury Eggs had overtaken my love for my youngest child, and I felt guilty.
But then I took another bite, and I felt better.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Pallet Wall Art..The Obsessions Continues
It appears I have lost the ability to sit on the couch and watch tv. Don't be alarmed, though, because I plan to do my best to regain that ability as soon as I finish this post.
One of the very first things I pinned on Pinterest was this beautiful wall art. If you know me at all you know that I am ridiculously, gloriously cheap, and since this artwork is made with a repurposed wooden pallet and some paint I considered it to be practically free. But what words should go on my art? Where should I put it? How can I make it uniquely my own? And, most importantly, how on earth can I paint letters that look that good because Lord knows I can't free-hand it!
I began staring at this big blank place on our wall where a cheap picture used to hang. It was a poster in a plasticy poster frame that for the most part matched our decor and filled the blank spot. It met an untimely death during an indoor baseball game played by the Hickman boys. I always tell them that as soon as they break something they can't play inside anymore, and I acted sufficiently appalled at the fact that they had broken the picture, but I never liked it much anyway.
So...I had location.
Then I pondered, as I often do before I start a project. Four or five weeks of pondering, in this case. I spent about six hours (all totaled) reviewing lyrics to hymns that I might consider using. I kept a running list of ideas on my ipad and even began grouping the lyrics by topic - those about grace, those about music and singing. (Yes, I'm type A even when I'm being artsy.) Some of my favorite finalists included:
Now I have to figure out what to do next. I still have some pallets, and I'm still collecting them. I think I have a pallet addiction. And I already went to the trouble of finding all of those song lyrics. They need to be on something. In our Sunday school class this morning I remembered that there is absolutely nothing on the walls in there, so maybe that can be my next project. I suppose I'll begin the pondering phase.
On a side note, yesterday I picked up these old cabinet doors at the Habitat for Humanity Restore for a buck a piece.
I have a project idea for one of them, but I bought five. The other four have turned into a perfect art project for the boys on a Sunday afternoon. They are currently outside painting masterpieces as all of the neighborhood kids look on and offer their creative inspiration. This might just be the best five bucks I ever spent.
One of the very first things I pinned on Pinterest was this beautiful wall art. If you know me at all you know that I am ridiculously, gloriously cheap, and since this artwork is made with a repurposed wooden pallet and some paint I considered it to be practically free. But what words should go on my art? Where should I put it? How can I make it uniquely my own? And, most importantly, how on earth can I paint letters that look that good because Lord knows I can't free-hand it!
I began staring at this big blank place on our wall where a cheap picture used to hang. It was a poster in a plasticy poster frame that for the most part matched our decor and filled the blank spot. It met an untimely death during an indoor baseball game played by the Hickman boys. I always tell them that as soon as they break something they can't play inside anymore, and I acted sufficiently appalled at the fact that they had broken the picture, but I never liked it much anyway.
So...I had location.
Then I pondered, as I often do before I start a project. Four or five weeks of pondering, in this case. I spent about six hours (all totaled) reviewing lyrics to hymns that I might consider using. I kept a running list of ideas on my ipad and even began grouping the lyrics by topic - those about grace, those about music and singing. (Yes, I'm type A even when I'm being artsy.) Some of my favorite finalists included:
- echoes of mercy, whispers of love
- tune my heart to sing thy grace
- how great thou art
- no tender voice but thine can peace afford
- all is vain unless the spirit of the holy one comes down
- redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die
and that's just the short list.
I also considered skipping the whole hymn thing and going straight to the source by using scripture. I considered Psalm 37:4 (Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart) and some excerpt from I John 4, the scripture from our wedding. After all that, I finally decided on lyrics from the original artwork.
After location and pondering came pillaging. I had the boys on the lookout for wooden pallets on the side of the road. I crept past construction sites hoping to find one sticking out of a dumpster. I called local department stores and asked if they had any to spare, and finally got lucky with a couple of local businesses.
You know how I know Trey really loves me? He dumpster dived with me. After a Sunday afternoon of pillaging pallets from dumpsters, I had two varieties to choose from. I chose the one with the smaller slats because I knew that I had to saw them and smaller meant easier.
I removed the slats from the base of each pallet with a hammer, and then sawed each slat into three somewhat equal pieces. Part of what made the original so cool was its imperfection, and that took a lot of pressure off me, too.
When it came time to saw, I felt all brave and capable, so got out Trey's circular saw and plugged it in and read the directions. Then I remembered that he was at work and that I didn't know what I was doing and I pictured myself bleeding out with my arm sawed off in the garage all because of a Pinterest project, and I saw the boys having to dial 911 and attempt to save my severed arm by putting it in the freezer, and I realized there wasn't room in the freezer for an arm, so I chose to forego the circular saw and instead used a combination of a small manual handsaw and an electric hand saw. You're welcome, Hickmans.
To connect the boards for the signs, I used the staple gun and some brads to attach two pieces of one inch plywood strips to the back. The brads were small enough that they didn't come through the front. The plywood strips were $2.49 each at Hobby Lobby, and I used two. We already had the brads.
In the original, the wood was left wood-colored. My wood, however, wasn't exactly wood but more wood-ish, and the color wasn't great. I decided to paint it off white, and had to buy paint at Lowes. I got the little sample size, and it was about $2.50. The paint didn't cover the wood-ish material very well, but when I finished the first coat I actually liked the effect, so I left it at one coat.
The fantastic Deanne at work told me how to make the letters look like I knew what I was doing. I printed the lettering in the font I wanted, placed it on the sign, and then went around the lettering with a ball point pen leaving an indentation in the wood. I still couldn't see it well enough to paint, so I then went over the indentation with a pencil. Then I painted. It's not perfect, but remember that imperfection is the point, right?
I had two pieces, and I didn't have any idea of what to put on the third. Hanging two would have worked, but in my head there were three of them. A trip to Hobby Lobby solved my problem when I found a cross for $8.99. Using my something-is-always-40%-off coupon on my phone, I got it for $5.40. I hung it on the third board with a nail.
For hangers, I affixed wire to the back of each piece with the staple gun.
Here's the finished project, all for about thirteen dollars.
Now I have to figure out what to do next. I still have some pallets, and I'm still collecting them. I think I have a pallet addiction. And I already went to the trouble of finding all of those song lyrics. They need to be on something. In our Sunday school class this morning I remembered that there is absolutely nothing on the walls in there, so maybe that can be my next project. I suppose I'll begin the pondering phase.
On a side note, yesterday I picked up these old cabinet doors at the Habitat for Humanity Restore for a buck a piece.
I have a project idea for one of them, but I bought five. The other four have turned into a perfect art project for the boys on a Sunday afternoon. They are currently outside painting masterpieces as all of the neighborhood kids look on and offer their creative inspiration. This might just be the best five bucks I ever spent.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
My Greatest Fear
or, as an alternate title, it's a good thing they're alive so now I can kill them.
Disclaimer: No Hickmans were injured during the course of this story.
My greatest fear is that something will happen to my children. I recognize the futility of attempting to wrap them in bubble wrap and confine them to their rooms, and I do my best to keep the crazy paranoia at bay, but it doesn't always work.
We live on a street with lots of families, and I'm grateful that the boys have kids in the neighborhood they can play with. They cavort from yard to yard playing football and what-have-you. I'm happy about this, yet I remind them about six hundred thousand times a day to "stay away from the street!" and "watch for cars because they can't see you!" and I do frequent checks to see if I can catch them being less careful than I think they should be so we can have a quick mini-lesson on how to watch for cars and stay away from the street. I know they are as safe as boys can be playing outside, and I know that boys should play outside with their friends, but still, I always fear they will be careless and something horrible will happen. I figure probably every parent feels this way.
In the scene I'm about to create, it's important to note that I've been feeling a little run down this week. I've been dragging myself out of bed every morning and doing my best to act like I feel great, but I feel exhausted. I think the problem is that I've gotten back into my gym routine, so at night I'm really tired. So tired, in fact, that I'm sleeping really hard. As a result, I've had these wild and crazy dreams every night for like two weeks. I'm doing hard work in these dreams - running from killers and escaping fires and warning people of disaster and such, and I think all that work is making me wake up tired. This is my hypothesis regarding my lethargy.
(It occurs to me here that it may seem to the outsider like I'm in need of a psychiatric evaluation. I won't agree or disagree.)
Tonight we got home from school around 5:15, and the boys immediately went outside to play basketball. I considered straightening the house a little or finding something for dinner, but ultimately I felt the need to crash on the couch for the twenty minutes I had before Keaton's basketball game.
So I dozed into a state of conscious oblivion and briefly wondered if anyone would notice if I just slept until tomorrow. I thought about turning off the living room light, but that would have required me to get up from the couch, so the idea quickly passed.
Then it happened.
The scream.
A blood curdling scream of panic echoed through the garage. I knew immediately it was Keaton screaming, and I could hear the terror in his voice. The scream was continuous and strong, so in that split second I knew that Keaton was okay but he had seen something terrible.
I leaped over the dog gate, threw my phone on the floor, and as I entered the garage I saw the neighbor's truck stopped at the end of his driveway. The back lights flared, so I knew it was running. Keaton was now screaming words, but all I heard was "Molly's dad!" and I could see Molly's dad running around to the back of his truck.
I did not see Tucker.
In the two and one half seconds that followed, my worst fears were realized. I knew in my heart that there was a person under the tires of that truck, and that our lives would never be the same. I was moving in slow motion in the beginning of a Lifetime movie, and I blamed myself for allowing my children to play outside and not sitting with them every minute and trying to take a quick nap and just all around being the worst mother ever. I saw a funeral and weeping and I knew that I would never, ever recover. It was my greatest fear realized.
And then I saw Tucker.
And then Molly's dad picked up a misshapen object from under his truck tire, raised it up, and said, "I popped their basketball."
And then Tucker began to scream. It was a blood curdling scream of panic. A scream delivered not because of serious bodily injury to a loved one, but because he just discovered that his basketball had been popped.
Seriously?
I mumbled, "Dear God, I thought it was a person," and I clutched my screaming-but-perfectly-fine children and retreated quickly into the house and began to sob. I'm sure Molly's dad probably considered the emotional stability of my household for a moment or two before he got back into the truck.
I cried, and when I calmed down, Keaton calmed down.
Tucker continued to wail. Wail terrible cries of lament and pain as he lay crumpled on our living room floor.
"Tucker," I said calmly, "It's just a basketball. We can get a new one."
"But I loved that basketball. It was my favorite one. And now I can't play basketball anymore," he choked out between sobs.
I guess I just thought I had calmed down because crazy mommy surfaced so quickly.
I was crying and yelling at him. "I thought it was you! I thought you were under that truck and it was horrible! You guys just scared me to death! I can't stop shaking! I thought you were run over, but it was just a stupid basketball!"
"IT WAS NOT STUPID! IT WAS MY FAVORITE ONE!!!!!!" he screamed.
And so the event ended as they often do at our house: "You are being ridiculous. You've been screaming for five minutes and I'm not listening to it anymore. Go to your room until you can get some control of yourself."
I guess tomorrow we'll buy a new basketball.
Disclaimer: No Hickmans were injured during the course of this story.
My greatest fear is that something will happen to my children. I recognize the futility of attempting to wrap them in bubble wrap and confine them to their rooms, and I do my best to keep the crazy paranoia at bay, but it doesn't always work.
We live on a street with lots of families, and I'm grateful that the boys have kids in the neighborhood they can play with. They cavort from yard to yard playing football and what-have-you. I'm happy about this, yet I remind them about six hundred thousand times a day to "stay away from the street!" and "watch for cars because they can't see you!" and I do frequent checks to see if I can catch them being less careful than I think they should be so we can have a quick mini-lesson on how to watch for cars and stay away from the street. I know they are as safe as boys can be playing outside, and I know that boys should play outside with their friends, but still, I always fear they will be careless and something horrible will happen. I figure probably every parent feels this way.
In the scene I'm about to create, it's important to note that I've been feeling a little run down this week. I've been dragging myself out of bed every morning and doing my best to act like I feel great, but I feel exhausted. I think the problem is that I've gotten back into my gym routine, so at night I'm really tired. So tired, in fact, that I'm sleeping really hard. As a result, I've had these wild and crazy dreams every night for like two weeks. I'm doing hard work in these dreams - running from killers and escaping fires and warning people of disaster and such, and I think all that work is making me wake up tired. This is my hypothesis regarding my lethargy.
(It occurs to me here that it may seem to the outsider like I'm in need of a psychiatric evaluation. I won't agree or disagree.)
Tonight we got home from school around 5:15, and the boys immediately went outside to play basketball. I considered straightening the house a little or finding something for dinner, but ultimately I felt the need to crash on the couch for the twenty minutes I had before Keaton's basketball game.
So I dozed into a state of conscious oblivion and briefly wondered if anyone would notice if I just slept until tomorrow. I thought about turning off the living room light, but that would have required me to get up from the couch, so the idea quickly passed.
Then it happened.
The scream.
A blood curdling scream of panic echoed through the garage. I knew immediately it was Keaton screaming, and I could hear the terror in his voice. The scream was continuous and strong, so in that split second I knew that Keaton was okay but he had seen something terrible.
I leaped over the dog gate, threw my phone on the floor, and as I entered the garage I saw the neighbor's truck stopped at the end of his driveway. The back lights flared, so I knew it was running. Keaton was now screaming words, but all I heard was "Molly's dad!" and I could see Molly's dad running around to the back of his truck.
I did not see Tucker.
In the two and one half seconds that followed, my worst fears were realized. I knew in my heart that there was a person under the tires of that truck, and that our lives would never be the same. I was moving in slow motion in the beginning of a Lifetime movie, and I blamed myself for allowing my children to play outside and not sitting with them every minute and trying to take a quick nap and just all around being the worst mother ever. I saw a funeral and weeping and I knew that I would never, ever recover. It was my greatest fear realized.
And then I saw Tucker.
And then Molly's dad picked up a misshapen object from under his truck tire, raised it up, and said, "I popped their basketball."
And then Tucker began to scream. It was a blood curdling scream of panic. A scream delivered not because of serious bodily injury to a loved one, but because he just discovered that his basketball had been popped.
Seriously?
I mumbled, "Dear God, I thought it was a person," and I clutched my screaming-but-perfectly-fine children and retreated quickly into the house and began to sob. I'm sure Molly's dad probably considered the emotional stability of my household for a moment or two before he got back into the truck.
I cried, and when I calmed down, Keaton calmed down.
Tucker continued to wail. Wail terrible cries of lament and pain as he lay crumpled on our living room floor.
"Tucker," I said calmly, "It's just a basketball. We can get a new one."
"But I loved that basketball. It was my favorite one. And now I can't play basketball anymore," he choked out between sobs.
I guess I just thought I had calmed down because crazy mommy surfaced so quickly.
I was crying and yelling at him. "I thought it was you! I thought you were under that truck and it was horrible! You guys just scared me to death! I can't stop shaking! I thought you were run over, but it was just a stupid basketball!"
"IT WAS NOT STUPID! IT WAS MY FAVORITE ONE!!!!!!" he screamed.
And so the event ended as they often do at our house: "You are being ridiculous. You've been screaming for five minutes and I'm not listening to it anymore. Go to your room until you can get some control of yourself."
I guess tomorrow we'll buy a new basketball.
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