Clean eating

Once upon a time there was a woman who got tired of having to come up with first the ideas and then the food to eat every night. That woman had a brilliant husband. This brilliant husband decided it was worth while to pay for a meal-planning service.

I got over my stubborn perfectionism, admitted that my menus weren't all that consistently balanced or exciting, and researched a few of the more popular meal planning services. We decided to go with eMeals and their "Clean Eating" plan. (Because apparently their other menu plans are not clean?)

Tonight I prepared the first meal and it was lovely. Steak and tomato kebabs with roasted barley pilaf, to be precise. I feel such a sense of relief that I don't have to THINK anymore about food; all I have to do is buy what's on the shopping list and do what the directions say each night. Lovely, lovely system. Tomorrow we're having Greek pizza with lemon spinach salad and the night after that we'll have balsamic glazed chicken with crunchy lentil salad.

I'm really thankful for that brilliant husband of mine. I'm also thankful that I don't have to spend time doing something that isn't all that exciting to me, and for a husband who understands. We'll all probably eat better, this way - hooray for meal planning done by someone else!

You'll know it's me when I come through your town

Elaine started a conversation as we passed a used car lot near our apartment that specializes in higher-end cars.

"Daddy? When our car booms into another car and we have to get a new one? I want an orange car."

"Oh really?" Superman replied.

"Yeah," she continued, "with sticking-up doors."

It's then we realize she's referring to the Lamborghini on display.

Nice choice, little girl.

Then Superman and I joked about getting a door kit for our little toaster car. That would be hilarious.

Well, what do you expect?

Last night I almost got up out of bed two or three times so I could write down phrases and words to describe a concept that's been floating around in my head.

It's still not neat or concise or complete in my head, but here it is. It's something I've realized about me.

The more tightly I grasp at and cling to my expectations of another person, the greater chance I will miss reality and the unique gift of who they really ARE (imperfections and all), instead of who or how I wish them to be. It's easy for me to get tunnel vision and no longer see all the wonderful things about them (or even the un-wonderful, but realistic things); I no longer am present and available to listen and care and offer love and support for where they are. I only see each time they once again fail to be... something that wasn't them, at least not in that particular moment. I'm only looking for who I want them to be, who I expect them to be, who they should be (according to me)... instead of who they are.

I've spent so much time and energy informing Superman of how he should be or think or act or feel. I've thrown so many internal (and external) tantrums when he did NOT behave how I thought he should. I've lined up expectation after unrealistic expectation along with lists of reasons as to why they should be reasonable... and in so doing have become quite miserable - so long as my happiness rests in whether or not he (or anyone) meets my expectations.

I've really been too afraid and insecure to put the focus on me. I'm the only one I really have any control over. It's so humbling, but I've got to start (and stay) with me. A fellow twelve-stepper described recovery work as being "painfully exhilarating."

Yes, it certainly is. And I've become so much happier as a result!

A man of lesser quality would not have put up with me for as long as Superman has. I'm supremely grateful for him. Just the way he is.

Brought to you by...

...my meticulous man!
Sent from my Droid 2 Global

IKEA

Today we spent a few hundred dollars at IKEA and Superman spent a few hours building things. The only thing left to install is this (just one row) which I LOVE and will use to display the kids' artwork. That will free up space on the fridge for my collection of various comics I've deemed worthy of lamination.

It's been a long time (or maybe it's been never!) since I've had a house that wasn't under construction AND have had motivation to really put thought into decorating it AND have had the money to do so! I'm actually having fun with it which I find somewhat surprising. Maybe this homemaker thing really IS for me. Who knew?!

He loved her first

"When I grow all up? And get married? And move into a new house with a boy? I... I... will miss my daddy snuggling me."

- Elaine, despairingly.

Oh thank heaven...

On the drive home from Superman's softball game...

Val: Whew! It's hot.

Superman: Yeah I need to turn on the AC.

Elaine: And get slurpees.

Sent from my Droid 2 Global

Yosemite

Yosemite falls (the lower section.)

A few minutes after this was taken we went climbing up the rocks behind us to get close to the waterfall (and become liberally sprayed with waterfall mist.)

I love this guy. He's my favorite.

Those are California Poppies. The hillsides looked rusty.

I love oak trees. (This was outside the park.)

Welcome to Yosemite! This is right after the park entrance.

Agua!

Ahhhhhhhhhgua!

So this almost wrecked ME

What kind of a man collides with a metal guardrail at 40 mph with absolutely nothing to cushion the blow except one layer of spandex...and then gets back on his bike 30 minutes later and rides 90 more miles? Mine. (And then the next day he rode 50 miles. And then the day after that he rode 25 miles.)

What kind of man has an enormous bruise with scattered road rash across his left hip and thigh? Also mine.

Quite fortunately for Superman, the person biking right behind him just happened to be a fireman/paramedic. He watched the whole thing happen and was on scene immediately, starting triage. His wife later said to me that it was the kind of wreck that people either do not live to be able to walk away from or they walk away mostly unharmed. A passing motorist (also an off-duty fireman/paramedic! Let's hear it for those guys!) saw it happen and stopped to offer assistance. His immediate thought was, "there's no WAY that guy doesn't have a broken femur." Way, dude.

I am so very deeply grateful it wasn't any worse.

Oh, and in case you wondered, the bike is totally fine aside from a small scuff on the seat.

May this be the worst bike wreck he is ever a part of.

Here's my Superman at El Capitan in Yosemite National Park after riding his bike 170 miles to get there. Being married to this guy is definitely NOT boring.

Driven

My Superman will bike a minimum of 40 miles before lunch. Possibly 60. It is, of course, my personal opinion that he is amazing.

*UPDATE*

No one showed up to the morning ride so he went in the afternoon. He rode 49.52 miles in 3 hours and 10 minutes. His top speed was 39.9 mph. He's in the hot tub now.

Sent from my Droid 2 Global

Gotta work for it

Superman, snuggling with Elaine: Can I have a kiss, sweet girl?

Elaine, briefly considers then cheerfully firm: Maybe next time!

Look into your heart and you'll find love love love love

Superman, announcing to all of us: I love my beautiful girls.

Elaine, promptly: No. I'm pretty.

Superman, smiling: Oh pardon me; I love my pretty Elaine.

Val, not one to be left out: And I'm wonderful!

Superman: OK. You're wonderful.

Superman, joking, to me: Have I created a couple of monsters?

Me, chuckling: I don't think this kind of daddy-loving-his-girls monster could ever get out of hand.

Trials at church

Scene: getting ready for church this morning.

Val: Why do we go to church today?

Superman: Because it's Sunday and we go to church on Sunday. Don't you like going to church and seeing your teacher and playing with your friends and making crafts?

Val, sighing: Yeah, I do, but sometimes mommies and daddies bring their mean kids to church.

Babies and the people who love them.

We drove Superman to work last night. As we waited at a red light, a city bus crossed the intersection in front of us. The billboard on the side of the bus had a picture of a newborn baby, asleep on her tummy, legs tucked under in the way that newborns do, sweet little baby face all squished against her arms. My 220-pound, 6'3", law enforcement officer husband's reaction was, "awwwww! look at that sweet little baby!" I could hear his heart melting.

So I did look. And as I did, I smiled, and thanked God for such a tender man to be the father of my girls.

For today, August 29

Outside my window is a yard that has been enjoyed by many family members this afternoon.

I am thinking that I'll see if I can teach myself to ride a unicycle before Superman can. Don't have much time to commit to it, though.

I am thankful for my family and how fun it is to be with them.

I am wearing super low rise jeans and a shirt that keeps sliding up (irritating.)

I am remembering to do something with the box of peaches my mother left me.

I am going to dinner with my beloved brother soon. I hope.

I am currently reading Ephesians.

I am hoping that Elaine will get the wire out of her finger on Wednesday.

On my mind: minimalist thinking and living.

Noticing that I have been able to ask for what I need, emotionally, at least once. Record! =)

Pondering these words: Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.

From the kitchen: party leftovers: lasagna, potato salad, caesar salad, fruit, garlic bread and punch.

Around the house I am trying to establish places to put cleaning supplies for that room/area IN that room/area.

One of my favorite things is when Elaine comes running to me, shouting "mommy! mommy!" and when I pick her up she squeezes my neck and presses her head into my cheek while wrapping her legs around my torso.

From my picture journal: Superman doing a tandem jump for his birthday! (P.S. I did not take this picture. =) )

Nearly home free

I'm on edge.

Superman has two weeks off (the first week was scheduled, the second is purely coincidental) and I think I need the break at least as much as he does.

It's hard, thinking your kids are YOURS and then realizing they aren't, really, and nearly anything can happen to them at any time... and you can't control it, or at least not half as much as you thought you could. But you do control enough of it to be able to blame yourself anytime something goes slightly (or non-slightly) awry.

Also, I hate carpet. Carpet is gross. Yes, this may be because I am currently the owner of three long-haired pets, two of which are over 75 pounds, and all of which have had particularly bad cases of fleas. I've never had a flea problem like this before! I wonder if it's due to the raging squirrel population in these parts. Frontline didn't eliminate it completely so I've purchased bombs/sprays to knock EVERYthing out and hopefully that'll be the end of it.

The last thing I need is for us to get flea bites that could be infected with MRSA. I wish MRSA was bright orange so I could just SEE where it is or IF it is and then scour the heck out of wherever it was.

Tomorrow begins day one of Superman's mid-life crisis birthday extravaganza. He's signed up to participate in a triathlon AFTER working a 12 hour shift. Thinks he's still young and resilient, does he? We'll see about that. We're waking up early to go cheer him on and then drive him home straight to bed. Other events in the mid-life crisis extravaganza include sky-diving, seeing Wicked (nothing to do with mid-life, just something he's wanted to do since the beginning) and of course a birthday party at which we will mourn his old age (30!) and I'll suggest he get a tattoo like this.

Back to parenting. I really think Val is having a hard time with all the attention Elaine has been getting ever since that fateful day. I know I'm probably subconsciously paying more close attention to Elaine than Val and I hate that. I've tried to make a concerted effort to connect with Val and to have equal one-on-one time with her, but I'm sad to say that she has really gotten probably mostly leftovers from me over the past few months. Ugh. How do you fix that? I just feel spread so thinly. Of course my needs were the first to go. Why does it have to effect her too? I can't do it all.

So I escape and make poor decisions that stack up until everything is screaming for attention. Which is overwhelming.

Like I said, two weeks of Superman being home with us will be wonderful.

Perilous labeling

I know I said I would blog about how poor Elaine got stitches and an appointment with an orthopedist, but I just haven't had time until now, and I really don't have a ton of time right now.

Basically it was one part accident plus one part distracted mom plus one part big sister who has lots to learn re: scissor safety.

I was in the master bathroom trying to quickly brush my teeth without anyone waking up the sleeping Superman. Elaine was shrieking at my feet so I grabbed a ziploc bag out of the bathroom drawer that was labeled "nail clippers/tweezers" and tossed it to her. She was sitting at my feet. Val came in a few seconds later and they were opening the bag and discussing it's contents. I'm normally very good at labeling things and not putting mislabeled things into a labeled location (the thing will just remain homeless until I can put it where it goes) so I didn't double check the items in the bag too closely as I was only intending it to be a distraction for 45 more seconds. Plus, I fully expected it to contain nothing more than nail clippers and tweezers.

Well, that's all it takes, folks.

Next thing I know Elaine is SCREAMING and I look down to see Val holding SCISSORS that are around Elaine's right index finger. They're the small, baby nail-trimming kind that we have never used and thus the scissors were VERY sharp. I could tell the cut was deep but there was so much blood I couldn't really see how bad it was. I paced around the house for a minute or two, tightly holding a rag to poor Elaine's finger while I tried to determine a reasonable course of action.

I had to get her to the ER because I was pretty sure it would need stitches or glue or something. Maybe an adult wouldn't have required it but on a 1.5 year old... there's no way it was going to be kept still and dry and clean enough to just use band-aids.

So I woke up Superman (who was a mere 1.5 hours into his day's sleep) and off we went. I sat twisted around the whole way, holding onto Elaine's finger.

The ER wasn't busy, thankfully, except for a lady who had just been hit by a car (!!!) while bicycling. A good Samaritan wheeled her in a wheelchair - why she didn't accept the ambulance ride I have no idea.

The Dr. first tried glue which worked rather well, but then the more we looked at it the more the Dr. was concerned that perhaps Elaine's TENDON had been cut, because she wasn't straightening her finger all the way. We tried all sorts of things to get her to point and move that finger and she just wasn't doing it. So the Dr. said he wanted a better look and then he'd just stitch it. So that's what we did. He ended up not being able to see very well (such a tiny finger) so he still didn't know if the tendon was hurt or not.

Oh now I remember why I wanted to wait to blog this - I have a picture of Elaine giving us the cheesiest smile after we strapped her into the straight-jacket board thing.

Anyhow, they numbed up her finger and went to work. I wasn't able to watch very much as I was doing everything I could to comfort and console my girl, but apparently it was only (!) five stitches. Both the nurse and the Dr. commented on how well Elaine did, considering. Poor girl was screaming "UP! UP! UP!" (as in pick me up, Mommy) and "ALL DONE! ALL DONE!" I was right there kissing her, holding her other hand, hugging her, stroking her head, singing to her... utterly heartbreaking.

The nurse designed the coolest bandage for the finger. I mean, I know they have lots of practice, but he designed it so perfectly to maximise the chances of it remaining on the finger of a 1.5 year old. I was impressed.

And then we set an appointment with an orthopedist and the ER Dr. mentioned HAND SURGERY and I shuddered and cringed and berated myself further.

Then we fled to the parking lot where Superman and Val waited. Val was buckled in, playing with some toys and Superman reclined in the passenger's seat, with the front windows down. Without giving it much thought, I reached in the window and lightly touched Superman's arm to wake him up and let him know we were back.

Holy cow.

The second I touched him he bolted upright, his other arm flew up to grab my arm and a split second later his other hand was ready to... I don't know, punch me or something. But then he saw it was me and I was holding Elaine and he and woke all the way up and of course I was saying, "it's me, it's me, it's me, it's ok, it's just me!"

It's nice to know he has good reflexes though, even when dozing off. Beware!

And so ends the adventure of the sliced finger, at least this installment. Hopefully I'll have a good report after the appointment on Friday, though given what I've observed since, I'm pretty sure the tendon is damaged.

 

Fire!

I nearly burned the house down!

OK, so it wasn’t really all THAT dramatic, but there was a real, live fire on my stove top for a few seconds.

I turned on the wrong (glass-top) burner, and someone (perhaps Superman, but one can’t be sure) had left a pamphlet on that wrong burner.

Fortunately I noticed the smoke (huh, I thought it would take longer then that for the water to boil!) and then fire (OK now I KNOW that’s not water boiling) and leaped into action before any damage (to anything other than the pamphlet) was done.

And now I’m sitting here in the family room, fans on, windows and doors open, waiting for the burned smell to subside.

---

I’m also waiting for the internet to come back. Superman spent the afternoon crawling around the attic poking wires here and there, drilling holes and driving to and from Fry’s Electronics. He only wanted to drive to and from Fry’s once, but he got to do it twice because he’s special like that.

Soon, we will have all the internet “things” (and by “things” I mean the collection of little boxes with pretty blinking lights that make the internet work) on a shelf near the ceiling in our entryway closet. This means they will NOT be cluttering up the office desktop. In fact, the goal is to get all computer and officey things out of the office and into the living room so that the office can become a bedroom.

Spare bedroom for now (come visit!) but possibly foster care bedroom in the distant future.

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I mentioned a while back (via Twitter, I believe) that I would not be tweezing my eyebrows for three weeks. Operation eyebrow takeover has not been as hostile as I originally thought. The three week mark was last Wednesday and I do believe I’ll continue to let my eyebrow(s) do their thing until about a week before the wedding.

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There's a possibility that the external hard drive we (are supposed to) back up our data to is ruined and that I have therefore lost a few years worth of pictures. My worst fear. I distrust anything that isn't able to be held in my hands, tangibly. I hope to goodness this isn't the case. I would have lost Val's birth and babyhood as well as lots of our first and second years together. I know they're just pictures.... but if any of you have any recommendations on what to do in the future for back-up let me know please!

Superman is thinking about something like Carbonite. I'd rather not entrust my personal data to strangers, though, no matter how much it's encrypted. I mean, I know I already do this online with banking and stuff. And email. So I guess why not just throw it all out there? *sigh*



Singled out

I've realized something. Even though Superman does sleep here during the days that he's working (either 3 or 4 consecutive nights of 12-hour shifts) he's really not present. I'm pretty much a single mom around the clock. No wonder I'm tired and I feel like it's really hard and it's hard not to feel like I do all the work and it's not fair, etc., etc.. I used to think about his days on as a mini-deployment of sorts, but it isn't really, because he's still around to consume food, create laundry and mess up the bathroom counter. In thinking about it even further... we really do only see him for just about an hour per 24-hour period each day he works. The other time he's either working or sleeping. This whole work/life balance thing is tricky.

I'm wondering if we should get rid of one of our dogs. A few nights ago a neighbor called the police because of our dogs barking at 10:20 pm. I was at my parents’ house for the night and Superman had forgotten to feed them before he left for work so it makes sense they'd be feeling neglected, poor pups. They can go in and out of our garage, we usually put them in the garage for the night, but Superman didn't because he's gone for so long. I wish this neighbor would just speak to us directly, because I get that our dogs can be loud and disturbing, and I'd like to apologize or at least give them our phone numbers so they can call us directly first. Ambulances tend to set the dogs off in particular, and we live near a few medical centers. ANYhow. Someone (I'm assuming this same neighbor) left a relatively civil, anonymous note in our mailbox re: the barking dogs a few months after we moved in. They threatened to call the police if it continued to be an issue. We've made every effort to keep the dogs quiet. This is an older, quieter neighborhood and I want to respect the people who have lived here for decades. But whoever it is who has complained hasn't made their identity known to us and I find that irritating and somewhat cowardly. Completely within their rights, but dude! We want to make it right! We're home all the time - come over and talk to us.

Anyhow. The barkingest dog is Jackson. He's a piece of work, that dog. I love him and I've worked hard at making him sociable, but it's increasingly difficult to do that and take care of my kids and other responsibilities. I was in collage when I got him and had enough time to give him what he needed and he responded so well. I was hoping I could make him into a well-adjusted dog, but I didn't quite get there before I started having kids. Our bond has slipped over the years. Since he wasn't well-socialized as a pup AND he lost one of his legs before he was two, it's been tough to convince him that people in general are OK. (His parents were wild/roaming dogs in a rural area - I got him when my aunt caught him and his brother after his mom was teaching them how to harass my aunt's sheep.) He's not an aggressive dog, just insecure and fearful sometimes, which shows itself as lots of suspicious barking. He always barks at SOMEthing. He's not a mindless, endless, boredom barker. He just barks at things that do not necessarily necessitate barking at. I don't need to know every time someone walks past the house. If I were my neighbor I'd probably complain too.

All of this to say that, if I could find the right family to take Jackson, I would gladly send him off. He would be happiest with another dog (he relates and bonds to other dogs way better than most people, understandably) and on a large property on which he could tire himself out and then be too busy sleeping to bother with barking at every passing person. He's a German/Australian Shepherd mix, which makes him smart with a bit of energy, too. It's too bad he has just three legs because what he really needs is to be run every day, but the lack of leg makes that tough on him. Not that he won't try and do it anyhow, and he can, for a time, but not long enough to really tire him out. I can barely get him out for walks as it is.

Plus, we'll probably have to get rid of one or maybe both dogs the next time we move and since I know Jackson would be much harder to place than Tbird, it would make sense to start looking sooner, right? *sigh*

I just don't know what the most responsible thing to do is. I know that he'd be taken care of at a German Shepherd rescue place, but would they accept that? It's not like I'm in dire straights and can no longer afford him. I feel like a bad owner, I don't want to just dump him off to be someone else's problem, but I really know he would probably be happier in a different place, and not a problem at all - if that place could be found. I guess I could call and see what they say. I don't mind keeping him until they find a place for him. My neighbors might mind though. =)

I'm trying to stay awake until midnight, when I can tweet something Eastery. I have an hour to come up with something.

Or less. I'm falling asleep. I did go to an Easter service this afternoon, so in that sense I've already celebrated and thus Lent is over for me. Right?

Of course right. I'm tired.

 



Insecure people cannot fail

Came across this on another blog today...

"I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

–Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

That person who isn't even looking at their feet? And having boatloads more fun? I call him Superman. It sometimes makes me crazy looking at both my feet AND his feet (because if I don't, who on earth will?!?! ALL FEET MUST BE WATCHED. IT'S A RULE.) but man do I appreciate the grace he has for me and the love he has for life. I do a really good job of killing that in him some a lot of the time, and I don't want to, because it's everything I truly love about him.