For Special People

Yesterday was one of our favorite events, the Spectrum Family Fishing day event. We always really enjoy it, it's a day just for our families with Special little guys - a day where no one will stare at you if your kid is screaming or flailing or stemming for no apparent reason.

Three of four kids caught fish - Miles caught a leaf. They like the idea of the fish, but neither Miles nor Charlie will do much but want to reel the line in. But Charlie was fascinated by his fish, he gave it a good grab. Sorry fishy. Lots of fish were caught by lots of kids this year it seemed, it was really a happy day for little fishermen.
In my mind I'm always very Captain Quinn about it.

In reality I'm someone's dorky mom trying to remember how to cast. It's the thought that counts, right?

They always also offer horseback riding for the little people too. I wasn't sure this year how Miles would take to it, he's been really afraid of dogs for the past year, and sometimes other random animals. He's never been afraid of horses BEFORE but he also didn't used to be afraid of dogs so, I wasn't sure.

He loved it. It was a short ride but a lot fun for my four little guys.

It's a pretty good day when a family of six can go horseback riding, fishing, and have a picnic all for free, thanks to some wonderful people who host this event every year. We have fun, breathe fresh air and cavort in the outdoors with other families who live our weird lives.

For one day, we're just like everyone else.

It's pretty awesome.

We decided to end our day with more outdoor fun so we broke out the grill for the first time this season. Some tree frogs had decided my grill was the place to be.

After I evicted them Charlie and Julia helped me make some delicious although somewhat burned hamburgers. Hey it's my first grill of the season, give me a break.

I slept like the dead and the kids let me sleep till 8:30 this morning.

Seriously, it was a great Saturday.

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For Special People

Yesterday was one of our favorite events, the Spectrum Family Fishing day event. We always really enjoy it, it's a day just for our families with Special little guys - a day where no one will stare at you if your kid is screaming or flailing or stemming for no apparent reason.

Three of four kids caught fish - Miles caught a leaf. They like the idea of the fish, but neither Miles nor Charlie will do much but want to reel the line in. But Charlie was fascinated by his fish, he gave it a good grab. Sorry fishy. Lots of fish were caught by lots of kids this year it seemed, it was really a happy day for little fishermen.
In my mind I'm always very Captain Quinn about it.

In reality I'm someone's dorky mom trying to remember how to cast. It's the thought that counts, right?

They always also offer horseback riding for the little people too. I wasn't sure this year how Miles would take to it, he's been really afraid of dogs for the past year, and sometimes other random animals. He's never been afraid of horses BEFORE but he also didn't used to be afraid of dogs so, I wasn't sure.

He loved it. It was a short ride but a lot fun for my four little guys.

It's a pretty good day when a family of six can go horseback riding, fishing, and have a picnic all for free, thanks to some wonderful people who host this event every year. We have fun, breathe fresh air and cavort in the outdoors with other families who live our weird lives.

For one day, we're just like everyone else.

It's pretty awesome.

We decided to end our day with more outdoor fun so we broke out the grill for the first time this season. Some tree frogs had decided my grill was the place to be.

After I evicted them Charlie and Julia helped me make some delicious although somewhat burned hamburgers. Hey it's my first grill of the season, give me a break.

I slept like the dead and the kids let me sleep till 8:30 this morning.

Seriously, it was a great Saturday.

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Every Little Things She Does

Having a girl remains an amazing mystery to me. Maybe every parent thinks so, but I'm in wonder of this child and wonder if I was ever like her. She's on FIRE with joy at life. She's constantly playing. She's willful. She's creative.

She's kind of hilarious.

She's also making life plans. She's begun telling me about how, when she has a baby, she's going to need a baby bed in her room. Of course I told her that will be fine we'll get one. She tells me I can babysit when she has to go to work. She's going to marry Mario, she thinks. Yes, Mario. That Mario. Not Andretti. The one fighting Donkey Kong.

She loves her brothers with wild abandon. She fights with her brothers with wild abandon. The fighting part drives me crazy and I struggle to let them work things out in healthy ways. I don't fight in healthy ways so mentally I can't handle seeing other people do it. Fighting to me always equals a lack of love, but I see so much love demonstrated between my children that I hold my tongue the best I can.

Sometimes I fail.

She's begun telling jokes. My brother and oldest son are joke impaired. It must be carried on the Y chromosome because my five year old tells surrealist jokes. "Why did the chicken cross the road?" "BOAT!" (I keep telling her FISH is a better answer, but who am I to tell her HOW to do surrealism?)

Right now she's sleeping in her bed and it's 12 minutes before I get this whole circus up for the day because we have an outing to go to today. I'm drinking my black coffee and looking forward to all those little faces.

I can't wait to see what she does today.
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Every Little Things She Does

Having a girl remains an amazing mystery to me. Maybe every parent thinks so, but I'm in wonder of this child and wonder if I was ever like her. She's on FIRE with joy at life. She's constantly playing. She's willful. She's creative.

She's kind of hilarious.

She's also making life plans. She's begun telling me about how, when she has a baby, she's going to need a baby bed in her room. Of course I told her that will be fine we'll get one. She tells me I can babysit when she has to go to work. She's going to marry Mario, she thinks. Yes, Mario. That Mario. Not Andretti. The one fighting Donkey Kong.

She loves her brothers with wild abandon. She fights with her brothers with wild abandon. The fighting part drives me crazy and I struggle to let them work things out in healthy ways. I don't fight in healthy ways so mentally I can't handle seeing other people do it. Fighting to me always equals a lack of love, but I see so much love demonstrated between my children that I hold my tongue the best I can.

Sometimes I fail.

She's begun telling jokes. My brother and oldest son are joke impaired. It must be carried on the Y chromosome because my five year old tells surrealist jokes. "Why did the chicken cross the road?" "BOAT!" (I keep telling her FISH is a better answer, but who am I to tell her HOW to do surrealism?)

Right now she's sleeping in her bed and it's 12 minutes before I get this whole circus up for the day because we have an outing to go to today. I'm drinking my black coffee and looking forward to all those little faces.

I can't wait to see what she does today.
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Fairy Dust and Vomit

We went to the mythical land of fairies and knights, where ladies and knaves roam and sometimes even gargoyles come to life and come visit while you eat. Yes, we went to the Renaissance Festival.

There were all the requisite human powered rides, Julia insists that they are all ROLLERCOASTERS, and the small humans were once again entranced with the magic of the place. I have to admit, it's pretty wonderful. There's a jeweler I always stop at and pick up some earrings, and a lady who makes soap (not not out of human fat although maybe that would improve authenticity?) whom I always buy from. Weird little traditions that don't matter much to anyone but I find them comforting, so I do them.

Also in tradition the varied and anachronistic foods offered.

No this isn't all my food. this is food for the table. We tend to like to get a bit of this and that and pass it around. I thought I'd done a pretty good job of not over indulging.

Of course, after changing the boys diapers in the porta-potty in 90 degree heat, and it's so much hotter in there, and then taking the girl potty, again, it's so much hotter in there - suddenly, I didn't feel so great. I didn't feel so great AT ALL.

The heat swelling up inside me was like an inferno. I had sweat pouring out of me and I started to feel nauseous, and shaky.  At first I thought I could shake it off, that it'd pass. But as we walked onward to find a shady spot to sit I realized nothing was going to pass except OUTWARD and rushed back to the porta-potty.

A few things about vomiting. First of all, traditionally I'm a kneeler and a toilet clutcher. That's probably gross but that's how I roll. One cannot kneel nor clutch anything IN a porta-potty.

One cannot do anything in a porta-potty except lean one's face toward the doomed hell of the HOLE (remove your glasses first thankfully I thought of this) and just let it fly, bending at the waist and holding your agonized guts closely.

You might wistfully wish for a cold bathroom floor to lay on, to feel the cool tile beneath your cheek. There is no such respite in a porta-potty. In fact, it's vying for position with the Worst Toilet In Scotland and you'll stand and like it.

After the expulsion of all of the things I had eaten I returned to my family, again massively overheated from BEING IN THE PORTA-POTTY. Cruel humor that.

I'd say Mom ruined the day but they were VERY good sports about it. We did stay through the joust but we missed the drum circle dancing at the end (which was too bad, Julia was hoping to dance with the fairies again). I made it to the cool arctic wind of the van's air conditioning and felt well enough to eat dinner by the time we got to our side of town.

I was a little annoyed because, for the first time in YEARS I wore shorts, so that plus weighing less, I felt very strongly that I should've had LESS trouble with the heat, not AMAZINGLY MORE TROUBLE. But I guess not, eh?

We were rooting for the green knight. He didn't do so well alas.
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Fairy Dust and Vomit

We went to the mythical land of fairies and knights, where ladies and knaves roam and sometimes even gargoyles come to life and come visit while you eat. Yes, we went to the Renaissance Festival.

There were all the requisite human powered rides, Julia insists that they are all ROLLERCOASTERS, and the small humans were once again entranced with the magic of the place. I have to admit, it's pretty wonderful. There's a jeweler I always stop at and pick up some earrings, and a lady who makes soap (not not out of human fat although maybe that would improve authenticity?) whom I always buy from. Weird little traditions that don't matter much to anyone but I find them comforting, so I do them.

Also in tradition the varied and anachronistic foods offered.

No this isn't all my food. this is food for the table. We tend to like to get a bit of this and that and pass it around. I thought I'd done a pretty good job of not over indulging.

Of course, after changing the boys diapers in the porta-potty in 90 degree heat, and it's so much hotter in there, and then taking the girl potty, again, it's so much hotter in there - suddenly, I didn't feel so great. I didn't feel so great AT ALL.

The heat swelling up inside me was like an inferno. I had sweat pouring out of me and I started to feel nauseous, and shaky.  At first I thought I could shake it off, that it'd pass. But as we walked onward to find a shady spot to sit I realized nothing was going to pass except OUTWARD and rushed back to the porta-potty.

A few things about vomiting. First of all, traditionally I'm a kneeler and a toilet clutcher. That's probably gross but that's how I roll. One cannot kneel nor clutch anything IN a porta-potty.

One cannot do anything in a porta-potty except lean one's face toward the doomed hell of the HOLE (remove your glasses first thankfully I thought of this) and just let it fly, bending at the waist and holding your agonized guts closely.

You might wistfully wish for a cold bathroom floor to lay on, to feel the cool tile beneath your cheek. There is no such respite in a porta-potty. In fact, it's vying for position with the Worst Toilet In Scotland and you'll stand and like it.

After the expulsion of all of the things I had eaten I returned to my family, again massively overheated from BEING IN THE PORTA-POTTY. Cruel humor that.

I'd say Mom ruined the day but they were VERY good sports about it. We did stay through the joust but we missed the drum circle dancing at the end (which was too bad, Julia was hoping to dance with the fairies again). I made it to the cool arctic wind of the van's air conditioning and felt well enough to eat dinner by the time we got to our side of town.

I was a little annoyed because, for the first time in YEARS I wore shorts, so that plus weighing less, I felt very strongly that I should've had LESS trouble with the heat, not AMAZINGLY MORE TROUBLE. But I guess not, eh?

We were rooting for the green knight. He didn't do so well alas.
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The One Where I Complain About Everything

The care and feeding of a 46 year old woman is entirely too hard. First of all, I'm fat. I hate it but I'm ok with saying it. I am less fat than I was. What's my secret? What's my trick?

Diet and exercise. Yes. I decided to do the thing which sucks and is hard because it's the thing which actually works. Truth be told, I could be even lesser fat (or is it less fatter?) but the degree to which I hate working out is so hard to fathom, I also can't fathom working out MORE. But I need to. My body isn't getting stronger the way it needs to, it needs more work. If I was 25 it would be different but oh god I'm not. I'm 46 and atrophy has set in across the expanse of my ass.

I got lumpy. It was easy to blame the kids. Shakes from Chik Fil A, donuts at midnight and bacon maple sundaes played no part in my rolls of fat and cellulite I'm sure. No, my diet of mass consumption and glory really wasn't to blame. Nor were the hours sitting at the computer at work, sitting at the computer playing video games. No carrying four children, two at once, rendered me a blob of human body fat. WHAT A TRAGEDY OH HOW DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME?

The truth is, I love to eat and I hate to work out. I come from fat people who love to eat. Genetically I just didn't have a chance. So I have to change the way I behave. Am I going to go to the Renaissance Festival and refuse to eat any chocolate covered bacon? No - because I'm also not trying to live a life of denial. But what I am doing is changing what's my norm. Changing my "everyday" behavior so that it positively impacts the amount of weight I'm carrying around.

I have 69 pounds left to go to hit what I tentatively set as my goal weight. I am not sure my goal is where I mentally need to be though. My best friend reminds me rightfully that my only goal should be health. Unfortunately I'm not MENTALLY healthy enough for that kind of focus. I want a single digit size. Or damn close to one. I realized a couple of days ago that I'm down two sizes. That's really good, but I couldn't help being disappointed. I wanted MORE. I'm not realistic in wanting more but it's what I wanted. And I cried in the stupid dressing room because I was so mad.

My wants are simple. I want to shop at the normal shops. I don't want to have to go to stores for "PLUS" sizes. EVER EVER EVER EVER AGAIN. I don't want to have to walk to the WOMENS DEPARTMENT of a major department store, away from the cute and awesome clothes, to discover the lovely Alfred Dunner and White Stag collections.

What? That wouldn't look awesome on me? No? There was an article last year even describing plus sized clothes are HORRIBLE. They are. Are there some cute things out there? Sure. There's always exceptions, it's just wading through the pile of shit that's painful. Don't suggest mail order anything I don't shop online for clothes the end.

This is why I'm a little down right now, because doing the math on my lost sizes, it's occurred to me - down two sizes now, if I drop the 69 pounds that might only equal another two sizes.

Which puts me at a 16.

Which is un-fuckingacceptable.

Would it be amazingly smaller than I started out? Yes of course. Would my health improve? Yes.

Would I still have to go to freaking plus size shops for clothes?

Yes.

I'm not doing that. I've been doing that for 20 years and I'm not doing it anymore. I'm just not.

I have an unhealthy body image, and I place too much emphasis on appearance. I can own that. But what I want is to NOT feel this way and still having to shop at the places that I hate isn't going to make any improvements in how I feel. I want to feel NORMAL.

And, when I was a size 16...

everyone told me I was fat.

It's going to be a really long next year - about how long it will take to get this weight off in a healthy manner. But I am leaving the plus size shops behind, no matter what it takes.
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The One Where I Complain About Everything

The care and feeding of a 46 year old woman is entirely too hard. First of all, I'm fat. I hate it but I'm ok with saying it. I am less fat than I was. What's my secret? What's my trick?

Diet and exercise. Yes. I decided to do the thing which sucks and is hard because it's the thing which actually works. Truth be told, I could be even lesser fat (or is it less fatter?) but the degree to which I hate working out is so hard to fathom, I also can't fathom working out MORE. But I need to. My body isn't getting stronger the way it needs to, it needs more work. If I was 25 it would be different but oh god I'm not. I'm 46 and atrophy has set in across the expanse of my ass.

I got lumpy. It was easy to blame the kids. Shakes from Chik Fil A, donuts at midnight and bacon maple sundaes played no part in my rolls of fat and cellulite I'm sure. No, my diet of mass consumption and glory really wasn't to blame. Nor were the hours sitting at the computer at work, sitting at the computer playing video games. No carrying four children, two at once, rendered me a blob of human body fat. WHAT A TRAGEDY OH HOW DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME?

The truth is, I love to eat and I hate to work out. I come from fat people who love to eat. Genetically I just didn't have a chance. So I have to change the way I behave. Am I going to go to the Renaissance Festival and refuse to eat any chocolate covered bacon? No - because I'm also not trying to live a life of denial. But what I am doing is changing what's my norm. Changing my "everyday" behavior so that it positively impacts the amount of weight I'm carrying around.

I have 69 pounds left to go to hit what I tentatively set as my goal weight. I am not sure my goal is where I mentally need to be though. My best friend reminds me rightfully that my only goal should be health. Unfortunately I'm not MENTALLY healthy enough for that kind of focus. I want a single digit size. Or damn close to one. I realized a couple of days ago that I'm down two sizes. That's really good, but I couldn't help being disappointed. I wanted MORE. I'm not realistic in wanting more but it's what I wanted. And I cried in the stupid dressing room because I was so mad.

My wants are simple. I want to shop at the normal shops. I don't want to have to go to stores for "PLUS" sizes. EVER EVER EVER EVER AGAIN. I don't want to have to walk to the WOMENS DEPARTMENT of a major department store, away from the cute and awesome clothes, to discover the lovely Alfred Dunner and White Stag collections.

What? That wouldn't look awesome on me? No? There was an article last year even describing plus sized clothes are HORRIBLE. They are. Are there some cute things out there? Sure. There's always exceptions, it's just wading through the pile of shit that's painful. Don't suggest mail order anything I don't shop online for clothes the end.

This is why I'm a little down right now, because doing the math on my lost sizes, it's occurred to me - down two sizes now, if I drop the 69 pounds that might only equal another two sizes.

Which puts me at a 16.

Which is un-fuckingacceptable.

Would it be amazingly smaller than I started out? Yes of course. Would my health improve? Yes.

Would I still have to go to freaking plus size shops for clothes?

Yes.

I'm not doing that. I've been doing that for 20 years and I'm not doing it anymore. I'm just not.

I have an unhealthy body image, and I place too much emphasis on appearance. I can own that. But what I want is to NOT feel this way and still having to shop at the places that I hate isn't going to make any improvements in how I feel. I want to feel NORMAL.

And, when I was a size 16...

everyone told me I was fat.

It's going to be a really long next year - about how long it will take to get this weight off in a healthy manner. But I am leaving the plus size shops behind, no matter what it takes.
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Did It Hurt ?

The girl has been very interested lately in babies. Specifically in the HAVING of babies. When Louis was a little guy, he learned all the news about the birds and the bees very early because we explained to him the whole process at 19 months old when the twins were born. We kept reinforcing it, telling him the truth and using all the right words like good, modern parents.
This lead to him starting stories with "Remember that time you went to the hospital and the babies came out of your vagina?" But still, he got it and understood it.
Julia has known that she used to live in my tummy, and that every other child in our house used to also. She knows that the twins lived there together and this is what makes them twins. But she's never asked about the HOW until recently.
She asked me a few days ago how she got out of my tummy
I did the good modern parent routine. "Well, most babies like the boys come of out of a mommy's vaginas. But you were in the wrong position, so Mommy had a special operation and the doctor made a cut on my tummy after giving me medicine so it didn't hurt, and they pulled you out foot first."

That seemed to appease. Especially since Louis laughed at the idea of her dangling by her foot, and she seemed to think that was funny too.

But then two days ago, she comes up to me and places her hand on my stomach and looks up at me with teary eyes. "Mommy," she says. "Did it hurt when they cut off your tummy?" And her lip quivers and she's now got tears rolling down her face. "Did you cry?"

It's just different telling this to girls than I had realized. Mainly because, it could happen to THEM so they see it differently. It's not "oh that's an interesting process" it's "OMG that's going to HAPPEN TO ME?" I hadn't thought of it like that until that moment that I saw my own daughter facing the fear of childbirth that I remember well. Childbirth is one of those things that looms for females. Being a mommy is a fantastic game until you realize what you actually have to do to be one. I personally didn't mind it, but I'm awfully damn glad to know I'm not going to do it again, too. But when you haven't done it, it's just damn scary.

I scooped her up onto my lap and kissed her. "Baby they didn't cut off my tummy." And I went back through it, in very easy terms about the operation. I told her some lies, that it wasn't scary, that I didn't cry, I told her some truths, that I would've done it 1000 times to make sure she was born safe and sound, that it was worth every minute because it meant today I have a Julia to love, and that I was so happy when it was over, because I could finally kiss and hug her.

I hiked down my shorts and showed her my little tiny incision (Thank you Dr Doris). She stared at it intently. "How did a baby come out of that?" "You just did! I don't know! But surgeons do amazing stuff and that's how they got you out."

She inspected it and touched it. "Well that's not so bad."

No. It's not so bad little girl. It was worth every single inch of it.

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Did It Hurt ?

The girl has been very interested lately in babies. Specifically in the HAVING of babies. When Louis was a little guy, he learned all the news about the birds and the bees very early because we explained to him the whole process at 19 months old when the twins were born. We kept reinforcing it, telling him the truth and using all the right words like good, modern parents.
This lead to him starting stories with "Remember that time you went to the hospital and the babies came out of your vagina?" But still, he got it and understood it.
Julia has known that she used to live in my tummy, and that every other child in our house used to also. She knows that the twins lived there together and this is what makes them twins. But she's never asked about the HOW until recently.
She asked me a few days ago how she got out of my tummy
I did the good modern parent routine. "Well, most babies like the boys come of out of a mommy's vaginas. But you were in the wrong position, so Mommy had a special operation and the doctor made a cut on my tummy after giving me medicine so it didn't hurt, and they pulled you out foot first."

That seemed to appease. Especially since Louis laughed at the idea of her dangling by her foot, and she seemed to think that was funny too.

But then two days ago, she comes up to me and places her hand on my stomach and looks up at me with teary eyes. "Mommy," she says. "Did it hurt when they cut off your tummy?" And her lip quivers and she's now got tears rolling down her face. "Did you cry?"

It's just different telling this to girls than I had realized. Mainly because, it could happen to THEM so they see it differently. It's not "oh that's an interesting process" it's "OMG that's going to HAPPEN TO ME?" I hadn't thought of it like that until that moment that I saw my own daughter facing the fear of childbirth that I remember well. Childbirth is one of those things that looms for females. Being a mommy is a fantastic game until you realize what you actually have to do to be one. I personally didn't mind it, but I'm awfully damn glad to know I'm not going to do it again, too. But when you haven't done it, it's just damn scary.

I scooped her up onto my lap and kissed her. "Baby they didn't cut off my tummy." And I went back through it, in very easy terms about the operation. I told her some lies, that it wasn't scary, that I didn't cry, I told her some truths, that I would've done it 1000 times to make sure she was born safe and sound, that it was worth every minute because it meant today I have a Julia to love, and that I was so happy when it was over, because I could finally kiss and hug her.

I hiked down my shorts and showed her my little tiny incision (Thank you Dr Doris). She stared at it intently. "How did a baby come out of that?" "You just did! I don't know! But surgeons do amazing stuff and that's how they got you out."

She inspected it and touched it. "Well that's not so bad."

No. It's not so bad little girl. It was worth every single inch of it.

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