Cry Fat Cry

I've been handling PMS this month pretty well, I'd like to say.  I only cried once at work, when my employee showed me a picture of her dog on her phone.  I know, totally random, right?  What can I say, those eyes just sucked me right in.  And then there was today when I was regaling my colleagues with stories of how I'd get over a break up.  To be fair, we were all *sharing* and I thought it was funny that I fantasized about spray painting some one's house in the middle of the night and unhitching the hood of the car so that when he drove it would *accidentally* open on the highway.  They were all looking at me a little weird, and evidently they all missed the point, which was.....I didn't actually do any of those things.  I just thought about doing them.  But note to self (and everyone else out there...):  It's not very funny.  It's "crazy", according to my co-workers.

I've not been handling the *Working Out* very well this month.  I just can't seem to figure out how to fit it into a schedule when I'm so completely exhausted.  Do I wake up extra early in the morning? Do I do it after work when I'm beat?  I just don't know where/when it fits.

I am doing a few things differently, though.  I'm taking an ACAI (I like to pronounce it properly...A-sigh-EEE) supplement in the hope it will help me burn fat faster, plus it is a really good anti-oxidant, so they say.  I'm also taking a multi vitamin, because I heard on this morning show that I listen to every morning on my way into work that it helps fill in the spots that your diet misses and if you fill all those spots, you're not as tired and you don't crave crappy food that you crave when you have spots missing in your diet.  

(Please note that at this point my computer froze and I lost the rest of my post.  I have recreated as much as I could remember, but I was much wittier the first time round...)

But I don't notice a difference.  Yet.  I don't want to be supermodel thin.  I want to just be healthy.  I want to be comfortable.  I want to be happy with my body.  I don't want to run the Boston Marathon, but I do want to be able to plank for like two minutes (my record right now is somewhere around 8 seconds), do sit ups and push ups, and go on the elliptical for an hour feeling good, not cursing it every single minute.  I want my body to show me all the awesome things it can do.  I wouldn't mind eating an ice cream cone without feeling guilty either.  That would be fabulous.

A year ago I was a smoker.  So I figure if I can quit that, I can do anything.  I look to motivational sayings for inspiration.  Like this one...

And this one...I really like.  Especially for a perfectionist like me.  It doesn't really matter how I do it, or how well I do, or what I look like while I do it...all that matters is that I do it.  

What's your inspiration for working out???  My real true super inspiration is not being the fat sister at the wedding in January.  

There IS A Gem At The End

Oh hello there, friend!  

Uh, I don't know...it's just been like super crazy around here.  In the summer, I was so looking forward to back to school.  You know, the whole organization thing and the schedule and the structure.  It was just so appealing to me.  Any free moment during the summer I would relish in because I knew *this* was just around the corner.  And here we are, with the school and the making lunches and the earlier mornings and the soccer practices and the soccer games and the homework and the school forms and the work and well, here we are...

I love the schedule, and the organization that it requires.  I am totally on top of it, honey.  We moms have to be, don't we?  For it to work right, for us not to go insane, for our kids to be happy.  We have to pick the clothes out and make the lunches the night before so we're not running around like a banshee in the morning looking for a damn pair of socks.  Or house keys.  I mean, those things have legs sometimes, I swear it's true.  And it's any one's guess where Q decides to take off his running shoes on any given day.  

Mornings here are fun.  And by fun, I mean totally not fun.  My alarm clock goes off somewhere around 5:30 and then I usually hit snooze 3 times, sometimes more.  I start to eliminate non-essential parts of my morning routine...you know...like showering.  Who needs to shower like every single day?  I don't know, but not me if it means that I get to sleep for nine more minutes.  Then I get ready in the dark (so as to not wake anyone up).  At 6:30, I become Q's alarm clock, and just like his momma...he does not like mornings.  So, I wake him up 3 or 4 times.  I start all nice, "Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey!!!" and "Rise and Shine".  Then I beg, then I bargain, then I pull the sheets off the bed, turn on all the lights and threaten to leave him at home.  Of course we all know that they're idle threats, so the bargaining works way better.  

I won't bore you with the rest of my day, but it includes a lot of sitting in traffic, cursing the bridge I must travel to get to work, it includes a lot of yawning and it includes a whole lot of mail.  I get two nights a week where my little love is at his dad's and Wednesdays just happens to be one of them (hence the blogging!!  Side note:  my computer has been decidedly difficult lately.  It decides to not connect to the Internet, which is vital to blogging, really.  Sometimes, it decides to connect and then I get all excited and then it disconnects for no apparent reason.  Simply put...it's driving me crazy...)  And I went three days (!!) without nail polish on, just because I didn't have time to let it dry.  I know.  It was tragic.

We've had a tough go of grade two.  Poor Q.  He was so happy in a grade 2/3 split class and then one week into school he was moved into a 1/2 split and his little ego took a bit of a beating.  His teacher is...well, mean.  She scares me, for crying out loud.  She doesn't really interact with her kids, there is nothing on the walls.  She might as well be a high school teacher.  Or a warden.  Not a grade 2 teacher, that's for sure.  Q has been begging me to home school him.  So we've decided to give the teacher a chance.  A month long chance.  Maybe she's really scared of all the new kids, wondering if they'll like her.  Maybe she's sad about something else that's going on in her life.  Maybe she's misunderstood.  We're giving her a try.  Both of us...me and Q.  

He's terrified he's going to get into trouble.  He worries about things that most likely will never, ever happen. He's looking for an easy out.  He's got an awesome opportunity to learn this year...not just reading and writing, but there's an opportunity to grow as a person.  I'm really so excited for him, to be truthful.  How many people get this chance so early in life to become a better person?  Of course, I realize it's my job to help him grow and not just hide under a blanket.  Some adults I know still want to just hide under the blankets when something bad happens.  I'm using this as best I can - how happiness is a choice, worrying changes nothing, looking for the best in people, our actions affect those around us.  I don't know if he really understands all that right now, but I really hope that if I say it enough one day he'll just be like, "ohhhhh, I get it...."  If it's my mantra, I want to make sure it becomes his too.  It's the gem I give him, and I pray he recognizes its value when he's a grown man making his own choices.

And now, as promised...the Gem...

So beautiful.  So pure.  So Innocent.  I'm totally embarrassing him with this when he gets married!!

the deets - 3 weeks in...

Weight: 169 (-2)  ...uh...wha?

Boobies: 40 in (-3 in)  Why is it always the boobies that are the first to go??  *Sob*

Waist: 37 1/2 in (-1/2)

Hips: 45 (-1)

Thigh: 23 (-2 1/2)

Arm: 13 (-1)

I'm up to 30 minutes on the elliptical, 9.1 km.  The gym is just not practical for my life style.  Leaving your 7 year old in the car for an hour is frowned upon in these parts, as is leaving him home alone.  It's easier to work out at home, than it is to be arrested.

If I could only stay away from the ice cream and the hamburgers...

A Great Imagination, Slightly Delusional or Crazy?

You decide.  

Because I'm a little too close to the subject matter to be an impartial judge.  You see, I am the subject matter.  

I don't know if you remember, but a few months back I mentioned a story about a family that goes to Q's school that just broke my heart.  The family had been on a road trip, had a terrible accident where horribly, the mother passed away, leaving two small daughters and a husband behind.  I almost cried when I saw the father in crutches *walk* the two children to school, each in their own wheelchair, after a month or so in the hospital. It was such a stark reminder of how horrible things could happen in the blink of an eye.

As the months passed, I thought often of the girls and how they were faring in the aftermath of probably the most horrid thing ever to happen to anyone.  I cannot even imagine losing my mom at all, let alone at such an early age in such an awful way.  How were they healing without their mother?  Was someone there to take care of them?  How was their father?  How was he dealing with raising two little girls without the love of his life?  The mother of his children?

And then I got to thinking what would it be like to date a widower?  How would it be different from dating a divorcee or someone who's never been married?  How would it be to become the step mother of two little girls who had lost their mother?  I wonder...

I know, so many questions!!

Here's the thing...I thought about him and them so much that when I saw him at the school yesterday, I expected him to recognize me.  I would daydream about him.  I saw him, I smiled and he looked straight through me to his daughter.  Well, of course he did.  He doesn't know me from a hole in the ground.  In his world, I don't even exist.  It was embarrassing.  Thankfully no one saw.  Thankfully, I didn't wave and call him darling.  I mean, seriously, what am I?  How so very *ambulance-chaser* of me.  I feel so guilty for even considering it.

My heart has been broken (numerous times over) by men who don't even really know who I am, or know me only to say hello and then carry on with their day.  My imagination sees a man, and creates a story - a love story - around them and me.  It's epic.  It's fabulous.  It's a fairy tale.  It's my imagination.  I've begun to think that no real story will ever be good enough for me because I've created so many ridiculous ones in my head.  

A few angry uterus days ago, I ran into three male colleagues who were trying to figure out why I was in such a bad mood (duh...) and one said, "Oh, I think she's worried about finding a date for her brother's wedding!"  They all started laughing and I just couldn't deal with the smug boy's club any longer, so I said, "Gentlemen, until I find a man who can offer me more than I can give myself, I am quite content to be single, thank you very much."  I know, right?  One of those things that just comes out of your mouth and after you're all like, "Wow.  That totally rocked!!!"  Anyways, one of them replied, "Sweetheart, you'll never find one like that."  And they ALL laughed!!!

**Gasp**

Are you kidding me?

I've heard it said that the worst thing that the Women's Liberation movement did for society was allow men to remain boys.  Why must a man provide for his family when his wife is perfectly capable of doing so?  Why must he get off his ass to pay the bills, cut the grass, take out the garbage when he has a woman who does it?  There is no incentive for men to step up.  Women, we've essentially won nothing.  Men are sitting on the couch, playing video games completely oblivious to the war and we're still fighting.   So, while I might be crazy, I'd prefer to live in my imagination, where men save women, boys grow up to be gentlemen, and women get to be ladies.

Her Name Is Lola

and she's my show girl

Less than 24 hours ago, I had no idea that I would be the new owner of a car.  Less than 24 hours ago, I was living my little life with my little Rosie, pondering how I'd pay for the new timing belt and berating myself for letting it go so long since my last oil change.  The brakes were squealing, the tires were bald, but hey, she was my Rosie.  She once drove from Calgary to Merritt - that's 800km - on one tank of gas.  I've had her for 5 years!  That's longer than I've stuck with anything (not including my child, of course).  She has taken care of me, even though I've not always been the best at taking care of her.

I knew the financing schedule that I had set up was coming to an end, but I didn't really know what to do with that information, so true to form, I stuck my head in the sand and hoped for the best.  While I'm not condoning this behavior at all, nor does it ever actually work for me...this time, I must have had luck on my side.  

I got a phone call from a gal named Zora, and this is what she said..

Z: Hello C.  Your financing is almost up.  What are you going to do?

Me:  That's a very good question!  I have NO idea.  What are my options?

Z: Well.  Your best option is to bring the car in, we'll buy it back and give you a new one.  We've got some really great deals on right now.

Me:  Like what?

Z: 0% financing.  No payments for 90 days. $300 gas card.  Great deals.  Big sale. 

Me:  Okay, I'll come in next week!!

Z: No!!!  You must come in today.  The deals end today.  I cannot give you the deal tomorrow.  It must be today

(She has a very strong eastern European accent.  Am I conveying that effectively?)

Four hours later, I was driving home with a brand new Kia Soul in Titanium Grey.  I know, right?  Shut the front door!  I never do anything with much research (True story:  I once bought a car because I liked the sound it made when I opened the door.  It wasn't a DING. DING. DING.  It was more of a bing, bing, bing), but I have also never, ever bought a car on a whim.  A bing maybe, but never a whim.  My payments are a little bit more than before, but that's okay, cuz guess what...I'm gonna BUDGET for it. 

Holla!!

Now here's where I get all sappy and emotional and excuse me if I break down completely...

Five years ago I was in the midst of a break up.  I was facing a reality of a failed *marriage*, a future as a single mother.  I was working part time.  I had $300 to my name.  I sat in the dealership wondering how I'd be able to manage the payments on a car and pay rent and support a toddler all on my own.  While excited for the future, I was terrified of what it held.  Terrified I wasn't strong enough to face it.  Horribly disappointed in myself that *this* was what I had become.  Ashamed I couldn't offer my child or any one else anything more.  I was a broken down version of myself.  

I had a little, itty bitty teeny bit of hope deep, deep down that maybe I'd get through.

Five years later, I wish I could have traveled back in time and told my former self that we were going to be okay.  We were going to be more than okay.  We were strong enough, and every moment from that first singleton moment on was a second chance to become more than I was then.  I wasn't a failure.  I was starting again, and the person I was about to become was amazing and strong and kind and wonderful and it was going to be okay.  I wish I could have told that woman that. 

I sat in the dealership yesterday and giggled.  I just kept giggling.  It was so ridiculous that I was buying a brand new car with no foresight or research or reasoning or anything *logical*.  I giggled because I was the woman who made it through and became better for all the trials in front of me.  I allowed them to make me stronger.  I giggled because I had the ability to make a completely insane decision on a whim.  I giggled because I didn't have to ask anyone or compromise or "just wait until tomorrow".  I giggled because I drove away with a brand new car.

This morning...

I woke up feeling like I was going to puke.  WTH did I just do?  Was I friggen insane?  Who does shit like that?  A little bit of buyers remorse, I'd say.  I'm talking myself out of the panic, because let's face it...5 years of panic does not sit well with me.  What's done is done, and so I might as well enjoy it. 

And I figure...with a name like Lola...who doesn't have at least one regret after one night with a gal named Lola?

Am I right?

C'mon Show Girl...Let's get this show on the road!!  (How cheesy is that!!)  Some times I just love the cheese!!