Tag Archives: Me Myself and I

The Updates! Plus a Little Sparkle for Good Measure…

I’ll start with the most important update. I had a great consultation with the general surgeon yesterday.

She had absolutely no cancer-related concerns and in fact, was entirely confident that she knew exactly what she was looking at and what needed to be done to fix it. Surprisingly, there are actually two issues involved.

First the “suspicious mass,” which much like I had hoped, appears to be scar tissue resulting from my c-section four years ago. It may be endometria that developed into scar tissue or it may be an actual suture – but either way, it’s not dangerous and it can be removed. So [insert Arnold Schwarzenegger accent here] it’s not a tumor.

The second issue is that the tissue where the mass is located didn’t heal well and I can definitely expect to start developing hernias if it remains untreated. So there is a reason why post-cesarean, I was always a little puffier (that’s the medical term) on one side than the other.

SO the surgery will not just involve removing a lump – it will be a hernia operation.

And then I felt a million years old and began investigating details for bingo night at the local community center…

I still have to schedule my surgery, but I assume it will take place in early March. I was told I could wait until a more convenient time, but I’d rather just get it over with. As much as I dread going under the knife, I’m kind of done with the suspicious mass and all the of drama it stirred up. Good riddance, I say.

Oh – and here is something funny about my surgeon. She’s a super model. Or – more accurately – she looks like one. I make all of these jokes about Grey’s Anatomy, but holy hell – I really do find myself living though Seattle Grace moments. First I hear risque staff banter while waiting for my MRI, and now I’m meeting with a surgeon straight out of central casting. Let’s hope that the parallels end there. I don’t want to be that character with the routine surgery who flat lines due to some bizarre complication, while the dude getting a head transplant in the adjoining OR is miraculously raised from the dead. I prefer that my procedures remain too boring for prime time, thank you very much.

And that’s that for the (sort of) health scare. It will all be fine. And I can now get back to the business of obsessing over far more mundane issues such as cellulite and crows feet. Or maybe not – now that I’ve been given some serious perspective on what is really important in life.

Oh who am I kidding, I’m already poking at arm flab and sighing at the muffin top that’s taken up permanent residence over my Lucky jeans.

The other update is that I have a new job. A part time job, I mean.

As you may know, I helped my parents set up a blog for their Key West based home decor shop. We started the Style Key West blog in January 2010, but the intention was always to use it for promoting a new online store. That online store has of yet to move beyond the concept stage, so a year later I thought I’d throw my virtual hat in the ring. I asked my parents if they’d let me do it.

And they said yes!

Aaaaand…now I just have to figure out how. Any advice or suggestions for vendors, platforms, web designers, general social networking dos and don’ts, etc. would be much appreciated. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I’m only just starting to do the research.

I have a pretty small operation going here at The Big Piece of Cake – so once [online store name to be determined] is up and running, I’ll be asking friends to help be spread the word. I’ll try not to be too annoying about it.

In the meantime? I’m going to have even more limited time for writing long posts. (And yes – all of my friends who complain about my long posts? The ones who are now smirking about this “disappointing” news? I’m giving you the finger.) But instead of taking an indefinite hiatus as I had previously planned, I’ve decided to go for brief daily posts. Just sound bytes, pictures…vignettes of each day. Just to stay in touch.

So I’ll end this – my last LONG post for a while – with a small piece of today’s happenings.

We had a milestone for the twins today: their very first Picture Day!

George could have cared less, but Eleanor approached the event with enough enthusiasm for two. She had a few ideas regarding wardrobe, and from what I could make out, she was trying to decide between her formal “Christmas dress” and an outfit involving a cute striped sweater coat.

This morning though, I was surprised to hear that she was in fact, planning to wear both as a combined ensemble. This would have looked cray-cray, and I suggested that she do either/or. Luckily, she ultimately agreed, and of course went with the more dressy (overdressed) option. We added a cardigan for warmth (the dress is sleeveless) and a headband. This is a Christmas picture showing the dress and hair accessory:

I told her to pick whatever shoes she wanted and she went with her “ruby slippers.” They wouldn’t have been my first choice…I would have suggested the silver mary janes – but it could have been worse (like light up Sketchers).

All of the fashion talk put me a little off my game and we completely missed Oliver’s bus pick up. So I had to drop him off before taking the twins to preschool. And the minute we were on our way out the door, Eleanor flung out an arm, dramatically announced that she FORGOT SOMETHING, and then raced upstairs demanding that we all wait for her.

I thought that she had to use the bathroom, but in fact, it was something far more critical. She needed to apply her “makeup.” This would be clear lip gloss, blush so pale you can’t tell she’s wearing any and some pats with a powder puff that makes her skin “sparkle.” After several minutes of primping she regally descended the stairs, sparkling like the newest member of the Cullen family. And we were on our way.

Pictures were taken up on arrival, and my daughter make a beeline for the bright light and blue backdrop. “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up” INDEED!

She’s now racing around the house in a costume half-super hero, half-Disney princess – demanding I call her Sparkle Cloud and claiming that she’ll rescue the world with rainbows.

I totally think she can.

I Very Missed You

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“Mommy! Where were you? It was too long. I cried.

“I very missed you.”

“‘Cause I pretty love you.”

-George Hood, February 2011

So yeah – things have gotten A LOT better since the last time I posted. I mean, I still have a “suspicious mass” in my lower abdomen and an appointment with a general surgeon tomorrow. But I’m also still feeling pretty confident that it’s all going to be just fine.

And the morose depression stuff? Also better. Talking to my husband and hearing from so many good friends helped put things into perspective. Actually, just knowing how much people care was probably the biggest help. Even though I closed comments, I still got e-mails from the people I don’t see every day. I wasn’t great about replying – but I do want to thank all of you who went out of your way to reach out to me. I’m not very good at asking for help – especially when I think I’m being overly dramatic (which is always). But every single message warmed my heart and reminded me of just how lucky I am to have so many wonderful people in my life, IRL or otherwise!

In the meantime, I figured some things out, and now have an exciting new opportunity that involves blogging and design/decor. But I’ll have to write more about that tomorrow along with details about how my appointment went.

Continue to send me the prayers, positive thoughts and good juju. I honestly believe that all of it counts. Just knowing that it’s coming my way makes a big difference. And makes me even more sure that I’ll kick ass in this whole surgery thing.

Even though I’m a wuss. I can fake it.

Critical Mass (Alternatively Titled: Having a Nice Day, Wish I Was Here)

Last Stop, Shady Grove

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*TWO updates at the end.

So I just received a referral from Oliver’s neurologist for an MRI. It’s nothing immediately serious – just one more step in the never ending dance of finding out what’s going on with that weird little booger.

We started seeing the neurologist a few years ago, and I often feel like our twice a year appointments are more for her benefit than for his. Of course, I know that’s not true – it’s just the nature of the process. She monitors him, has various tests done and keeps track of his development. Which by the way, is extraordinary as far as I’m concerned. Nonetheless, he still has language and social delays, so we continue the regular annual tea parties with his various doctors and specialists.

At our last visit, the neurologist said that we should do an MRI to check the language centers of his brain. And I just received the paperwork in the mail today. This is somewhat of a coincidence since I myself just had an MRI this morning.

Right before Christmas, I noticed a weird little lump right above my c-section scar. Assuming it was a cyst of some kind, I made an appointment with my gynecologist to have it checked. While pregnant with the twins, I developed a cyst in a “none of your business” kind of place, and grew a few more for good measure after the birth. While totally gross, it wasn’t at all dangerous and it was easily fixed (a bit of TMI that I’ll refrain from inflicting upon you). So all in all, I wasn’t in the least bit concerned.

Since the lump was so close the surface, my doctor was able to determine whether it was a cyst or not with a needle. Yeah – that was fun…and after a few mildly uncomfortable jabbings she said that no, it wasn’t a cyst and that I had “just won myself a trip to radiology for a sonogram.” Awesome! I never win anything.

Funny enough, I’ve had sonograms done on several other body parts – not just pregnancy-related. There was the suspicious spot in one of my mammogram images (turned out to be nothing) and the super fun experience of having my leg veins checked (“Yes – you will someday have ropey veins all over your legs if you don’t have a procedure done, but insurance doesn’t pay for that. Just check back in with us when it becomes life threatening.” Good times.) So it was old hat for me. And after hours of time in the waiting room and on the table and cramping hunger pains due to an ungodly number of obligatory fasting hours, the tech finally came back into the examination room to say, “yup – we have no idea what that is.” Next stop: an MRI.

At least this one only required four hours of fasting.

And other than the IV required for some dye-related thing they did at the end, there wasn’t any discomfort involved. In fact, I was kind of looking forward to my time in the tube, as it sounded like a great opportunity to take a 40 minute nap.

Okay – so anyone who has ever had an MRI is laughing right now because it’s not at all like the cozy tanning bed scenario of my Grey’s Anatomy influenced imagination. It’s not that it was physically uncomfortable – but it was LOUD.

And I thought things were off to such a good start when I was changing into my robe and overheard a very “Seattle Grace surgical staff” exchange outside my door. Someone passing by said to the tech waiting for me, “pony tail today? Rough sex this morning?” I’m not kidding! Seriously – Mer and Cristina, you have one track minds – go dance it out or something. But I digress…

Back to the mundane business of medical stuff, the earplugs I was given helped – but muffling aside, it sounded like I was directly under a construction site. And it wasn’t the noise as much as the erratic nature of it that kept me from immediately slipping into a “mother of three small children – did somebody say nap?” coma. There would be 30 seconds of microwave noises – then silence – then a sonic boom – then machine gun noises – then nothing – then the technician’s voice over an intercom telling me to breath in or out or not at all.

So in addition to the auditory assault, I actually had to pay attention to directions. NOT relaxing.

But it was somewhat diverting in that the technician’s disembodied voice sounded exactly like the conductor announcements I heard every day during my DC metro-rail riding years: “Please clear the doors…Due to red line construction…last stop Shady Grove.” It was enough to make me fall asleep and miss my stop.

Which I eventually did.

The noise became more regular, the directions to stop my heartbeat for five minutes at a time ceased, and I unwittingly drifted off for the rest of the MRI.

Waking up in my cotton robe with a light blanket over my legs, I almost felt like I was in a spa after an hour long massage. Except that there were wires everywhere. And I hate getting massages. Perhaps a facial? Didn’t smell good enough… Either way, I was ready for another nap.

This is why I rarely take naps. Napping is supposed to provide you with much needed rest and rejuvenation. It’s supposed to give you more energy and enthusiasm for plowing through the rest of the day. Napping generally gives me more energy and enthusiasm for going back to sleep and never waking up again.

So as much as I was hoping for a good MRI nap – it was just like hoping for the offer of a free Blizzard at Dairy Queen. It sounds really good – worthy of craving even. But after the fact, you usually decide that it probably wasn’t a good idea.

Naps aside – the MRI is over and I now have a good handle on why Oliver will need to be sedated. Forty minutes of staying still in a noisy, fluorescent lit tube? Yeah – I don’t think he’d be cool with that.

I won’t get my results back for a few days. And to be honest, I probably won’t give it too much thought. I’m good at that – not thinking. There is no point in wasting the meantime with anxious worrying. I’d rather just ride it out. Read a book. Daydream about more pleasant things. Take an inadvisable nap.

In any given lifetime, the various destinations are usually unknowable and frequently inevitable. The meantime matters more. And at the moment, mine is fairly booked up with the day to day care of my children. From fishing stickers out of the toilet with trouble making twins to scheduling MRI appointments for exceptionally weird and wonderful five year olds, I’ve got far more interesting things to do than worry about things I can’t control.

But when I do reach my stop, I promise to be in touch as soon as my feet touch the platform. Hopefully I’ll have a clue as to where to find the right exit…thank god for GPS.

*Just heard from my doctor’s office. Still no idea what it is. So IT is now considered a “suspicious mass.” Tomorrow, I’ll receive a list of general surgeons to call so someone can cut this sucker out to analyze. I’m assuming it’s nothing. Please do the same. I totally believe in the good vibes, you know. Until next week…

**I can’t believe I forgot about this crazy scrap of conversation I heard outside of the changing room before the MRI. I added it above.

Giving it my .01% – or – 2010: The (Blog) Year in Review

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I should have done this a few weeks ago… But better late than never.

2010 was an eventful year for The Big Piece of Cake:

I decided that it’s actually okay now to look like “somebody’s mother.”

I did stupid things, said crazy things and resorted to duct tape at nap time.

I found a nursery CD that brought back some of the best and worst days of my life.

We (barely) survived snow prison.

I considered some pearls of wisdom and compared them to the ones I hold in my heart.

Creepy toys and children’s books invaded my home.

I stopped picking my kids’ noses (well – for the most part).

My oldest “baby” turned FIVE.

My oldest baby continues to turn my world upside down (and inside out and backwards).

I paused again and again to ask who/what/where/why and ended up looking to my baby ballerina who doesn’t wear pants for guidance.

I joined a little league team.

I quit a little league team.

Chris almost died and I had many laughs at his expense.

George was weird.

I died of happiness when my son tortured the neighbor’s cat.

I admitted that I’m not fun.

I could have lost Oliver and nothing about it was funny.

My children almost killed me over the summer and EVERYTHING about it was funny.

I admitted to serious disappointment and envy – but committed to keep trying.

I demanded that people not treat my special needs son like something that needs to be fixed.

There was a super hot lifeguard at the pool. And it made me think (no – not THOSE kind of thoughts!)

For the first time ever, I sent THREE children off to school.

The twins started preschool.

We celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary.

I proclaimed that “old” is the new “fat.”

The most disgusting thing ever happened in my house (or my vacuum cleaner to be exact).

George continued to be weird (and demanding).

I answered some questions about Oliver.

Eleanor claimed that her name begins with L (among other things).

Oliver continued to “wear the pants” by not wearing them.

George became addicted to Weed.

Eleanor prepared for Christmas.

AND for the first time ever – I finally got a decent picture of my children in front of our Christmas tree and actually mailed a holiday card.

I don’t write about everything on my blog. Sometimes I leave out important things because they’re private and sometimes I over-share. Sometimes I write super long posts that no one reads (even though they’re brilliant – and WHO loses out on that one I ask you?) and sometimes I post stupid pictures that everyone loves. Sometimes I think I have nothing to say, but somehow surprise myself. And sometimes I have ideas, but never follow up on them.

My blog is about .01% of my life – but I like to think it’s the best, worst and most honest .01%. It’s a scrap of my life – but one with some interesting detail. One with some character in the texture and color. One that might be useful, and definitely worth stuffing in a pocket just in case.

Thanks for reading my .01% I like the idea that I might be in your pocket. At the very least, I’m good for wiping tears and snot. Just ask my kids.

Raise Your Glass for…

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At the start of each new year I think about what I want to do differently this time around. Not necessarily in the way of actual resolution making though. Just a few, “what the hell am I doing with my life?” soliloquies. Only in my head of course – I mean, I don’t hang out on balconies assuming the presence of a sympathetic yet invisible audience. So I say, that is…on my blog.

But back to my initial train of thought.

The great thing about having kids is that they are happy to answer that “who am I?” question for you with their, “me, me, me, me” vocal warm up. Once they start their opening number about wanting it now – SOB! – him doing that again – SHRIEK! – her not doing it AGAIN – SMACK!…I cut them off after the second chorus of CONSTANT WHINING and think, “right, okay – so purpose in life covered.”

For now.

But eventually that purpose gets downsized, and the five extra hands you could currently use are exchanged for two frequently aimless ones. Not useless – just not as much in demand. And the excellent excuse that children once provided for a lack of personal ambition loses it’s relevance. And what then?

Don’t get me wrong – this isn’t some stay at home mom angst I’m addressing here. I was a working mom until two years ago and it was the same story then. I had a job that helped pay the bills – but personal identity was always a hazy spot on the horizon of “maybe someday.” That’s all well and good when you’re in school, in your twenties, and even in your thirties, but at some point you have to say, “wait a minute – I think I’m actually a grown up now…so that means I should probably know what I want to be when I grow up…” And then we get very busy with a project or a committee and cover our ears to la la la la ourselves into a state of sorrytoobusycan’tthinkaboutthatrightnow.

Unless of course you’ve actually figured it all out and have a crystal clear image of who you are, who you want to be, and exactly how you’re going to get there. If so, then please go away and write a book about it or something. I can’t even look at you right now. But hey! Let’s do lunch soon and maybe you can give me some free coaching, okay?

No… I’m nowhere near even beginning to figure this out. But I do plan to carve out some time in my schedule to start thinking about it. Between avoiding reality and drifting aimlessly, I’m fairly booked up. But I think I see an opening sometime in…oh, May of 2020. Just kidding of course. That’s far too ambitious.

Wait! Hobbies! That’s right – I can have fulfilling hobbies. Writing a blog, yoga, gardening, baking, suduko, binge eating, TELEVISION WATCHING… The options are endless. But here’s the problem with that: these options are just hobbies. Hobbies are filler – fun activities that can be dropped when real life dictates. They aren’t a true statement of self. They’re just current interests that require a higher level of goals and achievement to have any serious role in personal identity.

And THAT is really what I think I’m getting at. I won’t always be defined by motherhood and I doubt I’ll ever be defined by a career – but I CAN’T be defined by a hobby either. It needs to be something enduring.

Deciding what that something will be may come easily to some. But not to me. I have a long, rich history of forgoing personal ambition for general daily survival. And I attribute this to the fact that I’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer.

Sadly this didn’t apply to not being the tallest girl in the class and getting my first bra a year before everyone else. It’s just that I was never quite ready for the next big leap into the future that everyone else my age was making. I wasn’t ready for high school. How do you go from PG-13 movie watching sleepovers at the end of August to weekend keg parties in early September? I never did understand that. And I wasn’t ready for college either – leaping again into a real unknown without all those familiar faces to provide even a little bit of security. Then I wasn’t ready to graduate college…to move to a new city…to…well, ANYTHING. And it continues on, even now that I really am grownup.

I was never a misfit or an outcast for this pathological aversion to anything new, but I never quite felt like I was in step with the rest of the world. Time moved more slowly for me and ultimately, I could never truly keep up.

But then we all seem to have our own memories of feeling like we’re on the outside looking in to the way things should be. That’s why again and again people write stories about underdogs. We love them – can’t get enough. Hell – I once even had a BLOG devoted to underdogs. Those stories are OUR story. The one we whisper to each other in shame and then laugh loudly about when we’ve had too much to drink. We take solace in each other’s company and discover that suddenly EVERYONE’S an underdog. We’ve all been eating the same Breakfast Club bagels and had no idea. Not even after SEEING The Breakfast Club. DUH!

But I don’t know that I’m buying it completely – there have got to be some golden children out there… Or at least some deluded enough to believe in their own mythology. And I’m sorry – but they don’t really get it – this feeling of missing beats and falling behind. They’re the ones setting the pace.

Here is where I blast Pink’s Raise Your Glass and say DAMMIT – I DO fit in. I DO have a perfectly fine pace. And I WILL figure out who I’m going to be when I grow up!

I don’t think I’ll dye my hair pink and pierce my nose…but “rock star” was never on my bucket list anyway.

I’ll happily settle for knowing that others out there get it (even if “it” rambles on to the point of incoherence at times). That they’re feeling the same way and pursuing the same dream. That they are looking for what “me” means to them. Not the parent me, the office me, the high school alumni committee me, the PTA volunteer me, the neighbor who feeds your cats while you’re out of town me… The “me” involving no external responsibilities. The totally selfish, I know who am I am and where I want to go and how I want to get there me. The “it’s NOT a hobby!” me. The who I want to be when I grow up me.

I may not find her this year. But I’m committed to making a start. And I think I’m going to do it here.

It’s true – I don’t have the time or money to take a writing class. I don’t even know if I have the talent to justify the time or expense. But I do have an idea or two…and both started here. I’m going to pursue that, and I’d love it if there were maybe one or two or two hundred of you who were around to make me follow up on that commitment. I’m happy to do the same for you.

While I’ll fervently dedicate my whole life to my children – my family – I’m also adding myself to the priority list. 2011 is going to be the year of “me.” And in case you didn’t notice, I added those quotation marks to denote a broader sense of the word. One that absolutely includes any other underdogs who would like to join me.

So in honor of the new year and all of its possibility – the dream of underdogs everywhere to finally catch their stride and know where they fit in – the straight up fact that I need to get off my ass and do something with these ideas already…I’d be honored if you and you and you and oh, especially you, would all join me in a toast to 2011. And raise your glass. For “me.”

Old is the New Fat

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Sometimes I feel like I’ve spent most of my life obsessing over my size. Which is kind of ridiculous since I’ve always been rather medium about everything. Medium height, weight, hair color, popularity level, dance floor talent, parking mojo… I’m actually very average. So really – why all the worries about “looking fat?”

Well – I think it was because EVERYONE worries about looking fat. It’s just something women do. Except for the skinny ones I mean – who I guess worry about being skinny when they’re not busy eating double hot fudge sundaes in front of the rest of us. Bitches.

Seriously though, if I calculated the amount of time and money I put into working on my weight – gym memberships, exercise videos, personal trainers, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, diet foods – and the constant discussions about losing weight, exercise plans and laments over things that I literally cannot change (I’m looking at you hereditary knee pudge!), it would have to be… Well, I’m not much good at math, so let’s just say it would be A LOT of time and money.

What would I have done with all of it? I’m guessing I could have single handedly adopted a Third World village. All of that fat talk may have stood between me and a Pulitzer prize! Or at the very least a wildly popular QVC line of conversation piece jewelry. Who knows? I certainly never will since I was too busy feeling fat to do anything else.

But I’m over that now. No more fat talk. If my pants feel tight, I’ll just make a few lifestyle changes or buy new pants. As long as I’m still my healthy medium size, it just doesn’t warrant the mind space. I’m finished with feeling fat.

Now I’m all about feeling OLD.

Because that is a far more worthy focus for my mania. Have you seen my crows’ feet? I sprout two or three new laugh lines every day! And I can even blame some of that on the fat obsession since you know, being tan makes you look thinner. Why didn’t I take SPF more seriously? Mom told me that too much sun would give me wrinkles…

But I never used to worry about wrinkles because by the time I got them I’d be OLD!

Well, now that I’m “old” I do care. And since I wasted my youth on feeling fat, I missed the boat on the whole Pulitzer Prize/QVC opportunity. So now I’m fully committed to wasting as much time as possible obsessing over looking old.

I’ve written before about my skincare routine. It seems to be going well…but I have of yet to find anything that I’d call the fountain of youth. I just do what the experts (multi-zillionaire celebrities endorsing the products) say and hope for the best. I mean, I have a lot of time to make up here. I’m already 38 and I didn’t even know about eye cream until a few years ago.

A new source of concern for me is the décolleté area. Did you know that Cindy Crawford says damage to décolleté skin can never be repaired by surgery? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve purposely sunburned that area in an attempt to get an early summer “base?”

I’m so screwed…

And to make matters worse, I have even more unexpected age-related issues to contend with. Apparently having three babies in 18 months in my early thirties wasn’t so great for my vascular system. As a result, I’m now showing early signs of varicose veins. Like those things that the grandmas at the pool have all over their thighs and calves? Someone grab the smelling salts – I’m about to pass out from the horror of it all. Now, those CAN be repaired with surgery. If you have thousands of extra dollars lying around that is. Kids – say goodbye to the college fund. Mama needs a new pair of legs.

I’ve never actually felt old before. I can easily find common interests with younger people. And even if they do throw retro parties featuring styles made popular the year I could legally get into bars, they don’t seem to find me boring. Though that may have something to do with my conversation choices…like that time I told a 17 year old lifeguard all about my c-section (21 years later and I STILL don’t know how to talk to teenage boys…)

Bottom line – up until now, I’ve been in serious denial about my age.

But if anything put the final nail in the proverbial coffin, it would be a recent conversation I had with my friend Lacey (a pseudonym for protection against any bodily harm she may inflict on me for putting this on my blog). She was complaining about upper arm flab which automatically made me feel privileged and smug since that is ONE part of my body that has never given me a moment’s worry. I may have inherited Italian peasant legs, but my long slim arms have been rocking sleeveless styles since I first layered neon tank tops in the ’80s.

What I didn’t initially understand was that Lacey wasn’t talking about fat – she was talking about the “loose skin” that develops on your arms as you get older. She said that when she holds out her arms and shakes them, the loose skin flaps back and forth. This description conjured up scenes of a Silver Sneaker exercise class I’ve observed at the YMCA. Then suddenly, those imaginary Golden Girls turned on me. The sassy old ladies in jazzercize outfits waving their arms to Party in the USA morphed into Hell’s minions mockingly shaking their loose skin at me in cackling glee…You thought you were better – firmer – but it all turns to arm flab in the end! You can run, but you can’t hide…

I was appalled. Aside from the fact that the term “loose skin” makes me feel like fainting again, it really never occurred to me that I should be monitoring this. And sure enough, when I gave my my extended arms a tentative shake, there were definite signs of flapping. I guess it’s all downhill from here.

The good news is that while I wasted approximately 30 years on fighting fat, I’ll probably only spend 20 on battling old age. I do learn from my mistakes you know. And I’m about five years in – so only 15 more to go. Then what? Ten years of obsessing over something else…then five… Then maybe I’ll finally give in to the inevitable and just embrace all of it and myself in the process?

I have no way of predicting this. Only time will tell. But there is one thing that I can say with complete certainty. Mother nature is a cruel bitch.

UPDATE: Nothing Has Changed – I’m Still Lazy and Avoiding Reality

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I’m feeling a little guilty for ignoring The Big Piece of Cake and Wishing True lately… Not that I think anyone is really reading blogs right now (or maybe it’s just me?) But still – my lack of motivation is at an all time high. I have almost no time to write and little inspiration beyond cute stories about my children (yawn); and the “what’s the point of it all” voices are creeping in. Therefore, I fall back on being lazy. So much easier, you know.

I often have to remind myself of why I started a blog. It was just for fun. Just because I liked to write and had enough family and friends with an interest in reading it.

Maybe it was going to BlogHer and being surrounded by so many movers and shakers and marketers and self promoters – but it’s made me look at the big picture and seriously ask myself “why?” It’s pretty time consuming and I’m not saving the world or making money or anything. Is “for fun” enough of reason to devote so much energy to something so small?

But before you think I’m going down that angsty, self absorbed path (define me! define me!), know that I actually do now have an answer to my own question. It came from a recently made friend.

Oliver is in a little social skills group and in our hours of waiting room sitting, one of the other mothers and I have done a lot of talking. I ended up telling her about my blogs while explaining BlogHer and the trip I was making to NYC. She seemed interested, so I offered to e-mail her links to the posts I’ve written about Oliver.

Since then, she’s mentioned how much she relates to my stories and even sent I Never Thought I’d Wear Sunglasses to her mom. The fact that something I wrote could help one person I know (and possibly even someone I don’t know) feel just a little less alone in the world seems like a good enough reason if any for continuing to blog. In a sea of voices, a little fish can still be heard and maybe even make a difference.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself since it’s an excellent excuse to prolong this narcissistic pursuit.

I think the real reason that I’ve been so off lately is that I’m kind of terrified by the idea of Kindergarten. There are a million reasons – and no reason. I operate best not worrying about things in advance – so I think I’ll just stick with that.

Instead I’ll re-read everything I’ve written on the subject, know it got better then and will now. And more importantly, that I’m not alone.

So next week I’ll be re-running posts on Oliver. Ones that made me feel better – or helped me work through things. Maybe someone else looking down the barrel of a special needs entry into Kindergarten will read them. And maybe they’ll feel better too.

The Next Couple of Weeks…

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Tomorrow, I’m getting on a plane with Chris and all three kids. So as you can imagine, I can’t wait! Actually – I really am excited for the rest of the vacation which will start at the beach in California and end at my in laws’ house in Phoenix (technically Paradise Valley for those of you who know the area).

It will be nice to get away for a little bit and take a break from therapy (for Oliver) and waiting rooms (for the twins and me) and the messy messy house that I swear makes its own messes while we’re off having fun in therapy appointments and waiting rooms.

Now I just have to pack…

While I’m gone, some guest posters will be helping me stay true to my post every Monday through Friday Summer schedule (yeah for other people doing my work for me!) So check back often for daily flashes of brilliance. Just don’t get used to it since I’ll be back in a week.

It occurred to me though, that I’ll need to catch up on a week’s worth of reading when I return. So that second week, I’m going to fulfill my daily post commitment with some oldies but goodies. But since I don’t have time to indulge my OCD tendencies and read through two years of writing to pick five posts…I’m going to have to try something more arbitrary.

I’m going to pick five dates and then The Price is Right style, either pull a post from that date of the first date prior. What do you mean, you don’t understand my The Price is Right rules reference? You obviously wasted most of your childhood playing outside in the sunshine… Just take my word for it – this totally makes sense (to me).

Okay – if I want to leave for the airport with packed suitcases and not a few random pieces of clothing thrown into Target shopping bags, I’m going to have to unplug for the rest of the day…so all of those return comments I meant to work on are going to have to wait a couple of weeks. Don’t worry – I’m not ignoring you – I’m just folding laundry.

Have a wonderful week off (from me)!

10 Random Reasons Why I’m Not Fun

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1. I don’t like roller coasters or really ANYTHING about amusement parks. They’re smelly and sticky and the fact that I’m generally the best dressed patron within my line of sight depresses me.

2. I hate playing games. But I’ve already written about that.

3. Practical jokes make me very uncomfortable. When people tell each other awful stories that end with “just kidding!” – I typically jump in halfway through with the truth just to ruin the hilarious cruelty. April Fools day is hell for me.

4. I hate being tickled. If you try to tickle me, I may hurt you. Infancy was hell for me.

5. I don’t care for surprises. Especially surprise parties. As the guest of honor, I will most likely spend the whole night thinking that I would have worn something completely different if I had known the truth.

6. In a perfect world, I would prefer to pick out all of my own gifts. I know “it’s the thought that counts,” but give me a well thought out gift card any day.

7. Conga lines make me cringe. (Disclaimer: this aversion doesn’t seem to tie in with other coordinated dance activities. For instance, I don’t have a problem with the Electric Slide…but may be related to my love of synchronized dance routines).

8. I’m the only woman I know who doesn’t LOVE Dirty Dancing. I’m not sure if it was the forbidden dance moves or the terrible dialogue. Either way – suggestive pelvis grinding in a public place? I’ll sit this one out, thanks. Seriously, Baby – if that corner isn’t taken…

9. I have never understood the entertainment value of a food fight. Other people see good ‘ol adolescent, pie in the face fun…I see dry cleaning bills and floor scrubbing.

10. Innuendo and potty humor have never appealed to me. Getting an elbow nudge from my husband to accompany a wink wink if you know what I mean/that’s what she said kind of joke just makes me wonder if he’s ever actually met me before. It’s amazing how almost any conversation can quickly devolve into that type of banter. Sixth grade was hell for me.