The Height of Socks

Fashions come and go.  One of the best measurements historically was the height of skirts.  Up and down they'd go through the decades, usually matching other social changes of the times.  I've never cared much about skirts, although I seem to be wearing more this year than ever before.  What has seemed to have an affect on me though has been the height of socks.

Looking back when I was in elementary school I have no idea what I wore sock-wise.  I'm guessing I wore socks because I have distinct memories of sneakers.  I also remember my mother putting on my socks and my toes wiggling around to get them on just right before the addition of the shoe, because a bunched up sock is never comfortable when the shoe goes on top.  I hadn't remembered this until today when I saw my son wiggling his toes to get his socks straightened out.  It's always amazing to me when a very old memory can push itself to the forefront of your mind after laying dormant for so long.

The first time I really remember a personal preference with socks was sixth grade.  I have a birthmark on my right knee and I always disliked it.  As an adult, I don't even remember it's there for the most part, but this was sixth grade and my focus was different back then.  I asked for the longest, highest knee-socks my mom could find so I could try and cover up that blasted birthmark.  Those socks barely covered it, and only did so if I continually pulled them back up as I ran around the playground.  In an effort to not call attention to a defect by bringing excessive focus to the area, I'm sure I succeeded masterfully.

In junior high school and high school sock fashions were mid-calf.  But not pulled up straight.  You had to bunch them down.  The bunching length and amount was key.  Sometimes I had to work at it to get them just right.  During this time one thing that was definitely out of fashion was ankle socks.  Talk about uncouth and uncool.  Who would wear those wardrobe atrocities, I thought?

My boyfriend, that's who.  And he loved them.  I was unable to convince him otherwise because he played golf and he didn't want a mid-calf suntan line.  He won, continued to wear his ankle socks and I averted my eyes.

About those ankle socks though.  Today I'm a huge fan.  Love them.  I wouldn't dare go running without them.  The thought of wearing shorts and sneakers with socks partially up my legs makes what little fashion sense I have cringe.

Fashions and fads change though.  It appears this winter it is quite fashionable to wear boots and have socks that not only come up to your knees, but go over them and completely cover them.  And the elastic component in these very high socks makes them stay up easily without being binding.  They're great for keeping your knees warm when you're wearing a skirt in cold weather too.   Talk about fun to wear.

As I was putting on my knee socks the other day, I thought back to the sixth-grade version of me and wished I could have mailed some knee socks back in time to help with my birthmark hiding endeavors.


The Big Boy Update:  Blaming his sister.  He can explain that his sister "do it" when he realizes he's about to get in trouble.  He will also ask her to "do it" if he wants her to try out whatever fun or challenging thing he's currently in the middle of.  And then yesterday on the way to school there was a persistent sunbeam in his face.  It happens often and he dislikes it.  It's the time of morning when the sun is just blaring in your eyes.  If he can move his head out of the way, he won't be too bothered.  Yesterday he couldn't get away from the sun.  I realized he was upset when he started complaining loudly in the back seat, "no no no!" while covering up his face.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Speaking of "no," she's learned how to say no.  She is very clear in the "do not want" and "no" category when it comes to pushing something away.  There is no question what she's thinking.  But she hasn't said "no" yet.  This afternoon after her bath on the changing table, she suddenly figured out how to say "no."  It's a very long word for her and it goes up at the end, but it was clear what she was saying as she kept repeating herself.

Someone Once Said:   Maybe Jesus was right when he said the meek shall inherit the earth – but they inherit very small plots, about six feet by three.

Mt Strip Mall, My Grocery Store, My Gas Station

I live quite close to where I grew up.  How close you ask?  Only one zip code away.  If the traffic lights were with me I could probably make it from my house now to my house then in five minutes.  The whole area feels like home as it's the only place I've ever known.  But there are subtle differences in what I consider "home" even within such a narrow area.

For instance, I went shopping with my mother last week.  We needed to get some groceries.  We went to the grocery store closer to her house which is the one she normally shops at.  I looked around and didn't know where things were.  The store itself just felt like "other people's store" instead of my store.  And yet this is the grocery store I went to for my whole adolescent life.

When I think back to my childhood and remember my mother telling me I could do any gymnastics I wanted to in the grocery store, as long as I didn't put my hands down, I'm thinking about events that happened in that store.  When I remember coming to the store to visit my boyfriend, Bill, who was a register clerk there during high school, it was at that store, but it seems far away and elsewhere-ish in my mind.

What does seem like "my store" is the one just a few miles away that's closer to my house.  But I can remember a time when I first moved closer to this second store and how foreign it seemed to be shopping there instead of the store I'd shopped in for so many years.

It's the same with your main gas station or your main strip mall or main coffee shop.  Whichever one you frequent the most becomes your mental "home" and everything else seems unfamiliar and for other people.

The Big Boy Update: "I see Minnie Maus.  It's a Minnie Maus."   During lunch the other day I heard him saying this.  I didn't know what he meant until I realized I'd served him his food in a new bowl that had Mickey Mouse at the bottom.  He had moved the mashed potatoes around and was looking at the image at the bottom.  He can say "Mickey" but when it comes to the whole name, he thinks Mickey is "Minnie Maus."  He also said "Bear, bear, bear!" yesterday and I realized, again, that he was looking at the bottom of the bowl we had been given by friends recently.  He was looking at Winnie the Pooh.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles: Ack Ack Ack Ack.  She has a very strange laugh she does sometimes.  It sounds like she's trying to clear her throat by doing a hacking sound.  But no, she's laughing.  And she's usually laughing at you. 

Someone Once Said:  Scientific detachment: It’s the ignition system of the world; without it we’re sunk.

The Safety Swear

I can swear.  I do swear.  I shouldn't swear.  I swear way too much.  I really need to break my swearing habits.

 It's almost impossible to not make exclamations in some way.  You're surprised, you stub your toe,  You want to emphasize something.  Dang, drat, darn, crap, ow, arrrugh work.  Those exclamations do a good job, but sometimes I need something with a few more syllables to get my true meaning of surprise, indignation or pain expressed.

But there are children with mimicking ears.  Children who silently listen to you say something over and over again.  Something you don't really realize you're saying until one day when they've processed it and, bam, they have a new vocabulary word and there's no way you can take it back. 

So I've been working on my safety swears.  Some of them I've had for years, such as "God bless America."  I have one, "I swannie" that always reminds me of my Aunt Pat, because I can just hear her in my mind every time I say it.  Then there are funny ones, such as, "mama pajama" from the movie Mystery Men.  I even manage to get in a, "son of a gun" from time to time. 

I hope I'm doing an okay job of curtailing my language.  I fear however, that in just a short while my son is going to blurt out a terrible, dirty word and look at me with the biggest smile because he's just managed to use his new word correctly in context.

The Big Boy Update:  Tummy trouble.  Last night at the conclusion of dinner he started telling us his tummy was bothering him.  He communicates with us fairly regularly about his skin being itchy by showing us where it's bothering him and asking for lotion or medicine or powder, but this marks the first time he's really communicated an unexpected ill.  We can see him scratching and watch his face get red.  We wouldn't have known his stomach was bothering him.  I was hoping he hadn't contracted the stomach virus that was going around school.  I was doubly hoping he wasn't going to throw up his dinner in the back seat of the car.  I loosened his diaper and told him we would have a bath when we got home.  He held on to his stomach and repeated bath and, "tummy hurt" several times.   When we got home the issue had apparently been resolved...in his diaper.  A right mess it was too.  But he felt better.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Here's your baby, ma'am. At pickup at school today the other teachers were telling me to look at my daughter.  She was coming from the classroom, in the teacher's arms, completely limp and laid out.  She was completely asleep.  It was a tiring morning.

Someone Once Said:  People who pass up temptations have only themselves to blame.

The Pleasure of Paper

I don't think I started out loving paper.  I think the love of origami came first.  Paper was just paper and didn't have any special capabilities until I learned you could manipulate it into shapes—shapes that could do something like fly or flap or spin or hold water.  It was when I could turn a single piece of paper into an airplane, a flapping bird, a whirligig or a cup that paper became so much more than just a boring medium on which I could write.

From that point forward, I was on a mission for the best paper.  Some paper was thin and crispy and was great for certain models.  Other paper was bright and colorful and looked beautiful when folded into a box or ornament.  Other paper was metallic—which was expensive and uncommon and unlikely to be used because it was so much nicer to look at and anyway, nothing ever seemed worthy enough for the ten inch gold square at any rate.

There was Japanese Washi paper and mulberry fiber paper and make your own paper that I destroyed a perfectly good blender making.  There was thick paper and even wallpaper because some models are stunning when made with wallpaper believe it or not.

Paper collecting aside, the bottom line is you need the proper paper for the model you want to fold.  The most beautiful model in the world will look like a fancy wad of trash if you don't pair the design with paper appropriate for the model's complexity and folding techniques.  And this is something that takes lots of trial and error and then some more error until you start to get the hang of it.

But like so many things in my life, that's another story.  This is about collecting paper.  It's a funny thing, collecting a consumable.  You collect it so that you might have options when you need it.  But the more "valuable" or "rare" or even "special" a piece of paper is, the more likely you are to never use it.  I have some papers in my collection that have been there for over twenty years.  Wait, is that right?  I just did a year calculation from some of the oldest papers I have.  I remembered when and where I got them and yes, 1991 Germany trip was indeed over twenty years ago.  That thing about time flying...so true.

Today I was cutting wrapping paper into squares for some upcoming holiday origami projects and I looked at, for what would appear to be at least the twentieth time now, some very old rolls of wrapping paper.  These rolls still exist because the quality of the paper is so excellent it's been hard to use them up.  It's that "I don't want to use it because then there won't be any more" logic which means it never gets used. 

Today I had a different mental angle on the old paper.  I thought if I cut it into small 4" squares to be folded with, I'd get a lot more enjoyment out of it than I would with it sitting in the the wrapping paper bin.  Also, if I didn't get to using it soon, some nice family member might inadvertently use it up on presents and then it would just be torn off and thrown away.  The inner-cringe I felt when that thought came on was just too much.  "Save the paper by using the paper!" I thought.

As I cut up some of this ancient paper I thought back to the very strange store from which it came.  It was in the mountains where we vacationed during the holidays with my parent's best friends.  But the strange thing about the store was that it was a roadside store, selling yard things like those gnarled rocking chairs and bird baths and other things wholly unrelated to wrapping paper.  And yet they had a lot of paper.

Someone must have hijacked a truck from a distributor because they had the same stock of paper for several years.  After the first year when I realized how amazing it was for folding origami, I went back and bought more at the following year's trip.  I think I bought even more the third year.  At some point the roadside store closed.  A new store opened though and I remember going in, futilely, to see if they somehow had a magic stash of wrapping paper still in the corner.

The Big Boy Update:  Chopsticks.  Last night at dinner the waitress gave my son a set of chopsticks rubber-banded together so he might have a chance at using them successfully.  Unexpectedly, he was able to pick up food with them.  Not every time, but enough times to know it wasn't a lucky grab.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Formula out, milk in.  We're done with formula.  I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but she hasn't had any formula for probably two weeks now.  We weaned her to whole milk.  She's also good at using a sippy cup with a straw all by herself at the table.  Next step is to get her to a sippy cup at night for her bedtime milk.

Fitness Update:  5.75 miles.  Wait, was that this morning?  I tell you, by the time the children are in bed the morning runs seems more than a full day away.  I've been trying out the Nike Fitness Kinect game (read workout) too and it's been interesting.  It's a less-strenuous thirty minute workout that includes fun and challenging exercises.

Someone Once Said:  Sometimes the best one can do about a weak point is not to call attention to it.

This Picture is Really Old...

You're out somewhere and you meet someone new.  Perhaps you're in a waiting room, say for the chiropractor because your back is all manner of ow, and you strike up a conversation with someone.  They ask about children, you tell them more than they really wanted to hear.  You return the favor and ask them about their family, upon which they pull out their wallet and proudly show you some pictures.  But, and you know it's coming, they say, "These pictures are old."   "How old," you ask?  They explain that they're at least three years out of date.  Additional conversation ensues as they explain, "how much they've changed" since those old pictures were taken.

Interactions like the one above used to be so common.  You'd encounter someone who is very enthusiastic and wants to show you and tell you all about their family or pets or favorite bonsai trees.  They would whip out their wallet and start going through the little picture insert that was available on every wallet for sale for so long.  But that's all changed now.

Do wallets even come with the photo inserts any more?  Because who goes with inserts when there's a cell phone or iPad or even laptop available in close proximity that has not three or four pictures, but scads of them.  More pictures than you could possibly even begin to go through, even if you were staying for the duration of the holiday season.

And out of date, old photos?  These days, you're more likely to run into the, "This was my grandson who lives out of the country and here he is enjoying his breakfast from two hours ago."

The Big Boy Update:  Sandy.  How is it he manages to get so much sand into his shoes at school?  They're not open toed.  He has on thick, wintery socks.  And yet every day he manages to bring home at least three-eights of the playground sand in his shoes.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Muddy.  How is it on the same playground my son is trouncing around in the sand, my daughter seems to find dirty muddy mess?  She can get her fluffy pink and white jacket's sleeves so dirty in a single short playground session that I'm not sure if the fluffy, pink and white jacket I sent her to school in was really pink and white to start.

Fitness Update:  Five miles.  Always nice to run before Monday's weigh-in.  It's a bit of a way to cheat on the weekly pound verification because an hour of running will drop off some handy weight in sweat.

Someone Once Said:   Money is truthful. If a man speaks of his honor, make him pay cash.

The Saint Michaels Origami Book

I've been doing origami since I was eight-years-old.  How I got started doing origami is another story altogether, but ever since I started doing origami I've enjoyed buying origami books.  Over time I've collected a lot of books (perhaps too many books some might say.)  And just like a good book can bring back memories of a time in your life when you read it, my origami books can bring back a situation, a feeling, a location, when I bring them out and fold their models.

A long, long time ago, when I was fairly new to origami and there was no internet, no online shopping and the only origami books you'd find were the few they had in the big bookstore, I found a book that I cherished.  It was hard to find new books back then and I spent hours scouring used book stores or anywhere that might have anything origami related. 

This particular time, we were in St. Michaels, Maryland over Christmas (or was it Thanksgiving) and we went into the little town to do some holiday shopping.  I suppose it wasn't Christmas if we were still shopping, it must have been Thanksgiving.  I went in a small bookstore on the off chance they'd have anything new or old or unknown in the realm of origami books and paper.

This one store had a brand new, shiny, hardcover origami book I'd never seen before.  I was sold.  I wasn't letting that book out of my hands until it was mine.  After I bought it, I sat in the car and fairly drooled over the beautiful photography and enticing designs.  I couldn't wait to get back to the house so I could get to my paper and start making the models.

It was, and still is, a beautiful book.  Every time I see it on the shelf a little memory of cold weather, warm fires and happy family over the holidays on the Chesapeake Bay comes back to me.  Later on, not only did I meet the author of this book at an origami convention, I got to know her and she even published one of my own origami creations in one of her books. 

The Big Boy Update:  Lights On. Today he went three rooms over, got a stool and dragged it across the house to get to a set of light switches.  He climbed up, said, "lights on" and proceeded to turn each of the four switches on and off, stopping to look around and determine which lights were associated with which switch.  Last night in the tub with lots of floating toys around him, daddy asked him, "do you see the duck?"  He's starting to speak in sentences so he responded, "I see the duck."  Then, he must have realized he needed to actually find the duck so he started to look around for it.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Back in the box.  She loves being in a box.  Especially if there are things in the box.  She was in the most uncomfortable looking box of Legos earlier.  She was happy, even if her bottom must have been all kinds of discomfort.

Someone Once Said:  Everything is theoretically impossible, until it is done.

The Cranberry Sauce Continuum

A can of cranberry sauce has special space-time properties.  Not every can of cranberry sauce exhibits these characteristics, but each can has the capability inherent in it's makeup. 

Most cans of cranberry sauce are purchased around the time of Thanksgiving and are immediately put to use at a Thanksgiving or holiday meal.  But some cranberry sauce cans are bought for the "what if no one remembered cranberry sauce" contingency.  It's an easy dish to bring, it doesn't go bad and if someone has already brought cranberry sauce, then it doesn't need to be opened and served.  It's these latter cans that cause all the trouble. 

These extra cans sit around because people commonly associate cranberry sauce with only one main meal a year.  Not to worry, that bonus can of cranberry sauce can just go back into the pantry because it wasn't needed.  And that's when the time warping begins.

It's January and you might notice the unused can of cranberry sauce, but you're not in the mood for it and honestly, are there any dishes that feature cranberry sauce, because you've never heard of them.  Surely there are loads of cranberry sauce delights but as you're not in the mood for cranberry sauce this month, no recipes are looked up on the internet and you leave the pantry.  The can conveniently is out of your mind again.

As the months go by, the can of cranberry sauce waxes and wanes in it's perceptibility.  Sometimes you notice it and think it's taking up space and how did you get stuck with this can because you know you're not going to ever get around to doing something with it.  Perhaps there will be a food drive sometime and it can be donated, you think.

And then sometimes you hardly notice it.  That can has been a fixture on the shelf for so long it's faded into the general roar of all the other foodstuffs.  It's during this time of year that the can enables it's protective feature of invisibility.  Because it knows you've had enough and are likely to throw it out.

Soon fall arrives and the can realizes it's got a good chance to fulfill it's original mission, that of becoming cranberry sauce served at a Thanksgiving dinner.  At this point the can enables it's"pass it along" feature.  You remember the can just when a friend or dinner guest suggests that they need to buy cranberry sauce.  "Wait!" you say, "I have a can you can have.  Don't go to the store.  Save your money."  If you play it well, the unsuspecting friend won't hear the desperation in your voice.  They won't realize you checked the expiration date and you can give it away guilt-free because cranberry sauce has a long long shelf life.

Deep breaths of relaxation.  The can is finally passed off.  You look at the empty spot on the shelf and think of all the meaningful food items you can place there now.  You vow this isn't going to happen again.  Not this year.  You did not sign up for cranberry sauce and you're not even going near the cranberry aisle in the supermarket.

That's when the call goes out.  The cans have a sub-ether communication system.  They sense your weakness.  They cavort amongst themselves and contact an unsuspecting dinner guest.  "Bring a spare can of cranberry sauce to dinner" they whisper.  They send thoughts of a meal without an anchor of delicious cranberry sauce and a feeling of mild despair spurns the guest into action.  "I must buy cranberry sauce!" thinks the guest.  And like it or not, you now have an unexpected, unneeded, unwanted can of cranberry sauce, delivered by a smiling happy holiday guest.  "Thank you," you hear yourself say. 

This year's score:  Cranberry sauce-1  Me-0.

The Big Boy Update:  Words.  I can't even keep up with all the words he knows now.  It's a torrent.  He may know of a word, but hasn't had a chance to use it yet and since he can now pronounce things on a first try basis, he may have never said that word before, but now he's using it in a sentence.  Children are remarkable.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles: A Tisket a Tasket.  Uncle Fred and Aunt Barbara gave my daughter this cute, strange, quirky little doll that sings, "A Tisket a Tasket" if you press the button in the hand just so.  Also, if you squeeze the stomach, the mouth opens in an errie "O" shape that makes all adults laugh.  She loves this thing.  She likes to carry it around the house.  It's the first "carry all" she's had.  It is quite charming, especially since her balance is only so-so.

Someone Once Said:   I am strong for women’s rights but was never taken in by unisex nonsense. I don’t yearn to be equal. I don’t begrudge men one whit of their natural advantages as long as they respect mine. I am not an unhappy pesudomale; I am female and like it that way.

Twilight

No, not the movie.  The time of day.  I looked up the meaning of twilight this morning and I was surprised at what I found.  Let me explain.

My neighbor and I've been running early in the morning and we're mostly running in the dark.  We'd like to run in the light because we could go into the park, run in a more visually beautiful, natural setting.  But we're not going in the woods before light.  And we're not going in with headlamps, as someone had suggested.  Because snakes.  In the dark, with a headlamp, all sticks across the path look like snakes.  All of them.  Survey says pass.

Daylight savings time was earlier this month and we had hoped we could get back into the park, but we're still mostly in the dark.  Winter solstice isn't for a month so I figured we'd be losing more daylight over the next several weeks before things would start getting better.  As I wondered about this, in the wee hours of the morning, while I waited for a go / no go text from my neighbor on if she could run, I looked up sunrise times.

It was as I expected, sunrise wasn't until 6:58, which means we're almost done before the sun is up.  And it gets worse not only up until winter solstice in a month, but for almost two months because after winter solstice, we gain daylight at the end of the day and continue to lose light in the morning.

Right after that I got a, "we're on" text, so I got up and got ready to run in the thirty-six degree weather.  As we were running, I told my neighbor about the sunrise situation.  But as we continued our turkey day run, it started to get light earlier than I anticipated.  I then realized that "sunrise" isn't the point it starts to get light.  That's the pre-dawn phase.  The question is, how much sooner does this happen with respects to sunrise.  In the case of yesterday's run, we were able to go into the park well before true sunrise at 6:58.

This morning in the pre-dawn light I went back to the sunrise/sunset tables.  There was an option to show twilight times.  Initially I hadn't gone for this option because I didn't care about light after sunset.  As it turns out, twilight isn't just for sunset, it also applies to light visible prior to sunrise as well.

But which "Twilight" time tables do you want?  You mean there is more than one twilight, you ask?  Apparently so.  There is the "Civil Twilight" which is the general light we'd consider as moms and dads and school teachers and bakers and farmers.  Then there's "Nautical Twilight" which—as it makes sense to me—is visible for longer because at sea you have a full view of the horizon.  And last, there is "Astronomical Twilight" which is more restrictive as there must be no sunlight remnants whatsoever for good astronomical observations and measurements.  The technical version of all of this is 6, 12 and 18 degrees below the horizon for the three categories.  How cool is that?  (If you're not sure, it's cool.  Trust me.)

So now the "light enough to run in the park" time makes sense.  Civil twilight is about a half-hour earlier than true sunrise, and that's just about when there's enough light to see the park trail clearly.   Unfortunately it doesn't change the fact that we're going to be running in the neighborhood in the dark for some months to come.

The Big Boy Update:  Hardcore!  Last night as we were doing some exercises through the Nike Kinect system, the word "hardcore" was brought up.  I'm not sure if my son said it first or if my husband taught it to him, but we all decided in his post-Thanksgiving, sugar high, bounce around the basement rush that he most definitely was "hardcore."  He kept saying it because we kept laughing when he did.  Later, we talked to Aunts Adrienne and Brenda and he told Aunt Adrienne he was hardcore. 

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Fever.  Just before Thanksgiving dinner she presented with a 102 degree fever.  And as is the way with babies, we don't know why.  She seems fine now and she definitely was fine once she had some ibuprofen.  Hopefully it will resolve quickly.  Today she's been doing some napping, but is mostly that same little happy girl she always is.

Fitness Update:  Ab Ripper.  My husband challenged my niece, Olivia, and me to do the P90X fifteen minute "Ab Ripper" workout.  Olivia and I gave it our best.  Our best wasn't good enough.  No, that's not really true.  We did a very good job considering we haven't been going to Ab Ripper bootcamp for the last several months.  At the start I said, "Pft, we can do fifteen minutes."  At only two minutes in, I began to complain loudly about the slowness of their clock and theories of ab ripping time warping unfairness.

Someone Once Said:  Knowledge about a situation is the first essential step to coping with it.

The Fulmer Stomach

Different people gain weight in different areas.  Some people have hips that get wider as they put on pounds and others put it on in their stomachs.  I am a member of the latter group.  I remember being young and doing lots of physical activities like gymnastics and cheer leading.  I was in fairly good shape and I am almost positive I didn't have any fat or flab on my stomach.  I don't completely remember though, because I never took the time to notice.  Ah, youth and innocence.

As I got into my twenties, I noticed my pants were fitting a little tighter around the waist.  I noticed I was getting a "fat stomach" and I didn't like it.  I talked to my mother.  I talked to my cousin.  We all agreed it was something called "The Fulmer Stomach," named so for our grandparents on my mother's side. 

As I was young, I remember feeling a little sad that I was plagued with this inheritance.  What a shame it was I had this stomach thing going on.  Darn my heritage.  Okay, I'm not sure I was completely throwing fault across the generations, but I wasn't stepping up and claiming full responsibility for the excess mid-section weight alone.  Not if I could blame genetics.  Not if I could keep eating donuts and cake.

Fast forward and eventually I became accepting of the stomach bulge.  I didn't like it, but it was difficult to get rid of.  I heard stories of how once you have the fat cells, they never go away, they just shrink.  Oh dear.  Oh well, I thought.  Eventually I became pregnant and that small bulge was nothing to the burgeoning belly of a pregnant lady.

After the babies and into the exercise phase of my life and I started to see the stomach recede.  I wasn't sure how much would go away though.  Things sure do stretch when you're pregnant.  Did it ever go back to normal?  And then there was the general pudge I'd had for a long time.  Getting fit and losing weight were all well and good, but would it make a difference in the stomach realm?

I hadn't thought about it in a long while because I was focused on weight loss in general, not in a specific area.  Then, I got sidetracked again because wow, I had abdominal muscles.  I am quite certain I had them as a teen but who cared back then, because, hey, BOYS!  So if I had ab muscles, I never noticed.

This morning after our Turkey Day Run I was standing on the scale and I realized I didn't have that "Fulmer Stomach" any more because I didn't have to lean far forward to see the readout.  For the first time in two decades, I don't have the Fulmer Stomach.  As it's Thanksgiving day, it was an unexpected thing to realize, and a definite thing I'm thankful for.

The Big Boy Update:  Hide and seek.  This morning, Nana played hide and seek with him.  He'd never heard of this game before, but children are inherently interested in hiding and being found.  While Nana counted, I helped him hide.  He understood he should stay still and wait to be found.  He loved it when he was found.  Then he and I went to the corner and counted together just like Nana told him to, while she hid.  He and I looked around until he found her.  He had a grin on the whole time.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  "No, really, potty.  I'm serious."  When I found her yesterday at the potty, those are the words I imagined her saying to me.  We've seen her play around the potty before.  We have even speculated that it might mean she needs to go and we've sat her down on it.  And sometimes she's gone then.  Yesterday in the middle of activities happening around the house, I saw her walk into the master for not really any reason.  I followed her in in a minute and found her in the master bathroom standing in the potty, going in her pants.  She went to the potty, but didn't know how to get her clothes off so she got the closest she could.  Note that her eleven-month older brother has not yet shown such incentive.

Fitness Update:  Turkey day run successful.  We had no idea how far we would run when we started.  I really wanted to be done several times early on, but that's how it usually goes.  When it got light we went into the park and made it to the top of half-mile hill as I like to call it since it's a switch-backing half mile ascent.  We made it home at a little over eleven miles.  Bring on the turkey and ham, folks, momma's hungry.

Someone Once Said:   There is nothing wrong with being scared…as long as you don’t let it affect you until the danger is over. Being hysterical is okay, too…afterwards and in private. Tears are not unmanly…in the bathroom with the door locked. The difference between a coward and a brave man is mostly a matter of timing.

Starbucks School

Remember how I decided it would be nice to like coffee some months back?  Remember how I succeeded?  Then remember how I decided I liked "foffee" otherwise known as fake coffee—although I think fluffy coffee would be an equally appropriate designation—over regular coffee?  I am now taking it a step further; I've decided to go to Starbucks school.

You didn't know Starbucks had a school?  They don't per se, but it is something you need to attend if you intend to be effective in ordering one of their beverages.  First, there is no small, medium or large sizes.  They have special names.  You probably already knew that as Starbucks pioneered the complicated coffee shop genre.

Next, you need to know the names and differences between the fancy drinks.  For instance, what's a latte and what's a frappachino? Here's a hint, one is a hot drink and the other is a frozen, blended drink.  Note that you can order most drinks in either hot or iced or frozen blended form.  I got a cold drink one time when I expected a hot drink.  It seemed I needed to do some studying up in the beverage temperature realm.  But once you get the basics straight, you can graduate to more advanced classes at Starbucks University.

For instance, there are certain number of "pumps" of the various flavored syrups in some of their drinks.  If you know how many there are by default (and this changes based on drink and drink size) then you can ask for less or more.   You can also ask for "no froth" or "no whip" if you don't want whip cream or the frothy milk on the top of your drink.  The syrup pumps and whip options are key if you're looking for a lower-calorie version of a specific beverage.

You can ask for a certain type of milk such as, soy, non-fat, low-fat, etc.  Oh, and did you want less milk (read calories) and more coffee?  You can go with less milk by percentage and replace the missing volume with brewed coffee instead of espresso.  That is, if you know how to ask for it.

So you've got an idea about your options, right?  But do you know how to waltz up to the counter (or zoom up to the drive-through speaker) and place your order?  Because this is your final exam.  When you know how to place complex, custom orders, you get your graduation gown, cap and diploma.

Back to my studying as I had a long way to go.  It took me a while to realize they don't care what order you give them the vital statistics of your drink, so long as you get them out.  There may well be some flexible register software to make this happen, or their employees went to Starbucks Graduate school.

When you place your custom order, you want to state the beverage size (tall, grande, venti,) add the category of your drink (latte, frappuccino, mocha.)  Is it a special drink like the winter "Pumpkin Spice" beverage?  If so, you need to specify that.  You can give the type of milk you want (non-fat, low-fat, whole, etc.) and any special requests like "three pump."  Did you want to eliminate the whip cream?  If so, add "no whip" and then if you have additional requests like "extra hot" add that on in.

Do you have all the individual word-phrases you need to say to get your custom drink just the way you want it?  Are you mentally prepared to be greeted by the Starbucks order taker and confidentally say, without stumbling, "Venti three-pump non-fat pumpkin spice latte, no whip, extra hot?"

Is there any wonder I've almost gone into mental freeze-out when confronted with the order taker?  I've had to hang up the phone before getting to the drive through line because I had to get my mind ready to spew out all the descriptive words necessary to get my drink just so.  Sometimes, I've been ill-prepared and reverted to a standard item I can read directly off the menu board such as, "venti skinny vanilla latte, please."

I'm still studying for my diploma.  It may be a while yet before I graduate.

The Big Boy Update:  "Truck blah truck truck blah blah truck."  He is most definitely truck obsessed.  Yesterday from his room he could see dump trucks depositing dirt in one lot and a cement mixer delivering cement across the street.  I'm not sure what he was saying, but about one in four of his words were "truck."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Hiking up her dress.  She wore her new birthday dress from Mimi and Gramps yesterday for the first time.  She hasn't had a dress on that was so long before and she didn't know quite what to do with it.  She decided to grab both sides and hike it up and then walk around.  She looked just like a little lady stepping over puddles for a while.  

Fitness Update:  Sore from yesterday's ten miles.  I suppose that combined with the P90X from the day before was a lot more muscular exertion than I realized.  Tomorrow my neighbor and I do a "turkey day run," as she's been calling it.  Hopefully the sore will be gone.

Someone Once Said:  The trouble with “the people’s right to know” is that is strongly resembles the “right” of someone to be a concert pianist–but who does not want to practice.

The Novelty of Neighbors

Most people have neighbors.  They might be much too close for comfort, as in a noisy apartment neighbor, or they might be far away, as in the next farm over.  But at some point and at some distance, we all have neighbors.

When we moved to our current neighborhood, we did so right in the middle of the current economic depression.  We were the only house being built in our mostly empty neighborhood for almost our entire building process.  Once we moved in, we had very little activity around us for the next year.  Finally, things have started picking up.  No no, that's not accurate.  Things are so busy here, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to get off my street, less that I'll be able to even get out of the neighborhood for all the construction trucks and equipment around.  Activity is good.

No neighbors though.  We're on a cul-de-sac road with a total of eleven lots on the entire road.  The road ends in "Trail" which I find amusing as it isn't much of a trail.  It doesn't meander or wind or go anywhere interesting.  Maybe it's named for a different scale of animal life.  It's a trail for the ant colonies that appear magically up and down the pavement cracks during springtime.

At any rate, trail or not, we now have neighbors.  And I'm trying to adjust.  Some of the adjustments have been gradual, such as realizing that during working hours there are apt to be workers doing building-type things in front of our house and to the side where our master bath is.  This means that unless I want to frighten off the nice construction people, I should close the blinds when I'm taking a bath and getting dressed.  Gone are the days of scampering around naked without a care because, hey, no one is even remotely close enough to see anything, even with binoculars.

During the summers I could go out on the deck and lie out in my bathing suit in the lounger chair.  I could even go out on the deck not in my bathing suit and lounge around.  I was protected by the house from two sides and there was nothing but trees and woods from the other two directions.  Did I mention scampering around naked?  Oh, oops, I'm giving you mental images, aren't I?  Sorry.

Suffice it to say I wasn't worried about being seen.  I could go get the mail in my sleeping clothes.  I could let the dog out and go holler for her to come back in and I might only have made it to the underpants and shirt stage of getting dressed.  Not to worry, no one was there.

This past Saturday, our first street neighbors moved in.  They're right next door and we're very glad to have them here.  I'm suddenly realizing I've taken a lot for granted having no neighbors.  I can send the dog out (we have no fence) and let her wander around until she's ready to come back in.  I don't need to worry about her bothering anyone.  And if she barks, no to worry, she's just annoying the deer down the hill in the woods.   But now, I'm more vigilant about keeping her in our yard and keeping her backing under control.

Gone are the days of streaking through the house without a care.   Sad as that may be, I'm glad to trade it in for neighbors.

The Big Boy Update:  Bottom on the ground.  Yesterday was family Thanksgiving celebration at school.  It is a formal occasion in which the children welcome family members into their classroom, share bread and butter they've made and read a story about giving thanks.  It is a very sweet celebration.  When I walked in, close to the end of the group of parents, I noticed all the other children sitting down quietly.  I also noticed my son, standing and fidgeting in the very middle of the circle of students with the biggest grin on his face.  He was pointing and smiling because his Nana and Papa had come to town just to celebrate with him.  He was so happy he couldn't keep his "bottom on the ground" as I've heard them say at school.  He did behave well through the rest of the event.  They did a good job making the bread and butter.  It tasted great.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Mobile modes.  I knew she was messing with her mobile in the crib, because I'd try to turn it on and it would be off sometimes.  I didn't realize for a while that it was always off in the same way.  There are two switches and they both had to be moved more than one notch to get to the full off position.  When I put her to bed last night I turned on the mobile like I always do and as I walked out I turned around to see her stand up, go up to the mobile and immediately turn both switches back off.  Maybe she's growing out of the mobile. 

Fitness Update:  Four miles with my neighbor this morning and several more in plan with Uncle Jonathan this afternoon.  The first day of P90X didn't work us too badly as we can still move today, although I hear there are more difficult workouts to follow.

Someone Once Said:  When one teaches, two learn.

Ort

Last night we celebrated Practice Thanksgiving, a tradition we've had for the past five years in which our friends get together to give thanks and share a meal.  It is always fun, but I think it's become more fun over the years for me. 

I do look forward to "Regular Thanksgiving" because it's a special meal with family, but our friends are so nice and so happy and so much fun to be around that I think I may look forward to Practice Thanksgiving just as much.

My husband made a turkey and some gravy, but the rest of the meal was brought by our friends.  And you know how I feel about eating dishes other people make.  I love it.  So much good food.  Fun friends, wine, oh, and desserts.  This year was the year of desserts.  We had a big selection of desserts and I tried every single one. 

As people were chatting after dinner or watching the game on TV, we started cleaning up.  We had lots of help, it's always so nice that people jump right in and help.  Did I mention how cool our friends are?

As we cleaned up I kept thinking about how much ort there was.  So much ort.  Ort is one of those words you don't hear often and use even more rarely.  It was a word I came across one time and it stuck with me.  Ort is anything remaining on your plate.  That last bit of mashed potatoes, the chicken bone, the garnish on the salad.  It's any remaining food item from a meal.

We all ate heartily, but the variety of food at a meal this big, the number of desserts, not to mention the turkey carcass and there was just ort her and there and everywhere.  And it seemed to all be greasy.  I don't like greasy. 

The nice thing was we were all still chatting and having a good time while we were cleaning up.  It's one of those nights you're sad is over.  

The Big Boy Update:  Gravity check.  He got a balloon at a birthday party on Saturday.  He let it go and it floated to the ceiling.  We retrieved it for him and in short order he released it again.  My husband and I were doing other things when I heard a clunk sound.  Then I heard a clatter sound.  My husband and I both arrived on the scene at the same time, but I'd managed to catch a glimpse of what he was doing.  My husband was about to have a talk to him about throwing things in the house when I stopped him and said, "He's not throwing, he's testing gravity.  He is throwing things up, to see if they'll float up to meet the balloon."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Social Butterfly.  At Practice Thanksgiving, my daughter decided she wanted to mingle.  She happily walked around from room to room, person to person, checking out all the guests.  People would pick her up, talk with her and sit her on their lap.  In a while, they'd put her down and she'd be on her way again to make sure the next room was having a good time as well.  Next year maybe we'll have her serving canapes on a tray.

Fitness Update:  Today was our first day of P90X.  We're suppose to do something like five days a week and the program lasts ninety days. Then you're totally ripped.  Or is it "totally cut?"  Whatever the phrase is that means you have serious muscles in places other people have blubber, that's what we'd have.  But we still like to run.  So it might take us several years to get through P90X.  Also, pushups?  The workout was doable and reasonable, aside from all the pushup-type exercises.  I am a pushup failure, always have been.

Someone Once Said:  When any government, or any church for that matter, undertakes to say to its subjects, This you may not read, this you must not see, this you are forbidden to know, the end result is tyranny and oppression no matter how holy the motives.

Space Two

There was limited parking for students with cars at my high school.  You either had to get to school early to get one of the covet spots on the streets surrounding the campus, or you had to walk a long way and you could be late for class.

There were, however, a few places to park that were reserved. They were hard to come by and you had to do work in advance to get them.  One was a parking lot right in the middle of the campus it seemed.  It was a private lot owned by a company.  Prior to the start of the school year, if you remembered, asked your parents, convinced them it was wort the cost or came up with a way to pay for it yourself, you could buy a space for the calendar year.  And I wanted one.

My negotiating or wheedling skills must have been on that day, because my parents agreed and I got them the information to get a spot for the following year, my senior year.   But there was one other option.

The school had a few spots they would give to seniors.  They gave them out via lottery and they were completely free.  These spots were just as close, and they were coveted by all car-enabled rising seniors.

My boyfriend at the time was a senior, and he had one of those amazing parking spots.  His was more amazing because it was closer to the entrance than even most of the teacher spots.  I'm not sure why students could be so lucky, but I kept hoping I'd get one.

As my boyfriend was leaving that year, in the school's newspaper he left me space number two, his parking spot.  One of our favorite teachers, Mister Gunter, and our math team coach read Bill's note.  When he saw me he said, "I see Bill left you his parking spot for next year, good luck."  Mister Gunter wasn't known for humor.  He was firm but an excellent teacher.  Oh, and quirky.  Excessively quirky. 

When the lottery happened and the results were up, I went to the board and looked.  My name was by space number two.  This can not be true.  My mind boggled.  I wanted a spot, any spot.  I never dreamed I'd get Bill's spot.  I walked away dazed.  I checked that list between every class that day and the results were always the same.  Space two.

I went to see my mother at her office after school.  She was thrilled for me.  I believe (or at least I remember it this way) that she and I jumped up and down together.  It doesn't sound like my mother, but she's that supportive and I was certainly excited enough.

I was able to sell the parking space I'd reserved and paid for easily.  And I parked all year long in my amazing space.  I even got a license vanity plate that said "SPACE TWO."   Did Mister Gunter rig the lottery?  It doesn't sound like him.  But I almost prefer those odds to the chance that I'd get my name pulled for Bill's exact parking spot.

The Big Boy Update:  Shelf up.  We've had some problems with the "Harry Potter closet" of late.  Problems in that suddenly things on higher shelves are more interesting and a challenge to reach.  He's short, but there are things he can get to if he constructs a platform of toys or re-purposes a stool.  I found him earlier with every toy on the floor in the back of the closet.  Where was he?  He was happily laying on the second shelf up.  I don't know how he planned to get down without landing on the pile of pokey toys.  Maybe they learn to plan ahead when they're older.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Splash and Roll.  I keep forgetting to shut the door to the bathrooms.  She has hit the age of unrolling.  If she can get to a roll of toilet paper, it's doomed.  We have more than one lopsided, rerolled roll in the house right now.  And then there's the splash.  I'm changing her brother and I hear splish splash sounds in coming from the bathroom.  Bother.  I forgot to close the lid on the toilet again.  We're having hand washing lessons now and mommy is in remedial bathroom training.

Fitness Update:  No exercise today, due to Practice Thanksgiving.  Dear tomorrow's weigh-in: I would like to apologize in advance.

Someone Once Said:   Remind me to write an article on the compulsive reading of news. The theme will be that most neuroses can be traced to the unhealthy habit of wallowing in the troubles of five billion strangers.

Lipstick and Sharpies

My neighbor and I were running together this morning, talking about many things.  We ran longer than we'd anticipated and at the very end we took three more small jags in the neighborhood so we could finish out the current story.

She was telling me about a patient she had who was pregnant with multiples.  The conversation moved into how some people need to have more control over their environment than others and how things in your life can change how much control you might expect to have.  Let's say, for instance, children.

Before having children I'd see someone with a messy baby at a restaurant.  Or maybe they had a loud, crying baby in a public setting.  "Why aren't they keeping the baby quiet?"  or, "Why don't they clean up their child?"  These are things I've been through personally and I understand now that just because you want to have a clean, quiet child, they're not always going to remain clean or stay quiet.

Earlier in the run we had talked about messes the children have made and how terrible they are at the time, how awful we react (even though we know it wasn't intentional) and how they're funny to think about now. 

I told her about the puddle of pee in the closet from yesterday.  She told me about the lipstick kisses on the wall.  Aghast, I asked if it was hard to get cleaned off.  Yes, it was a nightmare.  But...not nearly so bad as the lovely drawing one of her girls made on a wall one day...in sharpie.  She didn't remember the number of coats of pain it took to get it back to normal, but it was a lot.

I said, "I'm not through the worst of it am I?"  She laughed, because my children are still so young and said, "You've got it easy, the worst is yet to come."  As we finished our run I thought about her patient with the multiples that was having a hard time coping with her new-found baby chaos and I thought "Lipstick and Sharpies, here I come." 

The Big Boy Update:  Cleaning up.  He's doing more "life skills" at school.  They've been taught how to wash tables, wash their hands, polish shoes and wash leaves.  Yes, there is a whole station for leaf washing at school that sports a very healthy looking plant with shiny leaves.  He's learned how to squeeze oranges to make juice and he makes bread regularly.  He's interested in having water put into a small pitcher so he can pour it into his toy cups and then drink it.  He wants a cloth at the end of a meal so he can clean up the tray and he will put a napkin in his lap very neatly, without you asking, and without you even noticing if he has one available.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Bumpers away.  I've been removing the bumpers from the inside of her crib one side at a time.  Initially, they're good for head bump protection and also sound dampening in a noisy house.  But they're a pain when you need to pull the mattress out and change the sheet.  Don't even say change the sheet with the mattress still in the bed, because the railings are so high you'll almost fall in and you'll never get the edges on well enough to keep the sheet tight when the baby goes to sleep.  So the last segment is gone now.  Well see if she notices tonight.

Fitness Update:  My neighbor and I got to running this morning and did that, "just to the top of the next hill?" thing several times, netting us an unexpected ten mile run.  I got back and wanted to eat some of my daughter's "It's so fluffy!" pink birthday cake from last night when I realized I couldn't eat it because it was too sweet.  Exercising makes your appetite go away for hours sometimes.  This afternoon I was able to successfully eat that very pink piece of cake without it tasting too cloying though.  If exercise ever completely killed my sweet tooth tendencies, I'd consider going back to being a slob.

Someone Once Said:  If "everybody knows" such-and-such, then it ain't so, by at least ten thousand to one.

The Empty Inbox

From an electronic standpoint, my email inbox can give me a fairly good idea of how long I'm going to be sitting here at the computer working on things in a given day.  The way I work with my inbox is if it's not done, it sits in the inbox and looks at me and annoys me until I get whatever it is accomplished. 

And as such, I hate a full inbox.  The more mail there, the more work to do.  There are the read, file or delete emails.  There are the junk emails, but there is always a percentage of emails that require action to be taken.

Maybe that action is just a response email.  Maybe it's doing lots of research, writing something detailed or planning out something for some time before I can remove the item from my inbox.   It's nice to see only a few items left in my inbox, but those few items might be large time suck commitments I've been putting off until the end.

But once I get through everything, once I've "bounced" every email response back to the sender, I love sitting there looking at my very empty inbox.  It's such a nice feeling I've been known to turn to my husband, who sits at the desk beside me and point to my inbox (a boring window on my screen) and say, "look, it's empty."  I think he tries to look impressed, or excited for me, or happy. 

It's a big relaxing moment to know there's nothing that I'm behind on in e-land.  I've been known to sit there and look at the empty inbox and even press the refresh button to make sure no new "work" has come in.  This sounds pathetic, doesn't it?

My inbox is most definitely not empty today.  So I'm signing off here and heading back to whack away at the ever-growing inbox.

The Big Boy Update:  Heh burr kop pher.  Children don't have filters built in when they're born.  They hear everything and see everything until they learn to distinguish what's important and what can be ignored.  For instance, I don't hear planes flying overhead as they don't affect me in any way.  He hears them all.  This morning while eating breakfast he said, "heh burr cop pher" several times.  I didn't know what he meant.  He told me, "outside"  Then he pointed upwards and made the flying motion with his hand. Oh, helicopter!  My husband walked in shortly after that and told me they'd been working on that word lately.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Ta da!  Her teacher told me that not only does she say "uh oh" when she's doing work, she says, "ta da" when she's completed something.  Thinking back now, I can hear her saying something like, "dah dah" with an air of accomplishment as she's working with something.

Fitness Update:  5.5 miles.  Still mostly dark.  Not as cold though.  That was nice.

Someone Once Said:  Heredity isn’t everything; You’re an individual. You aren’t your parents. You’re not your father, you are not your mother. So be yourself and have the courage to make your own mess of your life.

The Eighty Thousand Dollar Pick Up Line

I went to get my engagement ring cleaned today at the jewelry store.  I got there later than I anticipated and the time it was going to take to remove the excessive grime, goo and gunk from the depths of all the crevices, was longer than I had to wait, so I had to leave it there.  The sales person handed me a small slip of paper with a claim number on it and she walked away with my ring.

I encountered a strange feeling as she left.  I had just gotten something that's virtually worthless (a small slip of paper) in exchange for something that's very valuable to me (my ring.)  As I  walked out in the rain, I held on to the little slip of paper with the claim number on it more tightly than the little piece of paper deserved.

I got in the car, put it on the dash.  Decided that wasn't a good spot in case there was an unknown crack or hole somewhere.  I moved it to my pocket.  I worried it might fall out when I pulled out the key or phone later.  I finally moved it to my wallet where it would remain safe until pick up time.

But what if I did lose the claim ticket?  There is video in the store, I'm sure they would eventually give me back my ring.  But it would be a hassle.  It reminded me of a lost claim check situation that happened in Las Vegas many years ago.

I was with two of my associates.  We had been working together for a good while and we had the weekend off.  Adam maintained residence in Las Vegas for tax purposes.  His "residence" was with at the house of his aunt and uncle, although he didn't keep possessions there and he only visited rarely.  His job was travel and he was good at his job.

That weekend was lots of fun in Las Vegas.  His aunt and uncle were wealthy.  They had a stunning house in a neighborhood where the Prince of Brunei, who at the time was one of the world's wealthiest royals, maintained a home.  It was a posh neighborhood.  And as his aunt and uncle weren't home that weekend, we had the place all to ourselves.

He had his choice of vehicles when we went to the casinos and on Saturday so he chose the Mercedes.  We got to MGM and he decided to valet park the car.  Food, gambling, entertainment and hours later we're ready to head back.  Adam looked, he couldn't find the valet ticket.  And this posed a problem.

First, the car wasn't his.  His name wasn't on the registration.  Second, his last name wasn't the same as his aunt and uncles.  How was he going to get their car back?  How was he going to explain losing their car because he couldn't keep track of a single piece of paper?  He started talking to the valet guys about what options he had.

He could describe the car in detail, but what got him the car back wasn't the color of the leather or the type of wheels.  They told him if he could tell them about something in the car that no one would know about unless they had been in the car, they'd let him have it.  And this he could do.  He'd left his crippled sunglasses in the glove compartment.  The glasses were missing a screw and the left side hinged down as well as in and out.

They pulled the car up, got the glasses, checked the broken behavior and handed the car over to us.  As we drove off he said, "Who would have thought a broken pair of glasses would have gotten me an eighty thousand dollar car?"

The Big Boy Update:  Happy Birthday song.  Last night at dinner, he burst into song.  The happy birthday song.  We haven't been able to get him to sing a song by himself, much less sing in tune with understandable words.  But he knows the happy birthday song.  My husband and I both did a double take when he started singing, stared at him and then looked at each other and said, "did you hear that?"  We got a bit of it on video, as he was willing to sing some of the lines over for us.  We asked who's birthday it was at school.  He said Martha. 

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  In the box.  She likes to be in a box.  Most especially if the box is full and she's sitting on top of everything in the box.  She's done this a lot lately, with anything from balls to uncomfortable blocks.  She sits in the box, grabs individual items, throws them out and says, "Oooooooahhhh" every time.  Sometimes she almost falls out of the box as she leans over and tries to get items and put them back in the box. 

Someone Once Said:  Goodness alone is never enough. A hard, cold wisdom is required for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom always accomplishes evil.

The Twin Fallacy

Have you ever done something so boneheaded, so idiotic, so moronic that when you realized it you were just stunned that you could be so dense?  I live that life.  You'd think I'd be accustomed to the feeling by now, but it still smarts when it happens.

I am an "experience" person.  I just made that term up.  Let me explain.  I can remember specifics of an event--where I was, what music was playing, if the man on the phone had a mustache or not, etc.  But I don't imprint key components of the memory.  For instance, I've mentioned before when I go to a movie, I will have no recollection who I went to the movie with.  When I talk about that movie and the person says, "You know, I was there with you..." I'll remember they were there, but only because they mentioned it.

My neighbor, the nice lady I do my running with, has four adorable little girls.  They are cute and friendly and like to talk to you and ask lots of questions.  We've known them for over two years now.  Two of them are twins.  And I have had trouble, from the very outset, telling the twins apart. 

And this fact is very embarrassing.  The twins have different length hair.  One likes hers short and the other likes hers long.  But still, I have fumbled over which is which.  There have been periods of time that we've not seen them for months.  What if they've swapped hair styles?  I would be so upset if I got them mixed up.  I've been paralyzed into not saying their names until I figured out if they still had the same hairstyles so I wouldn't get their names wrong.

So I've been fumbling for two years on keeping them straight.  This Halloween we went trick-or-treating with our neighbors.  I got it straight that night because Ellie was an Angel and Maddie was a Baliwood dancer.  But that only helped when they were in costume.

This past weekend we had my daughter's one year party and our neighbors and their cute little girls came.  Embarrassed, I confirmed with my neighbor that Ellie still had the long hair.  And then I said something key to her, "they have distinct faces, I don't know why I'm still confused."  Now, at this point, you might be on my side.  You're thinking that twins are tricky to identify.  But these are fraternal twins.  They're no different than any other two sisters.  And there is just no excuse for me that I am confused, still, after two years.

I suddenly realized I had been worried about hair and outfits to tell them apart and all I needed to do was take a nice close look at their faces.  HELLO.  They look totally different.  Did I mention I was thick-headed and fairly dense in the grey matter region?  I'd like to repeat again the words, "totally" and "different" because they really do look strikingly different.

From that very moment when I took the time to look at their faces and make a connection with face and name, I will never get them confused again.  What was it that made me so worried about not being able to tell them apart?  Whatever it was, it blinded me into not looking at the evidence of individuality that was right in front of me.

Back to being embarrassed, no, I think the proper word is ashamed, at my inability to tell two children apart after knowing them for so long and what I did next.  My neighbor and I ran this morning at the crack of early and I told her the story you've just read.  When you screw up as badly as I did in a situation like this, you might as well beg for mercy.  She is such a kind lady.  She of course said it was okay and she even said it made sense how people see twins as a different set of two than they might see two siblings in general.  My neighbor is the best.  And now, I know exactly which of her children I'm talking to, and only after two years.  I'm such a quick study.

The Big Boy Update:  Penis down.  He can say "penis."  I wouldn't have expected him to know this word except one of his teachers explained to me how they've been teaching them to push their penis's down when sitting on the potty so they don't go all over the floor, or their friends, or their teacher.  Today he pointed to his penis and started saying, "penis, penis."   When he was on the potty later we reinforced the lessons from school and asked him to push his penis down.  All of that was great, but ultimately, he peed in the tub during his bath.  Maybe we'll have more luck next time.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Can you drain the tub?  I am continually amazed at her understanding of language and words.  This afternoon in the tub her brother wasn't ready to get out and was having none of opening the drain.  She was close to it and so I said to her (not expecting her to understand, but for her brother to hear,) "Can you drain the tub?"  She looked at the drain, looked at me, reached out and tried to pull it up. 

Fitness Update:  Back in the run.  7.3 miles today, early, early, before 6AM.  But we were so desperate to run, we didn't care.  The funny thing was, we kept checking the time.  We extended our run not one, not two, but three times because we both were so happy to be out and exercising in the thirty six degree weather. 

Someone Once Said:   Do not confuse "duty" with what other people expect of you; they are utterly different. Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfill obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it may be, but the reward is self-respect. But there is no reward at all for doing what other people expect of you, and to do so is not merely difficult, but impossible. It is easier to deal with a footpad than it is with the leech who wants "just a few minutes of your time, please—this won't take long." Time is your total capital, and the minutes of your life are painfully few. If you allow yourself to fall into the vice of agreeing to such requests, they quickly snowball to the point where these parasites will use up 100 percent of your time—and squawk for more! So learn to say No—and to be rude about it when necessary. Otherwise you will not have time to carry out your duty, or to do your own work, and certainly no time for love and happiness. The termites will nibble away your life and leave none of it for you. (This rule does not mean that you must not do a favor for a friend, or even a stranger. But let the choice be yours. Don't do it because it is "expected" of you.)

Driving by Blueberry

I remember being of an age when I knew I'd be able to drive soon.  I'm not sure if it was thirteen or fourteen or possibly fifteen.  When I think back on this time it seems like I was very young, but that's memory for you.  I remember being excited about the independence I'd get from having that coveted drivers license.  This was before any driving was done.  I was 100% enthusiasm and 0% responsibility.  It only takes one time behind the wheel to realize it's not just gas pedals and fun.

The first time I ever got behind the wheel was before I took driver's education.  My mother took me to a large parking lot on a weekend day and let me, very slowly, drive through it.  My excitement quickly turned to worry.  "Wow, this is a huge, heavy, machine with a lot of inertia once it gets going," I thought.  Actually, I most likely didn't think anything of the sort in words, but as I recollect that day, those are the impressions I have of that silver Mercedes that suddenly felt like it weighed ten times more than it ever did when I was just a passenger.

That strange feeling went away fairly quickly as I got a feel for the level of control you get just from the steering wheel, brake and gas pedals.  Now that I had mentally burdened myself with the responsibility to not only drive and control a car, I realized I also had to know how to get from place to place.

I wasn't driving this time, I was a passenger in the back of the car.  I made a decision.  I would learn the roads around town so that when I got my license, I'd know where everything was.  I had plenty of opportunity, I was a passenger a lot and we drove around the areas I'd need to know as a driver.  That day I remember making the plan to watch all the road signs and learn my city's streets.

I believe the first road we drove past was Blueberry Drive.  Or was it Blueberry road?  I'm not sure.  Not unlike other teenagers, my plans were quickly in ruin.  I didn't learn the streets, even though I did figure out how to make it around town once I'd gotten my license.

But back to Blueberry.  That street is fairly close to where I live now.  I completely forget about Blueberry because it's a dead end street and I've never known anyone who lives on it.  But every so often, I'll drive by and notice the road name and have a flash back to my childhood and my plan to learn the streets.  

The Big Boy Update:  Gentle hands.  The time-outing has begun.  Or, "take five" or whatever you want to call it when you put a child over in a corner and have them cool down from a misbehavior.  Usually it's for aggressive things like throwing in the house or being too rough with his sister.  He doesn't stay in the corner yet by himself, so you have to sit there with him.  There is no talking during the two minutes he sits there (one minute per year.)  There is re-planting his butt on the floor as he cries and tries to escape and says over and over, "nice, nice," indicating he is repentant.  At the end, you ask him to show you his "gentle hands" and I swear, it almost brings me to tears the way he does it.  He hands you his little hands, very gently.  They're palms up and completely relaxed and he is calm and ready to go back and play and he looks at you with a look that is genuine and honest and asking for forgiveness.  I give him a little kiss and send him off.  No explanations.   He understood what happened.  Or, if he didn't, he'll make the connection the next time.  Too much explanations to a child his age don't help.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Down the stairs.  She can go down the stairs now.  She climbs up and then climbs down backwards.  Getting started from the top of a flight isn't something she's figured out though.  She doesn't know she needs to turn around and start backwards.  Also, yearly shots.  Lots of them.  She is not nearly as cranky as I would have expected after all the inoculations she received today.  Oh, and school.  She went two hours, had a fantastic time her teacher said and was happy and ready to stay when I picked her up.

Fitness Update:  So not a real exercise, but so very fun.  Uncle Jonathan brought over Dance Central Three last night.  He and I danced to songs from the seventies, eighties and into the nineties.  We ended the night of dance with a sweet rendition of Vanilla Ice's, Ice Ice Baby.  Okay, so it wasn't sweet, it was more awkward with a side of ungainly, but we made up for it in fun.

Someone Once Said:   Gadflies are necessary. But it’s well to look at the new rascals before you turn your present rascals out. Democracy is a poor system; the only thing that can be said for it is that it’s eight times as good as any other method. Its worst fault is that its leaders reflect their constituents—a low level, but what can you expect. So look at him and ponder that, in his ignorance, stupidity, and self-seeking, he resembles his fellow Americans but is a notch or two above average. Then look at the man who will replace him if his government topples.

Herringbone Beautiful

I grew up before the internet era but well after the door-to-door salesman craze.  I have a few recollections of Avon ladies ringing the doorbell or other people peddling things that didn't require them to have a trunk full of vacuum cleaners, but it wasn't common and it was always a novelty when a stranger with wares showed up at our door.

A deal is always attractive though, no matter where you found it.  In my mother's office there was a secretary—this was back in the day when they were called "secretaries" before there was a negative connotation with that title—and her husband sold gold jewelry.

Or at least that's how I remember it.  My mother worked with her and her husband had a briefcase filled with gold chains of all kinds.  I wouldn't have encountered his expensive suitcase except that my mother and father decided I was old enough to receive a gift of gold.  Maybe it was for a birthday, maybe it was for Christmas—it did seem rather cool weather at the time.  I am doubting it was for exemplary grades.  No, I am confident it wasn't for academic performance.

He came over to the house with his briefcase and he laid out all manner of chains and necklaces on the dining room table.  I was allowed to pick, within reason, the one I liked the most.  And there was only one I wanted.  It was the smoothest, flattest chain of them all.  It moved in a snake-like fashion.  He said it was a newer weave of metal called, "herringbone."

I loved my herringbone necklace.  I wore it for years.  But I quickly found out it had a flaw.  Herringbone kinked very easily if you were rough with it.  I was not the most delicate child.  I am not the most delicate adult.  I don't wear herringbone now.  But I loved my necklace then.

I believe, I'm not sure though, that that necklace is still in the attic in my childhood memories box.  It is most likely kinked beyond practical use, but from a memory standpoint, it's just fine.

The Big Boy Update:  Hummus itchy.  He's had a questionable reaction to so many things.  One day he seems fine and then another day he gets very red and we have to administer Benadryl.  He had a reaction to hummus today.  He's historically eaten it at school, but today's batch reacted with him.  His reactions are so confusing.  For instance, his egg allergy remains (we think) but he can eat cake with egg in it just fine now.  Hopefully as his immune system develops, he'll become more tolerant to some of the food reactions he has.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Zombie walker.  My niece, Olivia, said she walks like a zombie.  She is completely right.  She holds her hands up and out and walks with a wide stride to keep her balance.  She's getting so good at walking that I'm going to have to endeavor to get some good videos of our little zombie walker before she skills out of it.

Someone Once Said:  A motion to adjourn is always in order.

Your One Song

Is there a song that means more to you than any other song?  A while back I asked myself this same question in relation to movies.  The conclusion I came to was that while I have movies I like to re-watch and movies I really love, I don't have a single movie that's my favorite above all others.  But I do have a favorite song.  And I knew without question what song it was.

I love pop music.  I'm a child of rock and roll and I have great memories of listening to the radio as a child and really loving that newest, hottest song.  When I was old enough to have a tape recorder built into my radio, I'd record songs off the air so I could play them again and again.  I spent lots of money at Record Bar buying tapes.  And there were lots of songs I loved as I went from a pre-teen into adulthood.

But none of those pop songs are my favorite song.  Interestingly enough, the one song I identify most with is Pachelbel 's Cannon in D.

I grew up listening to classical music.  Not by choice, by environment.  My father has always loved classical music and when the radio was on in his house, it was the PBS station and there was classical music playing.  Between songs, a man with a smooth, soft, soothing voice would explain what you just heard and what was coming up next.  It wasn't for me, but I suppose some of it sank in.

Pachelbel's Cannon in D has always been my favorite song to play on the piano.  It's still my favorite song to pick out on any instrument (or app) I come across.  It starts so simply.  It has such a calming and serene feeling.  I even have a CD with nothing but variations of that one song.  Oh, and I also got married to Pachelbel's Cannon in D.

As an aside, I find that I'm appreciating classical music more as I get older.  And speaking of my father and classical music, I would bet I know what his one song is, W. A. Mozart's Eine kleine Nachtmusik.  For as much as I love playing Cannon in D, he has me beat.  I grew up hearing my father play this beautiful piece on his violin all the time.  He still plays it today.

The Big Boy Update:  Absorbent Mind.  I think I'm going to just sub-title the next few hundred posts about his absorbent mind because that's just what he does.  He watches what you do, and then he mimics it.  Tonight, after finishing his milk before bed, he went into the kitchen to the cabinet under the sink.  He is not allowed in this cabinet as it has the dish detergent.  He knows this.  As I turned to tell him he needed to close the cabinet door and walk away, I saw what he was doing.  He was taking the cloth his milk cup had been on and putting it into the cloth washing can under the sink, just like we would have done.  Just like he's seen us do hundreds of times.  Dirty cloths go in the can under the sink.  When he was done putting the cloth in the can, he closed the door.  I told him, "thank you" as he walked away.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  One year old.  It can't possibly be that long.  And yet it has been.  And she has grown and thrived, and has even started school.  She had a happy birthday today with some fun clothes and beautiful toys.  Wait, strike that, reverse it.  We celebrated with family and a few close friends.  She smashed Elmo's nose (her personal cake) all to bits and did a lot of grinning and laughing at the mess she was making.  The rest of the guests enjoyed the remainder of Elmo, pizza and ice cream, but not necessarily in that order.

Someone Once Said:  Girls are like boys, only more so.

Snoots and Foffie

I found some boots.  I also got some nice socks that go way up over the knees and are comfortable when wearing the boots.  But not unlike the bra situation, I find that even good quality boots aren't as comfortable as the sneakers I've been wearing.

There's really nothing more comfortable than sneakers.  They're designed to hug your feet and make them feel like they're being wrapped in a snug bed of fluffy pillows.  Or at least that's how my feet feel in sneakers.  Dress shoes can make your legs look good.  Boots can be great in cold weather and flip flops are perfect for summer weather.  But nothing feels as comforting on your feet as a good pair of sneakers.

I was wearing a pair of boots from several years ago when I went out looking for my new pair yesterday.  After awhile, I noticed my feet were getting tired.  "That's strange," I thought, "I can run for hours and my feet don't get tired, I wonder what's happening?"  Ah, never mind, it's the boots.  It's that "better to look good than to feel good" fashion quandary.  And I do want to look good.   But my feet like to be happy too.  Alas.

I got to thinking as I drove home that I could create a brand of boots called, "Snoots" that combined the look of stylish boots, but had the internal feel and support of sneakers.  I imagined my Snoots would become bigger than Uggs.  In a few short years I would be poised to take over the world, supported by people with happy, comfortable, stylish looking feet.

And on the coffee front, I've realized I don't appreciate--or even like--serious coffee.  I don't like the bold, robust flavors.  They just taste like burnt coffee to me.  I thought I was possibly getting poor quality coffee, but after talking to some coffee experts and trying quality coffee from reputable shops, it turns out I don't like dark roasts.  I don't even really like just regular coffee that much.  I seem to be fond of coffee the most when it's done up with bonus flavors and extra add-ins.  I don't think I like coffee so much as I like fake coffee.  I think I'm a foffie lover instead of a coffee lover.

The Big Boy Update:  Soup.  He really likes soup.  He'll tell you so by chanting, "soup, soup, soup."  He'll try to slurp and sip the soup if he can't get any more with his spoon.  We were at a restaurant the other night celebrating my mother's birthday and she eventually just gave him her soup because he was so excited about it.  I'm not sure she could have gotten the bowl back if she wanted to, he was grinning and practically hugging it.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Going down the stairs.  She's gotten interested in not only going up, but backing down.  I sat with her for fifteen minutes the other day while she went up and down the same four steps.  She was getting pretty good at stepping back down and maintaining control.  Then again, she still giggles with glee and wants you to chase her up the stairs most of the time.

Fitness Update:  Not so much a big exercise, but some fun exercising and a happy experience.  My husband and I were at my son's school at a parent experience this weekend which involved "PE" with the school's physical education teacher.  He took us through what the children do at PE, including running around the yard to get our heart rates up and then competing in a rowdy game of broom ball.  This is something I would have dreaded in past years, but with my cardiovascular health in good form I ran past the other parents on the warmup and was running back and forth on the field trying to whack the ball and score for my team.  I didn't get winded.  I didn't want to sit on the sidelines.  I was sad when the game was over.  I was even hopping around trying to keep my heart rate up during slow periods.  It felt good to be in shape and not be tired.

Someone Once Said:   All men are created unequal.

Potpourri Friday

Let's start with Potpourri:  When I was in elementary school they put these stations all around the library for the students.  At each station you could read something, do something, play with something and there was an educational goal built into each one.  Once you completed the task, there was usually an answer or thing to turn in.  I remember one where you had to look up the word "potpourri" and figure out how to pronounce it.  Once you read the pronunciation key and figured out that the word sounded nothing like you expected it would, you could go over to one of the librarians and get a sticker or star or stamp on your sheet.  I don't remember what the reward was, but I do remember where the potpourri station was and I remember learning how to pronounce potpourri that day.  I've never forgotten how to spell it since.

Crème brûlée French Toast:  Who came up with this delightful breakfast treat?  And at Whole foods too.  They have some good cooks/chefs there.  I've been spending time at Whole Foods in the mornings while my daughter is rolling out to her new school schedule.  I love french toast, but add crème brûlée to the mix, make it all moist and creamy and then add butter and syrup?  I may have to start dieting again if my daughter doesn't get up to speed with a full half-day of school soon.

Wait, Sun, where are you going?  It's nice to get up in the morning and have the sun come up before you've run for an hour, taken a shower, prepared breakfast for two children, fed one dog and drank a cup of coffee.  But there's a downside.  The sun has to go to bed much earlier now.  I was driving home yesterday afternoon—okay, it was just after five o'clock but it still felt early—and the sun was setting.  There was that pretty orange and cloudy glow on the far horizon that says day is almost over and you should be enjoying your pina colada on the porch at the beach, but it's not warm, you're not at the beach, and it's not evening--it's late afternoon.  It's time to hunker down and get in the mood for some fireplace warmth, hot chocolate and holiday cheer as we get closer to Winter Solstice.  The days only get shorter from here for a while.

Eyelid Ouch:  I need to put in an eye update.  All is well, but for the purposes of this interesting bodily strangeness, take note that I'm using steroid drops in one eye for the next several weeks.  The other day, suddenly my eye started hurting on the outside.  It reminded me it was like the stye pain or inflamed eyelash follicles I'd had in the past.  I was a little surprised at my eye and concerned that something was wrong.  It got worse and I fiddled with the eye lashes, pulling some out, trying to find the sore area.  Then I looked in the mirror when it got even more painful and that's when I got the biggest surprise.  There was nothing wrong with my eye, there was a pimple on the eye lid.  In the very middle of my eye lid.  Who knew you could get acne on your eye lid?  It is not an easy spot to deal with, what with the loose skin and the eyeball underneath that you can't put pressure on.  But at least I didn't have eyeball or vision problems.

The Jolly Rancher Danger:  I loved Jolly Rancher candies as a child.  I still love them as an adult.  I was reminded of eating them as a child when I noticed one in my son's trick-or-treat bag.  Today, and for a long time now, the Jolly Rancher you're most likely to run into is an individually-wrapped, fit-in-your-mouth easily, shaped piece.  When I was young, the only way they were sold were in these long, ruler-shaped, flat packages.  On the one hand, there was a lot of candy to be enjoyed, say six inches of deliciousness.  On the other hand, you were likely to wound your hand or your mouth trying to get to that enjoyment.  The only way to get a piece in your mouth was to break the stick and the only way the stick seemed to break was in shards and sharp pieces.  Still, it was worth it for the intense green apple or grape or watermelon flavor.

Whistle Count:  After the whistle post I counted how many times I caught myself whistling for the next few days.   Surprisingly, I seem to whistle around nine times each day.  I also paid attention to the times when I did so.  If a song is playing and I can't hit that register in voice but I can while whistling, I change over from singing to whistling.  Also, if I don't know the words in that area of a song I tend to whistle through it too.  My husband says he whistles a lot too, so I'm not the only one.

The Big Boy Update:  We have solids.  Are you tired of the potty saga?  I think we all are.  I eagerly await the last potty update.  I haven't spoken to his teacher in a while, but from the two to three underpants and one to two pair of pants sent home each day in the, "you need to wash this right away" tub, he's not making straight potty A's at school either.  I know that potty training is heavily weighted on the "training" component.  You have to keep at it.  If they know they can hold out until you give in and put on a diaper, you're just training them to use diapers.  We're diligent.  Well, some days we are.  But we are seeing some results, like today when solids arrived in the potty.  He wasn't even that proud of himself.  He explained what he'd done, got up, took the insert (full) and carefully dumped it into the big potty while I internally cringed at his aim.  He flushed, asked for help with the stool at the sink and then started in on the twelve rounds of "soap, more soap" as he turned on the taps and began to wash his hands.  Did I mention he has a soap fetish?

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  "She did work," her teacher said.  School went well yesterday.  Or well-ish.  I was so sad when I handed her off to Angie this morning.  She cried.  I wasn't sad for her, she got over it pretty quickly, but no one should cry at Angie.  Angie is everything you want in a teacher.  She's kind, she's friendly, she's happy and she has a calm confidence that make children feel comfortable in learning and exploring around her.  I went into the office one room over to ask the administrator a question and sure enough she stopped crying in a very short time.  The good news is, not only did she "do work" as the other teacher, Pearl, said when I picked her up, but she cried again.  At me.  Because she wasn't ready to go.  I wasn't so sad at that.

Someone Once Said:  If one tolerates bad manners, they grow worse.

In Pursuit of Pants

The wardrobe correction continues.  Post-baby, post-weight loss and I'm trying to get back to a functional wardrobe with clothes to fit any occasion.  For the most part, I have what I need.  But there are gaps.  Annoying gaps that I've been trying to fill with limited success.

My feet thankfully didn't change size with the pregnancies—that can happen, my one friend wears a full size-and-a-half larger after three children—so I'm mostly set on the shoe front.  Shirts and dresses, sweaters and socks, all still fit.  But things around the waist have been a problem.

Most of my pants were pregnancy or larger in the waist.  After going through my closet, I found for daily, casual wear, the only thing I had was three pair of jeans and one pair of black pants.  And shorts season is long gone.  And all of them needed a belt and got a bit bunchy when they'd done that jeans stretch thing jeans tend to do after you've worn then for a day or two.

On my first foray to the mall for pants I was happy. I'm a girl, I like shopping.  But after trying on several pair of pants things started going downhill.  Okay, that's not actually correct, I didn't try on the pants so much as I spent time stretching and pulling and cursing miss-sized garment labels and then taking off a partially put on pair of pants.  Damn these styles this year.  Must be in the wrong section—the one for pre-teens.

But I wasn't.  Even in the working lady sections of the department store the pants were skin tight.  Disgusted, I went home.   It didn't last long because I still needed pants.  I'd been thinking that maybe The Gap or other stores in the mall would have better options.  I had memories in my head of khaki  pants along the walls in loose-fitting labeled cubbies.  Renewed and determined, I went back to the mall yesterday.

Briskly I walked down the main drag of the mall.  The Gap?  First, everything in the pants section was in bright, primary colors.  Primary colors that I don't have matching shirts to accompany.  And sorry, I don't want Crayon Yellow and Pumpkin Orange pants.  Hollister?  I couldn't fit my leg in the pants and don't even get me started about Express and Guess.

I texted my husband that the spray-on pants were everywhere and I'd changed tactics and was planning on wearing skirts and boots all winter.  Refocused, I went back to the department store.  I went from section to section.  I found some old lady pants that definitely weren't spray-on but they weren't for me.  I found the athletic section and got a few pants to try on that would go well with boots, but I was pushing athletic clothing into everyday clothing to make that happen.

I finally asked a sales person where the skirts were.  She told me she had a skirt over here.  I didn't want "a skirt," I wanted to know where the droves of skirts were; where the skirt section had been hidden or what floor they'd put the skirts on.  No.  Sorry, not so popular this year.  Arugh.

I did find one pair of pants that don't need a belt and don't look too sports-ish.  After getting that, I heard an announcement on the speaker system that should I be interested, they have people who can size me and get me fitted into the perfect bra.  As bad as the pants situation has been, the bra situation is worse.

I don't even know what size I am any more.  Things got bigger while I was pregnant.  They got bigger still while I was nursing.  They deflated after I stopped nursing and they got smaller again when I lost weight to get back to my ideal weight.  Dimensionally things changed too.  More skin, less filling.  Shall we say, floppy?

The bras I had were either far too big or were somewhat correct in size, but had extra space in the cup.  In short it had been, Wal*Mart cotton non-shaping, non-fitting, mostly-flattening, definitely not flattering bras for a good while.   Time to get fitted.

The lady was very helpful, kept referring to, "my girls" and got me into the right size.  We had several discussions in which I said the bras were too tight or didn't fit well and was she sure.  She tried not to laugh at me as she told me that this was how a bra was suppose to fit, I just hadn't been wearing one for a long time.  She really did know what she was talking about.  Today, I've forgotten I even have the bra on, but going from little triangles of cotton to a true form-fitting, supporting bra is a different feeling.

And when did department store bras start being over fifty dollars?!  I wasn't in the "super sexy" section of Victoria's Secret, I expected these things to be reasonable.  I did come home with a new bra, but I'm going to have to go on a more cost-effective shopping trip for additional ones now that I know my size.

So, shopping trip summary:  one pair of "they'll do for now" pants, zero skirts that look sharp with boots and one bra I wasn't expecting to buy, but am glad I did.   At this rate, by the time I get geared up for winter, It'll be well into spring.

The Big Boy Update:  Cars.  He is obsessed with cars, trains and anything he can line up.  He will line up lots of toys on the floor.  Lots of them.  He'll bring out toys from all over the place, just so he can line them up.  Then he says, "choo choo."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Forgetting to crawl.  I think she's moved on from crawling.  For the most part, if she wants to go places, she stands up and walks.  Unless she's just woken up.  In that case, she looks at you, isn't sure how to walk, and sits down to think until she wakes up and is ready to move again.

Fitness Update:  I thought I had run two days ago, not yesterday morning when I realized I was tired at eight last night.  At eight I'd been up for fifteen hours.  This getting up early thing can be confusing.

Someone Once Said:  What is time but something to savor?