Carolena begins each day as a new person, or animal as is the case more often than not. Every morning begins with, "I'm not Carolena. I'm Baby Turtle (or whatever)" in response to my "Good morning Carolena!"
Last night she went to bed insisting that she was Annie while referring to Chris as Daddy Warbucks. This morning I was greeted with, "I'm not Carolena. I'm Annie. And you are... {pause to think} Annie Mommy. Where is Daddy Warbucks?!"
I spent the next hour being referred to as "Annie Mommy" assuming that she meant the well dressed total package singing and dancing woman who ends up with Daddy Warbucks. What IS her name?
We pulled out the arts and crafts supplies and began blasting the Annie soundtrack throughout the house. Carolena sang along to the Annie solos. I began singing along with the Annie Mommy songs and was immediately shushed and dismissed with one look.
Then Miss Hannigan's big number "Little Girls" came up on the playlist and I was reprimanded for not singing my song.
Miss Hannigan.
Could it be because of my bathtub full of gin?
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Thursday, September 11, 2014
The Ants Go Marching 20 by 20
There are some things in life that people like to complain about that actually aren't that bad. Taco Bell for instance. I mean, really, anyone who says they don't eat Taco Bell is a liar. It's like people who say they don't like mayonnaise. I'm calling BS. You do. You might not like the IDEA of Taco Bell tacos. You might cringe at the thought of anything dubbed "salad" and slathered in white creamy goo. But admit it: when it comes to actually eating Taco Bell and mayo, you like them. Nay, you love them. We all know you secretly hit up their drive through on the way home, scarf the nachos, and then ditch the trash in the outside bin.
But what about those things that none of us complain about that actually are truly awful? I discovered one of those things this morning: ants in the car. It's like snakes on a plane. But worse.
After the first one bit the top of my left foot I killed it and assumed it was just one of those freak things. Then the second bite came from left field shocking me as I made a right on red. I knew it had to have been lured to my foot by the scent of it's deceased comrade. Why the hell do ants smell other dead ants and decide to head in that direction?! Hey, I smell something dead of my own species... perhaps I should go check that out.
So ant number two was ruthlessly murdered by a car driving giantess as well. Sorry ant.
I made the rest of the twenty minute drive in fear with my left foot raised onto the seat next to me.
Dear sweet baby Jesus make those damn ants disappear!
Did I mention this was in my mom's car?
But what about those things that none of us complain about that actually are truly awful? I discovered one of those things this morning: ants in the car. It's like snakes on a plane. But worse.
After the first one bit the top of my left foot I killed it and assumed it was just one of those freak things. Then the second bite came from left field shocking me as I made a right on red. I knew it had to have been lured to my foot by the scent of it's deceased comrade. Why the hell do ants smell other dead ants and decide to head in that direction?! Hey, I smell something dead of my own species... perhaps I should go check that out.
So ant number two was ruthlessly murdered by a car driving giantess as well. Sorry ant.
I made the rest of the twenty minute drive in fear with my left foot raised onto the seat next to me.
Dear sweet baby Jesus make those damn ants disappear!
Did I mention this was in my mom's car?
Monday, September 8, 2014
The Gospel According to Dooney
When I was in the fifth grade Dooney and Bourke purses were a big deal. I mean, a big deal in the way that young girls can make a purse a big deal: you had one or you didn't. You were in or you were out. Auf wiedersehen. Pack up your things and go. Out.
Who the hell gives a fifth grader a couple hundred dollar purse?!
I, of course, did not own a D&B purse. I was not a stage five clinger to the cool kids, but I did envy their obviously expensive and beautiful purses. I was wise enough to know, however, that there was no way in hell my parents were going to buy me one and carefully selected a twenty dollar knockoff bought with my own money on an outing to Baker's shoes. I was happy with my enormous blue purse and filled it with all of the important things that go into a fifth grader's purse: a brush, chapstick, and school supplies.
Then, one day, it happened. My aunt gifted me her old Dooney and Burke purse. It wasn't like all of the other girls' purses: it was an older model with a few miles on it, but it still ran beautifully. I could barely contain my excitement. I couldn't stop staring at it. This purse wasn't just a purse. It was a key to a whole new level of cool. I was in.
I remember bringing my new purse to school the next day. I slung my overladen backpack onto one shoulder (because wearing it on both shoulders was a major faux pas second only to tucking your sweatshirt into your underwear). I carefully placed the purse across my body from one shoulder. There. Perfect. I spent the whole day at school carefully unzipping and reclosing my new purse in order to maximize its coolness potential. Oh, you need to borrow a pencil? Here, just let me open my Dooooonnneeey.
Later on that afternoon in the carpool line (who buys a couple hundred dollar purse for kids young enough to be in a carpool line?!) I overheard some of the 'cool' girls talking. A few down the nose glances were pitched my way. A few not so hidden sneers at my purse. And that's when it really hit me in a life changing way: all that shit doesn't matter.
I glanced down at my prized possession seeing it with new eyes. That traitor. Purse, I was told you would make me cool, what the hell happened back there?! I knew deep down in my gut that it wasn't the purse that was the problem. It wasn't me that was the problem. It was then that I fully realized in a life-altering way that what my parents had always been teaching me was true. I just had to be myself. If I tried keeping up with the Joneses, I would spend my whole life just pedaling to keep up. I like me. Why the hell shouldn't other people like me? I like me. So who even cares if other people like me?
Yesterday I went to a parents' orientation at C's school. I clearly stood out from the other moms in the classroom. My pineapple tee, blue suede shoes, old man glasses, and purse made from a leftover bit of a man's Turkish turban (how cool is that?!) clearly set me apart as different from the other moms. I felt like Olivia, "Why do they all want to be the same?" All of the other moms appeared to have been cut from the same cloth. I remember them as merely a blur of big hair and matching bedazzled purses. I felt good in my outfit, happy I'd chosen something that I like regardless of it's cool factor.
At the reception I entered the room only to find that everyone was already grouped. I didn't recognize one face in the room. Had Luke Brandon been there with his parents I would have rushed over and thanked him for loaning me the 20 quid, but alas, not one familiar face was to be found. I stood on the edge a few minutes, considered hitting up the dessert table just for something to do, and then retreated to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and Kellyed* myself up: I stood up a little straighter, ran my fingers through my hair, and reapplied my lipstick. I marched out of the bathroom ready to make some friends and headed straight back toward the reception.
And then I thought, "aw screw em," plopped down on a nearby bench, pulled out my knitting, and enjoyed watching the rain.
*The use of Kelly's name as a verb meaning, basically, to pull yourself up by the bootstraps. To look in the mirror, like who you see, and expect other people to like you too.
Who the hell gives a fifth grader a couple hundred dollar purse?!
I, of course, did not own a D&B purse. I was not a stage five clinger to the cool kids, but I did envy their obviously expensive and beautiful purses. I was wise enough to know, however, that there was no way in hell my parents were going to buy me one and carefully selected a twenty dollar knockoff bought with my own money on an outing to Baker's shoes. I was happy with my enormous blue purse and filled it with all of the important things that go into a fifth grader's purse: a brush, chapstick, and school supplies.
Then, one day, it happened. My aunt gifted me her old Dooney and Burke purse. It wasn't like all of the other girls' purses: it was an older model with a few miles on it, but it still ran beautifully. I could barely contain my excitement. I couldn't stop staring at it. This purse wasn't just a purse. It was a key to a whole new level of cool. I was in.
I remember bringing my new purse to school the next day. I slung my overladen backpack onto one shoulder (because wearing it on both shoulders was a major faux pas second only to tucking your sweatshirt into your underwear). I carefully placed the purse across my body from one shoulder. There. Perfect. I spent the whole day at school carefully unzipping and reclosing my new purse in order to maximize its coolness potential. Oh, you need to borrow a pencil? Here, just let me open my Dooooonnneeey.
Later on that afternoon in the carpool line (who buys a couple hundred dollar purse for kids young enough to be in a carpool line?!) I overheard some of the 'cool' girls talking. A few down the nose glances were pitched my way. A few not so hidden sneers at my purse. And that's when it really hit me in a life changing way: all that shit doesn't matter.
I glanced down at my prized possession seeing it with new eyes. That traitor. Purse, I was told you would make me cool, what the hell happened back there?! I knew deep down in my gut that it wasn't the purse that was the problem. It wasn't me that was the problem. It was then that I fully realized in a life-altering way that what my parents had always been teaching me was true. I just had to be myself. If I tried keeping up with the Joneses, I would spend my whole life just pedaling to keep up. I like me. Why the hell shouldn't other people like me? I like me. So who even cares if other people like me?
Yesterday I went to a parents' orientation at C's school. I clearly stood out from the other moms in the classroom. My pineapple tee, blue suede shoes, old man glasses, and purse made from a leftover bit of a man's Turkish turban (how cool is that?!) clearly set me apart as different from the other moms. I felt like Olivia, "Why do they all want to be the same?" All of the other moms appeared to have been cut from the same cloth. I remember them as merely a blur of big hair and matching bedazzled purses. I felt good in my outfit, happy I'd chosen something that I like regardless of it's cool factor.
At the reception I entered the room only to find that everyone was already grouped. I didn't recognize one face in the room. Had Luke Brandon been there with his parents I would have rushed over and thanked him for loaning me the 20 quid, but alas, not one familiar face was to be found. I stood on the edge a few minutes, considered hitting up the dessert table just for something to do, and then retreated to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and Kellyed* myself up: I stood up a little straighter, ran my fingers through my hair, and reapplied my lipstick. I marched out of the bathroom ready to make some friends and headed straight back toward the reception.
And then I thought, "aw screw em," plopped down on a nearby bench, pulled out my knitting, and enjoyed watching the rain.
*The use of Kelly's name as a verb meaning, basically, to pull yourself up by the bootstraps. To look in the mirror, like who you see, and expect other people to like you too.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Out Came the Sun and Dried up All the Rain
My mom is coming tomorrow. Other women my age would be scouring their houses right now. They would be cleaning the oven and wiping down bathrooms in a doomed attempt at somehow tricking their mothers into believing that their homes are always spotless. Those moms arrive, find the one spiderweb that was created that morning, and promptly point it out.
Thankfully, I don't have that kind of mother. I do however, have those kind of spiders. I tend to notice their webs and let them stay. I don't mind spiders and figure those little webs come in handy for keeping bugs at bay. The spiders get a nice temperature controlled home. I get free bug control. It's a win win.
The only thing I worry about before my parents come to town is running the risk of my father looking for a pencil. What if he sees that ours are all off-brand swag from various institutions and not Dixon Ticonderogas?! We aren't all made out of money, Dad. Sheesh. Although, on second thought, perhaps he will notice and I'll get a nice package of newly sharpened Dixon Ticonderogas for Christmas. The next time he's in town I think I will carefully place some unworked crossword puzzles and Seminary of the Southwest pencils strategically around our home.
For the meantime, I still have hours before my mother arrives. The children are sleeping. Chris is watching football. The spiders are gearing up for a big night out on the town. Yes, I believe it is time for me to grab a book and curl up in bed. Have a good night little spiders. Good night.
Thankfully, I don't have that kind of mother. I do however, have those kind of spiders. I tend to notice their webs and let them stay. I don't mind spiders and figure those little webs come in handy for keeping bugs at bay. The spiders get a nice temperature controlled home. I get free bug control. It's a win win.
The only thing I worry about before my parents come to town is running the risk of my father looking for a pencil. What if he sees that ours are all off-brand swag from various institutions and not Dixon Ticonderogas?! We aren't all made out of money, Dad. Sheesh. Although, on second thought, perhaps he will notice and I'll get a nice package of newly sharpened Dixon Ticonderogas for Christmas. The next time he's in town I think I will carefully place some unworked crossword puzzles and Seminary of the Southwest pencils strategically around our home.
For the meantime, I still have hours before my mother arrives. The children are sleeping. Chris is watching football. The spiders are gearing up for a big night out on the town. Yes, I believe it is time for me to grab a book and curl up in bed. Have a good night little spiders. Good night.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Men O Pause
Last week while we were in Kroger Carolena was "driving" one of the big car shopping carts and we were perusing the manager special shelves. Yes, I'll admit it: I'm a dented can purchaser. There is just something about a half smushed can of pumpkin that really calls out to me. As we're cruising down the aisle Carolena randomly begins to reach out of the car to try and snag some candy as she drives by. I automatically cry out, "please keep your hands and arms inside the moving vehicle!" (my family went to Disney a lot). Just as this is happening and Carolena is pulling her arm back into the car (sans candy), a man next to me shrugs his shoulders and says to me, "hmph, female drivers, eh?!" My clergy spouse 101 training kicked in and I half-smiled half-frowned politely and noncommittally. Inside I was thinking, "uh... keep moving man. Did you fail to notice that I am in fact a female? And judging by the fact that the only male in my company is a baby, chances are that I was the one who drove to this store. If you are full of crazy sexist comments you are talking to the wrong woman." I hope his wife elbowed him in the ribcage as they walked away and muttered, "well, you really made an ass of yourself back there." Hopefully she also insisted on driving home.
Later on in the week I found myself exhausted and sweaty and standing with a baby on my hip in the middle of the Y parking lot. My toddler was taking the opportunity to declare publicly that she regretted asking me to carry her all of the way to the car and would like to go back to the entrance and try again, this time walking to the car. My tired postbodypump arms agreed with her that in fact she should have walked the first time, but there was no way I was walking there and back again for no reason. As Carolena thrashed and screamed mere feet from our car, a couple walked by staring. Just as they were passing by the man called out, "You're not doing a very good job mom!" Yes, he really did. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt that he intended it as interpreting my toddler's screams. And yet... really man? You couldn't stop and offer to help me? You couldn't stand nearby to help us out in case a car came? At the very least you could have looked away politely. Come on! I hope his wife elbowed him in the ribcage as they walked away and muttered, "well, you really made an ass of yourself back there."
Dear Men,
Pause. Rewind. Let's try that again. Next time: offer help or just keep walking.
Love, Casey
Later on in the week I found myself exhausted and sweaty and standing with a baby on my hip in the middle of the Y parking lot. My toddler was taking the opportunity to declare publicly that she regretted asking me to carry her all of the way to the car and would like to go back to the entrance and try again, this time walking to the car. My tired postbodypump arms agreed with her that in fact she should have walked the first time, but there was no way I was walking there and back again for no reason. As Carolena thrashed and screamed mere feet from our car, a couple walked by staring. Just as they were passing by the man called out, "You're not doing a very good job mom!" Yes, he really did. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt that he intended it as interpreting my toddler's screams. And yet... really man? You couldn't stop and offer to help me? You couldn't stand nearby to help us out in case a car came? At the very least you could have looked away politely. Come on! I hope his wife elbowed him in the ribcage as they walked away and muttered, "well, you really made an ass of yourself back there."
Dear Men,
Pause. Rewind. Let's try that again. Next time: offer help or just keep walking.
Love, Casey
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
It's the New Jan Brady
I've been asked to present my "success story" at Weight Watchers. Our leader sent me home with a few questions to ponder before addressing the group, and I've enjoyed thinking over them so I figured I would answer them here on my blog. My blog is mainly just a creative outlet for me so this is a little different (and honestly makes me somewhat uncomfortable), but I post this to keep myself motivated and hopefully to motivate others as well. So, without further ado, it's the new Jan Brady:*
How did you feel before you joined Weight Watchers?
In January I gave birth to my second child. As you can see in this never before seen on the internet photo, I had a lot of weight to lose:
I left the hospital with a body conveniently large enough to rest my newborn on while he snoozed. I actually felt pretty good though. I've never been one to suffer from low self esteem (thanks to my fabulous parents) so in typical sunflower-hat-wearing Casey fashion, I figured I looked pretty good for having just had my second child. I was happy to not be pregnant anymore, had a beautiful newborn to stare at, and though I felt uncomfortable from the weight, I reminded myself that I had just had a baby after all. A few weeks went by and as the pounds came off I felt better and better. Then, I hit a plateau. I'd lost about 20 lbs and felt great about that, but I felt stuck and uncomfortable in my own skin. I knew the summer months (heat!) were coming and soon I'd be squeezing myself into too-small shorts and feeling awkward in a bathing suit. I knew all of the extra weight would make a Texas summer miserable, the heat unbearable. One night I plugged my weight into a BMI calculator and I came up as overweight. The next morning I was sitting in what would become my new home for Tuesday mornings. I was in a Weight Watchers meeting for the first time.
What helped you believe that you could change successfully?
Early on when I began losing weight someone made a snide comment in front of me (as part of our conversation, knowing that I could hear). We were talking about weight loss and this person said to the person next to her, (with a wave of her hand as if dismissing me) "well, it's easy for her because..." It was a moment in my life in which I actually got to be in someone else's shoes. It's easy for me?! Wow. I am usually the one saying/thinking that about other people. "That mom lost all of the weight because it's easy for her. She doesn't like dessert." "That mom lost all of the weight because it's easy for her. She has time to work out." "That mom lost all the weight because it was easy for her. She's always been small." That mom..." After my first pregnancy I was full of "reasons" that other people were losing weight while I wasn't and I never finished burning off the last of the weight.
Hearing someone be dismissive of the fact that it might actually be hard for me was eye opening. It made me realize that whether or not losing weight was hard or easy for me has no bearing on anyone else. I realized that even if losing weight was easy for me, that didn't change that woman's reality. In that moment I understood that whether or not it's hard or easy for other people to lose weight doesn't change my reality. This woman's snide comment was about her, not me. It was her excuse for why she wasn't losing weight. Though rude, it actually had nothing to do with me. Weight loss and maintenance is hard for most people. It is. Accepting this reality made me able to believe that I could change. This woman's rude comment was freeing for me. It freed me from kidding myself with the hope that it would somehow be magically easy. It freed me to accept that it is hard for other people too. This new freedom allowed me to believe that I could change. Realizing that it wasn't going to be easy and recognizing that other people's ability to lose weight has nothing to do with me, that was freeing.
Now that I have hit my goal I am aware of how often people make that comment to me. It takes different forms but it's always the same message, "It was easy for you because..." This is irritating in that it belittles the hard work that I have put in (and continue to put in). It assumes that I have not chosen to pass up many a margarita at the beach this summer. It ignores the number of times I have awakened before 5am in order to squeeze in a workout. It underestimates the number of times I've stood in my pantry shoveling peanut butter or chocolate chips (or both) into my mouth all the while knowing I will beat myself up about it later. I remind myself that other people's ideas about why it's "easy" for me are just that: their ideas, their excuses, their problem. Not mine.
How did you feel when you reached your goal?
Honestly, it wasn't the balloons falling from the ceiling, confetti flying feeling that I thought it would be. I felt a little unsure. Was this really goal? Should I lose another pound? Or two? Or three? I spend so much of my life trying to be a better person (in a healthy way). It seemed uncomfortable to announce to the world, "this weight is the one I'm happy with!" For me, reaching goal was a time of reassessment. Yes, it was exciting, but it was confusing and scary too.
The day I received lifetime membership was different. The six weeks of maintenance were really good for wiping away those bits of worry. Yes, I do feel good at this weight. Yes, I feel confident and comfortable in my own skin. Getting my lifetime membership recognition was much more exciting than goal for me. I feel like I've accomplished something awesome. I feel like I've won.
How do you ensure that your relationship with food is changing for good?
For me, this means following the Simply Filling plan. With Simply Filling I've been able to keep a lot of the meals I fed my family in the past with some tweaking to the recipes. I make red beans and rice twice a month. I swapped out the white rice for brown, reduced the oil I use, and just ditched the cornbread all together. Hamburgers, taco salad, and stir fry are all still in the normal menu rotation - just with leaner meat. I switched to skim milk, no fat cheese, and keep a fruit bowl stocked at all time. I also go to meetings every week. Every. Single. Week.
As I mentioned, losing 45 pounds (25 with ww) hasn't been easy. But, it has been as easy as possible. Weight Watchers gave me exact instructions on how to lose weight, and I learned early on that if I follow the "rules" then I win. If I cheat on my eating, then I don't lose weight. It's that simple.
What are the things holding you back? You look at me and think (or say), "It's easy for you because..." because what? Because I'm young? Yeah, my mom is twice my age and just lost a ton on of weight on ww too. Next!
Because what? Because I gained the weight from pregnancy? Yeahh... and McDonald's and Taco Bell and Blue Bell and the list goes on. Newsflash: the fat didn't know how it got on my body. It was there. I had to burn it off. End of story. Next!
Because what? Because I have time to work out? See the above comment about waking up at 430am. Next!
Because what? Because I don't freak out and shovel food into my face like I've been lost at sea for a year? Uh... you're right... no... I don't do that... ahem... awkward guilty silence... Next!
Because what? What are the things holding you back? Don't ignore those things. Think about them. Then kick them in the face. In the words of my favorite three year old,
*How many of you are typing "it's the new Jan Brady" into Google right now?
How did you feel before you joined Weight Watchers?
In January I gave birth to my second child. As you can see in this never before seen on the internet photo, I had a lot of weight to lose:
I left the hospital with a body conveniently large enough to rest my newborn on while he snoozed. I actually felt pretty good though. I've never been one to suffer from low self esteem (thanks to my fabulous parents) so in typical sunflower-hat-wearing Casey fashion, I figured I looked pretty good for having just had my second child. I was happy to not be pregnant anymore, had a beautiful newborn to stare at, and though I felt uncomfortable from the weight, I reminded myself that I had just had a baby after all. A few weeks went by and as the pounds came off I felt better and better. Then, I hit a plateau. I'd lost about 20 lbs and felt great about that, but I felt stuck and uncomfortable in my own skin. I knew the summer months (heat!) were coming and soon I'd be squeezing myself into too-small shorts and feeling awkward in a bathing suit. I knew all of the extra weight would make a Texas summer miserable, the heat unbearable. One night I plugged my weight into a BMI calculator and I came up as overweight. The next morning I was sitting in what would become my new home for Tuesday mornings. I was in a Weight Watchers meeting for the first time.
What helped you believe that you could change successfully?
Now that I have hit my goal I am aware of how often people make that comment to me. It takes different forms but it's always the same message, "It was easy for you because..." This is irritating in that it belittles the hard work that I have put in (and continue to put in). It assumes that I have not chosen to pass up many a margarita at the beach this summer. It ignores the number of times I have awakened before 5am in order to squeeze in a workout. It underestimates the number of times I've stood in my pantry shoveling peanut butter or chocolate chips (or both) into my mouth all the while knowing I will beat myself up about it later. I remind myself that other people's ideas about why it's "easy" for me are just that: their ideas, their excuses, their problem. Not mine.
How did you feel when you reached your goal?
The day I received lifetime membership was different. The six weeks of maintenance were really good for wiping away those bits of worry. Yes, I do feel good at this weight. Yes, I feel confident and comfortable in my own skin. Getting my lifetime membership recognition was much more exciting than goal for me. I feel like I've accomplished something awesome. I feel like I've won.
How do you ensure that your relationship with food is changing for good?
For me, this means following the Simply Filling plan. With Simply Filling I've been able to keep a lot of the meals I fed my family in the past with some tweaking to the recipes. I make red beans and rice twice a month. I swapped out the white rice for brown, reduced the oil I use, and just ditched the cornbread all together. Hamburgers, taco salad, and stir fry are all still in the normal menu rotation - just with leaner meat. I switched to skim milk, no fat cheese, and keep a fruit bowl stocked at all time. I also go to meetings every week. Every. Single. Week.
As I mentioned, losing 45 pounds (25 with ww) hasn't been easy. But, it has been as easy as possible. Weight Watchers gave me exact instructions on how to lose weight, and I learned early on that if I follow the "rules" then I win. If I cheat on my eating, then I don't lose weight. It's that simple.
What are the things holding you back? You look at me and think (or say), "It's easy for you because..." because what? Because I'm young? Yeah, my mom is twice my age and just lost a ton on of weight on ww too. Next!
Because what? Because I gained the weight from pregnancy? Yeahh... and McDonald's and Taco Bell and Blue Bell and the list goes on. Newsflash: the fat didn't know how it got on my body. It was there. I had to burn it off. End of story. Next!
Because what? Because I have time to work out? See the above comment about waking up at 430am. Next!
Because what? Because I don't freak out and shovel food into my face like I've been lost at sea for a year? Uh... you're right... no... I don't do that... ahem... awkward guilty silence... Next!
Because what? What are the things holding you back? Don't ignore those things. Think about them. Then kick them in the face. In the words of my favorite three year old,
"YOU CAN DO IT! I KNOW YOU CAN!"
*How many of you are typing "it's the new Jan Brady" into Google right now?
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