Black Holes, Worm Holes and Anti-Aging Secrets

When I was young(er), in my teens and 20s, pre-mommy-hood, there were certain phrases that women in their 40s and 50s would utter that would cause my eyes to roll so far back into my brain that I would become apoplectic. (Yeah, you know who you are.)

For instance, in the break room at work, as I licked pizza grease from my fingers after polishing off my third slice and surreptitiously slurped down a large fountain Pepsi, an aged coworker would munch on her carrot stick, shake her short head of hair and tsk-tsk, saying, "Just wait until you hit thirty. Then you won't be able to eat like that any more!"

Now that I am a well over half way past thirty (I'm hoping to confuse everyone with that long-winded description instead of simply stating my age) I still roll my eyes. I can still inhale three slices of pizza and not resemble a beached whale. My metabolism seems to be hanging in there, as my weight stays the same.

Perhaps I should mention though, my weight is actually 15 to 20 pounds higher than what it was in my 20s and I haven't been able to lose any of it. (And yes, this also coincides with me being more than 30 years of age.) But do I blame that on a slower metabolism? Of course not! Because I'm evolved and mature? Of course not! I blame my children, New York winters, and a pesky thyroid condition. In that order.

For years, the nurses in the doctor's offices would move the tab at the top of the scale over to the 100 slot, and then proceed with the numbers on the bottom portion. (If you're too young to know what kind of scale I'm speaking of and have only ever seen digital scales, then go eff yourself.) A couple of years ago, after I shed some of the weight I had gained during my back-to-back pregnancies, I felt pretty good about myself, only had to reinvent 65 percent of my wardrobe (and 90 percent of THAT was due to the pure hideousness of early 2000s fashion), and accepted the fact my stomach would never reveal any of the rock-hard abs underneath it no matter how many crunches I did.

Then I went to the doctors one day and had to curb the inner Hulk in me when the nurse, without any hesitation whatsoever, flicked the little tab way over to the 150 slot as the starting point. What the ? Could you at least start off at 100 and pretend to be unsure you unfeeling, uncaring, unsympathetic she-witch?

With that ugly little incident behind me, I made some changes. I cleaned our pantry out, eliminated high-fructose corn syrup and many processed foods, I stopped buying soda, I started drinking a lot of water every day, and I integrated a moderate-to-lame workout routine into my weekly schedule all in the hopes I would still be able to eat like a 17-year-old boy and not see my weight skyrocket.

Did it work? Eh. Well, I haven't gained any weight. My doctor didn't ask me IF I'd been working out, he asked WHAT I was doing because I looked more toned and muscular. But that digital scale? It revealed, to my dismay, that my weight had not changed.

Ok. So I'm not 25 anymore. It's not like I want to look like a waif, but would it be so horrible if five pounds went bye-bye? After all, I have mastered the art of stopping time, as evidenced by my wrinkle-free, not over-30 looking face. (In case you want to know, I do not use any expensive facial creams, I just squeeze my eyes shut and will my skin to not age. What? Did you think I had some sort of time-stopping theory worked out that would make Stephen Hawking's head explode? I lasted two days in physics class people!)

Rather than try to figure any of this out, I decided to invest in some more yoga pants, dig out my Spanx, and settle in to a life of not caring what the scale said. So, I guess I'm evolved and mature after all. And you know what happened?

Yep. I lost weight.

Did I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself five pounds lighter?

Nope.

Did I invent a cosmic black-worm hole thingy that magically reversed the aging process while simultaneously speeding up metabolism?

Pffft no, but that would be great if someone who actually took, and passed, physics could invent that. Yeah, that'd be great.

So? What was it? (I know you're dying to know.)

STOMACH FLU!

Yes, thanks to you, you awful, gut-wrenching, stomach churning wave of nausea that has been with me for five days now, my skinny jeans have never been skinnier.

And to those looking for dieting or weight-loss advice, clearly I do not have that, but if you want to borrow my kids for a weekend so you too can harness the power of the stomach flu, well, you just let me know.

Five Marriage Truths

I am, quite literally, on the verge of celebrating five years of wedded bliss. In commemoration of that, I thought it might be apt to share five marriage truths.

Let me be very clear, these are my truths, so they may not be yours, may not resonate with you, and that’s okay.

I Don’t Want to Talk About My Feelings

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t want to sit around and talk about my feelings, or your feelings, or our feelings’ feelings, just for the sake of communication. Communication doesn’t need to happen 24/7. My husband and I are so well tuned to each other, it’s almost like we have a sixth sense. He often starts talking to me in mid-thought, and I know exactly what he means, and vice versa. It’s awesome. If you have mutual trust and respect, you don’t need a gab fest, hair braiding, or pillow fights. When we need to talk about something, we talk about it, and we work through it because we want to, not because we feel compelled to.

Partners in Crime
We don’t have to share every single one of the other person’s interests, but a mutual respect and/or curiosity about those interests is nice. We both like to be outdoors, tackle home improvement projects, landscape, play tennis or golf, watch movies, listen to music etc. But if he’s watching a movie I don’t care for, I flip open a book. Sometimes, we share an interest and the other person says, “Yeah, this is pretty great.” For instance, thanks to my hubby I’ve learned to have a wider appreciation for gangsta rap, and he in turn has recently gotten into the blues. While that may not be an even or remotely fair trade, it sure keeps the spark alive.

A Laughing Matter

My husband laughs at my snide, sarcastic comments, whereas most people would frown, get teary-eyed, question their self-esteem, and call their therapist for an emergency session. The fact that he just throws his head back and laughs is one of the things I love most about him. Oh, yeah, and he’s funny too.

Being Wrong

I’m one of those people that just happens to be right most of the time. Therefore, when my husband disagrees with me, I let him try other methods destined for failure until he gives up and gives my idea a try. And then, I revel in those sweet, sweet words that come next… (WAIT FOR IT, WAIT FOR IT…). “You were right.” Cha-CHING!

Being Open to Whatever Comes Next

Life brings change. Our children come into our world. Kids grow. Jobs change. Locations change. Homes get bought and sold. We gain weight, lose weight, we are active, we hibernate. Through the myriad changes, with each passing day, our love grows deeper, our relationship stronger and we evolve together. I am impatient, sarcastic, and am not always right even though I think I am. He is patient, loving, and is also not always right even though he thinks he is. We balance each other. He balances me. He is sanity to my crazy days. He brings me up when I’m down, challenges me, puts me in my place when needed, and loves me no matter what. And I do the same. I feel the same.

Happy Five Year Anniversary to my best friend, my lobster, my eternal love.

Whadchou Say?

My oldest son is a chip off my block for sure. He is Mr. Independent, and I usually learn about some new found skill he's trying to master the hard way (i.e Gogurt all over the floor, fifteen yards of toilet paper getting flushed, boots on the wrong feet). In fact, he's taken initiative and done a lot on his own, like dressing himself, without my training or prompting, and, in some ways, I guess I've come to expect it.

Today, he wanted to tie his shoes on his own. Being the precocious little boy he is, he said, "I'll do it," rather than asking for my help. After a few failed attempts I asked if I could show him, and we worked on it together.

Fast forward to after dinner when he wanted to go outside and play with the neighbors. I have been telling him he needs to wait for them to invite him, rather than running over to their yard and peeping in their windows, but he took off for their yard seconds after my speech. I stopped him and told him to wait. He complied.

I turned my back for two seconds, and he was off. I called him back and again explained he needed to wait for them to ask, etc. He got very upset. That parlayed into him chasing his younger brother around the yard, taunting him with a stick, until my youngest was shrieking and in tears. The evening quickly fell apart and I had to resort to threats of taking some favorite things away in order to get him inside. 

As things deteriorated, I was amused and frustrated (I took his stick and threw it, which made him cry at the top of his lungs, and his crying triggered my youngest to get mad at me for throwing away the stick, which turned into two screaming, crying boys acting hysterical towards their mother, and all in the front yard, of course.) So when he finally did come inside, I gave him a few minutes and had another talk with him about waiting for an invitation and respecting other people's space. 

I asked him if he understood, and he shook his head. 

And then it hit me.

He would probably be tying his shoes on his own tomorrow, but would he wait for an invite the next time he ran outside? Or would he take off again?

I was taking his independence, and his aptitude to learn quickly, for granted. 

As a parent, I just expect my kids to listen. You hear the sound of my voice, you react. Boom. But, obviously, that doesn't always happen. 

What I didn't really put much thought into, was teaching my kids to listen. I teach them manners, their ABCs, how to count and myriad other pre-school activities, but I have not done any listening exercises. 

Light bulb!

As an experiment, I sat down with my boys and told them to listen. Then I said, "I'm going to say the letter A, when I do, I want you to say B. Do you understand?"

Nodding all around.

"A," I said.

"A," I heard in chorus.

Sigh.

Listen? Oh man!

I tried again. I told them I would say A, then I would point to Jacob, who would say B, and Brennan would say C. Well, then Jacob wanted to say A, so of course Brennan wanted to say B, but eventually we accomplished what I set out to do. Each of them was assigned a letter, and when I pointed, they stated their letter correctly.

Phew!

I'm thankful every day for my children, for all they teach me, remind me of, humble me to. I am a fast learner too, so when I see a glitch in the matrix, I put on my thinking cap and figure out a way to solve it.

Listening. It can be taught. Who knew?

Getting Our Learning On

When I first started doing preschool at home with Jacob, I was dubious. Not about him, but about me. I'm not the most patient person in the world. No, really.

I thought, can I really do this? I used to teach adults the ABCs of home ownership, but can I teach my four-year-old his ABCs? How to write? At least I seem to capture my son's attention most days, whereas some of my adult learners were more interested in their cell phones while I stressed the importance of a home inspection.

I was frustrated at first when he didn't seem to be grasping what we were doing, but he always tried his best, and I maintained consistency. I learned best by repetition and can memorize new information fairly well (or at least I used to before I started getting all old and decrepit).

One day, Jacob was not giving me anything. No energy, no focus, and he was missing easy letters that he'd already proven he'd learned. Part of me said, he's four and he wants to play, so let him. The other part of me said, I know he knows this.

A! B! C!
I told him to put down his pencil and I took out the flash cards for letters A through E, which is all we'd worked on to that point. I would show him a card, and if he didn't know it, I would flip the card down, flip it back up and say the letter each time he looked at the card. If his eyes traveled away, I would remind him to look at the letter, remember the letter. We did this for about five minutes, and yes, I felt like a drill sergeant.

In the fall, it seemed we spent forever on A, B and C. I didn't think we would make it through the alphabet at all. But, as we kept at it, through some trial and error, Jacob is now memorizing letters at a much quicker pace. He knows the alphabet song and recognizes almost all letters on sight, though technically we are just finishing up with J and moving on to K. We now do at least two letters each week.

It's In His Nature
After that day of letters by fire, there was a huge improvement. Jacob got a kick out of the flash cards and he made it a priority to know his letters. I also realize I'm pretty lucky in that Jacob has my inherent drive to succeed, to be the best. That does not mean, however, that I continued with the drill sergeant tactics. It seems I only needed that the one time, to wake him up. I remembered all of the art projects I would take home from the wonderful Ms. Cindy, and my light bulb went on (it's one of those new-fangled ones that takes forever to light up). I needed to do more lesson-oriented arts and crafts instead of simply putting writing worksheets in front of him three days a week.

Balance
Sure, my kids like to color and would do that on their own, but I found their attention was better overall when it came to arts/crafts activities, so I found crafts that aided in learning, and some just for fun. This is, by far, a fan favorite. Who doesn't love construction paper, Elmer's glue and some glitter pens?

Those are dinosaurs. On a stick.

Time After Time

One day, a few months in, it just started clicking. I didn't have to show him how to trace his letters, he was doing it on his own. The visual aids I'd purchased (alphabet boards in manuscript and cursive) were visible all the time and I found myself awed at their capacity to learn on their own. My sons invented their own game where they took the letter magnets from the refrigerator and matched them to the letters on the alphabet boards. My four-year-old was starting to write letters without the tracing pages, can write his name, and is now recognizing some basic sight words. 

There have been some frustrations along the way, but I'm glad I stuck with it. I learned that, just like a teacher, I need to plan ahead and I map out what we do on a weekly basis. I print worksheets or crafts projects and prepare them the day before. I also make sure they are fed, dressed, and ready to go to school, even though we are just going to the dining room table.

To see the progress they make day to day and week to week is amazing. And to think I've had a hand in that is pretty humbling.

Here are some links if you're looking for ways to school your preschooler at home.

Alphabet Worksheets

Dinosaur Coloring Pages

Animal-themed Worksheets, Coloring Pages and Crafts

Counting Pages

Make Your Own Handwriting Practice Pages

The Anti-Routine Thing

Ugh. That is all I have to say.

The doldrums of winter have worn me down. I'm exhausted. Snow I can handle, non-stop Arctic temperatures are something else entirely.

As winter approached, I told myself that I would love and embrace winter this year, since I didn't have to leave the house. Well, leaving my feelings about winter aside, let's just say I don't think winter loved me back. At all.

I am still following my normal routine for the most part, but I have been seriously slacking in others. Instead of getting up with the alarm, I'm snoozing and getting up at the last minute. Who can possibly be chipper about facing a gray-blue day when the high temp isn't even in the double digits? (And no, negative double digits don't count.)

My children are feeling it to. They're going bonkers in the house, they're not doing the greatest job listening, and most days my littlest one refuses to get out of his jammies. Who can blame him?

My rationalization is that, hopefully, we will be thawed out and experiencing temperatures of at least 40 degress by mid-April, so until then, I've made an addendum to my normal routine. Call it my winter survival guide.

Alarming
I'm sleeping in. I feel better when I work out in the mornings, true, but I've felt just as good lately swapping my early-morning exercise for late-night movies and sleeping past my alarm.

Take In
Trying to keep the kids entertained when you can't send them outside due to record-setting Arctic temperatures is a challenge to say the least. A few days a week, we throw a blanket down in the living room and eat out there, picnic style. It's free, low maintenance, and they get a huge kick out of it.

Electronic Addiction
It's easy in these hibernation months to ease up on the rules, like the one I have about the tablets in our house. I normally stash them away Monday through Friday so the boys focus on learning and play. I have been slack in that area too, but make sure we still do schoolwork several times a week, I introduce some arts and craft activities, and we recently purchased a couple new board games for the kids to try.

Caffeine Addiction
One of the single, greatest purchases we have made to date is our new Espresso maker. A birthday gift for my hubby, this baby makes great lattes or cappuccinos right here at home. It's not huge, but a little pick-me-up mid morning almost warms you up. Almost.

Indoor Fun
We have set up a thousand tents, forts, and other fun activities in the play room. We have colored, watched movies, played, and my four-year-old even helps me clean, just to keep ourselves moving around the house. If your kids like to swim as much as mine, check out local community centers or colleges to see if they offer open swim sessions. We are even looking into a weekend getaway to do just that. Go out to eat, swim, and hang out somewhere, ANYWHERE, else for a little bit.

Ok, so maybe I had a little more to say than "Ugh."

I know, I know, in a couple months I'll be saying "Rain, Rain, Go Away," and complaining about feeling like a fish. In all seriousness, I remember every winter growing up would have a thaw - a couple days or a week of temps in the 40s or even 50s. And in March, we would usually see a couple days of spring-like weather, but the last few winters there has been none of that. When you have to go this long without venturing outside for fear of freezing your face off, you start to understand species that hibernate a whole lot better.

'Till Spring!

Half of 70

It is an age/number that confounded my little mind at the tender age of seven. To be thirty-five. (I'm typing it out rather than writing it numerically as it seems less harsh that way.)

I could not even fathom what or who I would be at thirty-five. It was just too damn far away and time back then moved like molasses.

I used to work with a couple of women in their forties who claimed they loved being older. They didn't put up with as much crap, life was easier to navigate due to experience, I was reassured I was heading towards greatness and told to embrace my impending birthdays. With gusto.

I do feel I have come a long way with who I am. I had some detours in my twenties, and as painful as they were, those moments are behind me. I have found strength in saying no. I have discovered the joy and beauty of creating a new family. Those detours in my twenties, if faced with them today, would not get a second glance. I am not a different person - I was a different person when being detoured - I am myself, a stronger version of myself in my youth. Except where I was uncertain, or too afraid, now I am not.

It is a good place to be.

However, I have noticed some aspects, like generational differences, I never thought would bother me.  I was convinced I could remain up to date with most trends and would never utter phrases like, "These kids today," and yet, I do. I find a deep divide between my Gen-X culture and that of the Millennials. The technology they have grown up with was introduced to my generation much later in life. We knew of peace and quiet. We knew of phone calls on landlines and missing your favorite TV show if you couldn't get your VCR to work. I made mix tapes, and then CDs.

While I've welcomed most technology, I try to keep a balance. When I go out, you know, into the world? Like a restaurant, or movie theater, my cell phone is in my purse and that's where it stays. At the doctor's office, I either read a book I've brought or flip through a magazine. And even though I own an e-reader, I still own books, because, well, there are times when I feel like a nut, and times I don't.

My husband constantly teases me for using my iPod. But wait, I'm talking one of the first iPods, not a touch screen, it has the little wheel that you have to circle around to get through your music collection. I bought it in 2007, it was top of the line at the time, lots of capacity for my large music collection AND it played movies. Now, it's viewed as obsolete.

I worry less now about any kind of social life, and more about society. What kind of world are we living in? How can we make sure the generations that follow us will be ok? As a PR/Marketing professional I really have to be up to date on the news and world events, but find I can't watch the stories of loss, destruction and conflict over and over and over again. I worry about my children. All. The. Time. I want their lives to be full, happy - I want them to be their best selves.

As for me, I want to check some items off my list. I want to be a published author. I want to run another Boilermaker. I want to see Alaska, Hawaii, Northern California and the lush Northwest. I want to be here for my kids to get them on and off the school bus. I want summers in the pool, falls full of leaves and apple cider, winters full of... ok, mostly I want winters to be over with, and springs full of flowers and that unbeatable earthy smell that I can't stop breathing in.

Basically, I just want to keep having birthdays, and endlessly celebrating life in between.

Parental Superiority

I want to clear something up. I am not on here to say that I'm the world's greatest mother or that I am some sort of parenting expert. I am simply trying to remember each passing second of my boys' cuteness and thought that blogging would be a great keepsake one day. You know, when I'm old and not needed.

Blogging about parenting does not make me superior, and I'm in no way trying to put down anyone else's parenting methods. I created this blog because I made a decision to be a stay-at-home parent, and I'm not condemning anyone else for being a go-to-work parent. I am not better, or worse, just different. We all are.

I aspire to have the kind of blog that makes other parents laugh, to maybe inspire a parent who is tired and overwhelmed that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and lastly, for me to have an outlet for my writing. 

I like humorous blog posts about raising boys, (And we all have different ideas about humor, am I right? Just sit my husband and me in front of a Seth Rogan/James Franco movie. He laughs. I do not.) and if I find a blog post about parenting that isn't my cup of tea, I keep surfing. Want to be a peaceful parent? Ok! A fan of structure? Cool! Work 80 hours a week? Zero? Whatever makes you happy. 

I understand that somehow we have developed into a society that has myriad parenting styles, as demonstrated by the Similac commercial, but here's what I don't get:

The Knee-Jerk Let's-Be-Offended Reaction

I don't get why there is so much opinionated backlash to every confounded idea. I thought the Similac ad went on a little too long, but other than that, it was hyperbole. The stereotypical parental types were exaggerated on purpose, which is why I was scratching my head over Mayim Bialik's blog post. Of course the nursing babies were covered up, because, last I checked, Janet Jackson has been the only female who has gotten away with exposing her breasts during the Super Bowl. And that? Was very much frowned on. The nursing babies were covered up because I guess there are still some standards on television, and to make sure the audience understood there were nursing babies under there. It's the Super Bowl, not Jeopardy, implied characterizations must be super obvious for this crowd.

The Negative Comments

There are a lot of negative comments on parenting blogs, which I also don't understand. If you don't like it, don't read it. 

Ripping a parent/blogger apart for expressing an idea would be like me going to a restaurant and getting offended by the dessert tray. Sure, I love cannolis, but how dare you present me with peanut butter pie! I hate peanut butter pie. What if I was allergic to peanuts? Do you know the chemicals used on peanut... trees? Oh, whatever, you get my drift. Rather than bashing the peanut butter pie or the person who presents it, I would simply say no thank you and move on. But first: leave the cannoli.

This Mama Knows Best, No This Mama Knows Best!
There used to be three basic kinds of parenting styles, now it seems there are about 300. For those of us who are simply trying to put ourselves out there, who have a little self doubt a few times a day, and who ultimately want the best for themselves and their children, we need to be cut a little slack. It's become a judgmental world where individuals can safely hide behind their computer screens or smartphones while typing in some pretty hurtful remarks. If you're mature enough to read someone else's opinion, even though you disagree, without commenting what a stupid expletive the person is, then great. Pat yourself on the back.

If you can't? Maybe it's better to just leave some things unsaid. After all, I didn't rip Mayim apart for her blog or leave a scathing review. We can agree to disagree with out being so rude, mean or condescending. Can't we?