Well, it's that time of year again. Time for my annual New Year's Resolutions list. Or what I commonly refer to as the the first lies I will tell myself in the new year.
Last year's resolutions were admirable. Weight loss. Less cursing. More patience. Let's have a quick review and see how I did.
1. Complete Meg's scrapbook from her first year of life - As of today, December 30th, this has neither been completed nor attempted. Meg turned three in October.
2. Limiting my intake of sweets to weekends and special occasions - Last night I ate 6 pieces of chocolate because it was in the house. I would have eaten more, but I didn't have any more. Last night was Tuesday.
3. Not cursing in front of my children. I still do this, but I do it more quietly. So, that is kind of a win.
4. Keeping my car clean and neat - I am going out of town today, so I cleaned and vacuumed it last night. I removed 6 dolls, 5 receipts, 1 half-empty bottle of water, two Target bags, 1 coffee cup, 1 empty styrofoam cup, a box of melted crayons, 3 empty DVD cases, 2 jackets, and 3 socks.
5. Send thank you notes - This one I actually attempted. We had a birthday party for Meg in October and I actually wrote several thank you notes. They were in a box on my kitchen counter for a couple of months and I finally moved them somewhere else when it was time to put out the Christmas decorations. I'm not sure where they are now. I did deliver one to a friend of mine at work. Technically, that is more than I sent out in 2009, so I'm calling this one a win.
6. Stop complaining - Read any blog entry of mine from this year and you'll know whether or not this one was met.
7. I will be more patient with my children - Talk about setting yourself up for failure! What was I thinking?
8. I will be healthier - Considering that I am heavier now than I was when I established this as a resolution, I don't think this one was achieved. I did run in two 5ks this year, so that's something. But, do you know what I ate for dinner prior to the 6 pieces of chocolate? You guessed it - Taco Bell.
9. No serious posts - I had a couple. Sorry.
10. Do more to combat my inherent laziness - I sat around a lot in 2010. And I took a lot of naps. I have added no new hobbies. I averaged about 5 showers per week. A couple of pairs of my pajamas are now beginning to look threadbare. This doesn't look (or smell) like success.
Which brings us to 2011. What shall I set for myself this year? Well, for starters I'm not setting 10 of them again. That was just stupidity. One could argue that I got so bogged down in trying to meet all of these goals that it didn't lend itself to my accomplishing any one of them successfully. That isn't the case - I didn't actively try to reach any of them. But, one could still make that argument.
1. So, obviously one important one is the one to be healthier. I seriously need to do that. Once again, my physical showed that my cholesterol is higher than it needs to be. And I know that my kids are learning their eating habits by watching mine. I need to set a better example for them. I need to be thinner. Not way thinner, but I weigh more than I need to for my frame. The last time I weighed this much I was pregnant. I am still eating for two... Or three... Men. Large Men.
2. I am going to go room by room and clean my house. Well, not clean it. But straighten and de-clutter it. I have a closet upstairs off the guest room that is a fairly big size and is where I do all of my wrapping. There are bags and receipts up there from Christmas 2008. Guests cannot hang their clothes on the rods because they cannot physically make their way over to where the old, out-dated, non-fitting clothes that need to be given away are hanging.
The girls' rooms and bathroom have baby things/toys/soaps/crap that need to be thrown out or given away. I need to update the pictures that are on their shelves. I need to throw out the infant Mylicon that my children haven't used in close to three years. AND I need to start requiring that they keep their rooms tidy. They are old enough now that this responsibility should fall to them. Lord knows I'm not doing it. Perhaps they'll do a better job.
The girls' playroom is a disaster. They still have baby toys down there as well. Toys I've tried to give away previously, but they've seen in the give-away pile and decided that they couldn't live without. We have about 12 tons of Happy Meal crap toys that could probably fill an entire garbage bag to overflowing. There are playing cards all over the place. I know there are plenty more than 52, but certainly not all from the same deck. And we have enough kitchen toys to feed a pretend army. It is a nightmare in there.
My pantry is just horrendous. Everything used to have it's place but now the peanuts are with the mandarin oranges and the olive oil is with the rice. I can't find anything in there. And here's something I just learned at 37 years of age. Spices expire. Did you know that? I'll bet I've been using the same coriander (do I ever use that?) since 1997. I wonder if that means that things like flour expire. And when was the last time I used Crisco? It's probably hard as a rock by now.
In 2010, I did clean out the cabinet under my bathroom sink (which was horrifying) as well as my tupperware cabinet. I have been much less stressed in those areas of the house because I'm not constantly reminded of how disorganized I am. If I could do this in several other rooms of my house, think of how peaceful my life will be.
3. I've got to do Meg's damn scrapbook. Seriously. She'll develop a complex if Kate has one and she doesn't. There is no excuse for not having this done. Actually, I'm sure there is a great excuse. I just haven't thought of it yet. I'm sure it is somehow Mike's fault.
At work we talk about setting SMART goals. That is, goals that are:
S ...uh...whoops. Something I can't remember.
Measurable
Attainable (I think)
Necessary
Timed
No wait, that's SMANT. Well, anyway, the acronym helps you make sure they are realistic (that's the R!!) and that you can easily determine if you have met them. I'm thinking those 3 goals are all of those things so I will end the list there.
Surely to goodness I can accomplish three things in a year. If I cannot, then the resolution in 2012 will have to be to have a crane come in and remove my 500lb ass from my sofa.
I hope you set some good SMART and SMANT goals for yourself in 2011 and that it is your best year yet. Cheers!
...oh yeah, the S is Specific.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
I Never Dreamed Of A White Christmas
Like the Frasier Fir tree standing tall in my living room, I am a Christmas sap. As clichéd as it sounds, I truly love this time of year. There is such a build-up to Christmas with the music, the smells, the songs, etc., and then every year I get weepy and nostalgic when it must come to an end. We had an extra special Christmas this year in the McCallie household. Below is our Christmas story. Enjoy… and may your days be merry and bright.
We decorated our house during the first weekend of December. This is very early compared to when we would decorate when I was a kid, but fairly late as compared to many of my neighbors. This was really the first year that my kids really seemed to get into the wonder and excitement of the holidays. I missed that for a few years as I made the transition from my traditional Christmas to creating a special experience for my children.
For a couple of years, I was down in the dumps during the holidays because I was no longer doing the things we did when I was a kid. It was no longer about enjoying MY Christmas; it was about creating a Christmas experience that my kids would always remember. As selfish as that sounds, it made me very sad to let go of what I was accustomed to. Of course, now MY Christmas is all about the joy my kids experience. I didn’t realize that fully until this year.
We went and purchased our tree on Sunday, December 4th. We have been going to the same place for several years now – just like my dad and I used to do in Birmingham. Usually, my marriage begins to unravel when we arrive because Mike and I start with very different ideas about what the tree should look like and how much it should cost. This year, we both found the same tree and arrived at a decision in under 10 minutes.
The unraveling of the marriage continues as we bring the tree into the house and place it in its stand. This year, it went relatively smoothly. Sure, we got needles everywhere, and there was some drama with me trying to bear my portion of the weight of the tree as we carried it through the house to its destination (I should say that my portion of the weight is still only about 10% of the weight, but seeing as I have no upper body strength, even that is a challenge). Mike stood it up for the first time and it was leaning just a little. With a quick repositioning, it was straight and ready. One adjustment. That was it.
Now, over the years, I have always been more excited about decorating the tree than Mike has been. Mike generally sits on the couch with a ballgame muted on the TV and hands me the ornaments to hang while I listen to Christmas music. I have secretly resented this because I want him to be excited about the holidays and look forward to all of the traditions I am forcing upon him (tradition that he most likely secretly resents…). It’s not that he’s a Scrooge. He’s not at all. He’s just not the Christmas uber-nerd that I tend to be. This year, the TV was off and we had Mike’s full attention. I know he did it because it’s important to me and to the kids. I think he enjoyed their faces enough to where next year he’ll look forward to doing it. And his participation in it this year without prompting from me kept our marriage intact. At least for another year.
Anyway, the girls were bummed that we made them take their naps when we got home – they wanted to immediately put up the tree and decorate it. Mike and I put the tree in the stand and had it ready to go so that it would be ready to be decorated by the time they woke up. When they woke up, I was busily preparing the spaghetti sauce that I decided we needed to eat for dinner. I had done this early in order to give the flavors time to permeate. Of course, that had set me back in stringing the lights on the tree. The girls were growing impatient because they expected the tree to be primed for decorating when they woke up and seemingly, I had made no progress.
So, with the spaghetti sauce bubbling away in the next room, I began the arduous task of stringing hundreds of lights around the tree. This is usually the time when I am cursing Mike in my head for being of no help while I’m being covered in sap from head to toe with a long strand of lights that are tangled up beyond reason. Granted, light-stringing has to be a one person job and there’s no way I would let him do it. Still, by this time, I’m usually rankled to the point of just being angry at him for anything and everything, so the easiest thing to do is simply curse his name while I try to wrap the lights around each and every branch. Of course, halfway through the project, I lose interest in being so meticulous so every year we end up with hundreds of lights on the lowest third of the tree and the rest of them sparsely twinkling here and there.
This year, the lights went up without incident and it was time to hang the ornaments. The girls were literally squealing and jumping up and down when we told them it was time for them to help. This year is the first time that’s happened. They were bulldozing their way past me and grabbing ornaments out of the storage container as fast as they could. They loved every ornament they saw. “This one is SO beautiful”, they would say with each new snowman or candy cane they would pull out. They got really excited when they found one they had made at school or one that had a character on it they liked. (Try as I might, I couldn’t keep them from finding and hanging Barney…)
We had the sounds of O Holy Night and The Holly And The Ivy filling the air as we all decorated the tree. I was madly snapping pictures so I could capture the smiles and togetherness. I got a great shot of Kate on her Daddy’s shoulders hanging one up high. And, of course, I got several of the one branch that the girls had hung 78 ornaments on; weighing it down so much that it almost reached the floor. And every few seconds we would hear a gentle “thunk” or “clank” as the ones that had been hung by little hands simply fell repeatedly off of the branches. It was a scene that warmed my heart. And the fact that we made it though it without an outburst or meltdown from me was… well, I suppose it was nothing short of a Christmas miracle.
As the weeks drew on and our Advent calendar showed fewer and fewer days left to celebrate, the girls were giddy and were unusually cooperative. You see, Allison, our Elf on the Shelf, spent the holiday season with us for the first time this year. She kept close tabs on the girls and was often used as leverage when they would act ugly. If Meg would pout, Mike would say, “Do I need to go touch Allison and take away her magic?” If Kate talked back to me I would say, “Are you seeing this, Allison?” Boy, are we going to miss having her in the house. Someone needs to needs to come up with a “Gnome in Your Home” (patent pending) to watch them for the rest of the year until Allison comes back.
All season, the girls sang Christmas songs. I loved hearing their interpretation of the lyrics:
We Three Kings Of Oreos Are
God Rescue Merry Gentlemen
Deck The Halls With Balls Of Jolly
And Kate, sweet Kate, wanted to give her daddy a picture for Christmas. She asked me if I would wrap it for her. I told her I would so she went into the next room with her paper and her crayons. She came back a few minutes later with a picture of a green stick figure and a heart. I asked her who the person was. She said it was her daddy. Then she told me, “I made him green since it’s his favorite color. And then I drew a heart because I love him.” I almost collapsed into a puddle of tears, but before I could, she quickly gasped and said, “I forgot to make a rainbow!” and ran out of the room to finish her masterpiece.
After it was wrapped and under the tree, she would pick it up almost daily and look at it and ask when it would be time for Daddy to open it. Finally on Christmas morning, it was time. Well, it wasn’t exactly time. We hadn’t even started on our stockings yet. But Kate was about to burst out of her skin for Mike to open it. So, we agreed he should go on and open it. You could see it all over Kate’s face – the pride she had in her work. The hope that Mike would love it. It was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. He loved it, of course, and gave her a big bear hug. Meanwhile, Meg opened a stocking stuffer that did not meet with her approval so she chucked it across the room. My girls are very different. And I love them both to pieces. (In Meg’s defense, for the rest of the day she would say, “Thank you SO much” every time she opened one of her gifts. Very sweet. Just don’t give her a bouncy ball that lights up in her stocking. Lesson learned.)
The other thing that made this Christmas extra-special – aside from being together with Mike’s family on Christmas Eve and my parents on Christmas day – was that we awoke to snow on Christmas morning. And it continued through the late afternoon. In all, we got about 5 inches of accumulation. At 37 years old I had my first white Christmas! It was absolutely beautiful! I couldn’t stop watching it come down. And it gave the girls something to look at in wonder after all of the presents had been opened. They were too busy wanting to make a snowman and roll around in it to realize that Christmas had ended.
And so it ended. As it does every year. The gifts were all opened. The food had made us all uncomfortably full. Christmas music was playing, but you knew that tomorrow you wouldn’t be listening to it anymore. The build-up was over. This magical season we’d anticipated for so long was over and we’d only have the blah of the winter to look forward to. Actually, we have a trip to my sister’s for New Year’s to look forward to. That’s the only thing that keeps me from being really sad on Christmas day. Knowing we’ll be in Greenville doing it all again in a week.
On Christmas night, my dad and I were the only ones still up. We sat out on the screened in porch in front of the fire with my glass of wine and his glass of scotch listening to Christmas music for the last time for 11 months. We talked about his Christmases growing up. We talked about my love of my childhood Christmas and how fun it was to watch my kids experience it for real this year – perhaps for the first time. It was a sign of a lot of fun and memorable Christmases to come. I was getting a little sad wondering what would be the last Christmas song I’d listen to this season. We decided to end on a silly note – Stan Freberg’s Christmas Dragnet which is probably 50 years old. He laughed at the nostalgia it brought to him. “I haven’t heard this in probably 50 years!” And I laughed at the fact that I was such a nerd that I actually think it’s just as funny as he does!
I turned off the fire and then the music and we came inside closing the door on a wonderful day and thinking to myself, okay, only 364 days to go.
We decorated our house during the first weekend of December. This is very early compared to when we would decorate when I was a kid, but fairly late as compared to many of my neighbors. This was really the first year that my kids really seemed to get into the wonder and excitement of the holidays. I missed that for a few years as I made the transition from my traditional Christmas to creating a special experience for my children.
For a couple of years, I was down in the dumps during the holidays because I was no longer doing the things we did when I was a kid. It was no longer about enjoying MY Christmas; it was about creating a Christmas experience that my kids would always remember. As selfish as that sounds, it made me very sad to let go of what I was accustomed to. Of course, now MY Christmas is all about the joy my kids experience. I didn’t realize that fully until this year.
We went and purchased our tree on Sunday, December 4th. We have been going to the same place for several years now – just like my dad and I used to do in Birmingham. Usually, my marriage begins to unravel when we arrive because Mike and I start with very different ideas about what the tree should look like and how much it should cost. This year, we both found the same tree and arrived at a decision in under 10 minutes.
The unraveling of the marriage continues as we bring the tree into the house and place it in its stand. This year, it went relatively smoothly. Sure, we got needles everywhere, and there was some drama with me trying to bear my portion of the weight of the tree as we carried it through the house to its destination (I should say that my portion of the weight is still only about 10% of the weight, but seeing as I have no upper body strength, even that is a challenge). Mike stood it up for the first time and it was leaning just a little. With a quick repositioning, it was straight and ready. One adjustment. That was it.
Now, over the years, I have always been more excited about decorating the tree than Mike has been. Mike generally sits on the couch with a ballgame muted on the TV and hands me the ornaments to hang while I listen to Christmas music. I have secretly resented this because I want him to be excited about the holidays and look forward to all of the traditions I am forcing upon him (tradition that he most likely secretly resents…). It’s not that he’s a Scrooge. He’s not at all. He’s just not the Christmas uber-nerd that I tend to be. This year, the TV was off and we had Mike’s full attention. I know he did it because it’s important to me and to the kids. I think he enjoyed their faces enough to where next year he’ll look forward to doing it. And his participation in it this year without prompting from me kept our marriage intact. At least for another year.
Anyway, the girls were bummed that we made them take their naps when we got home – they wanted to immediately put up the tree and decorate it. Mike and I put the tree in the stand and had it ready to go so that it would be ready to be decorated by the time they woke up. When they woke up, I was busily preparing the spaghetti sauce that I decided we needed to eat for dinner. I had done this early in order to give the flavors time to permeate. Of course, that had set me back in stringing the lights on the tree. The girls were growing impatient because they expected the tree to be primed for decorating when they woke up and seemingly, I had made no progress.
So, with the spaghetti sauce bubbling away in the next room, I began the arduous task of stringing hundreds of lights around the tree. This is usually the time when I am cursing Mike in my head for being of no help while I’m being covered in sap from head to toe with a long strand of lights that are tangled up beyond reason. Granted, light-stringing has to be a one person job and there’s no way I would let him do it. Still, by this time, I’m usually rankled to the point of just being angry at him for anything and everything, so the easiest thing to do is simply curse his name while I try to wrap the lights around each and every branch. Of course, halfway through the project, I lose interest in being so meticulous so every year we end up with hundreds of lights on the lowest third of the tree and the rest of them sparsely twinkling here and there.
This year, the lights went up without incident and it was time to hang the ornaments. The girls were literally squealing and jumping up and down when we told them it was time for them to help. This year is the first time that’s happened. They were bulldozing their way past me and grabbing ornaments out of the storage container as fast as they could. They loved every ornament they saw. “This one is SO beautiful”, they would say with each new snowman or candy cane they would pull out. They got really excited when they found one they had made at school or one that had a character on it they liked. (Try as I might, I couldn’t keep them from finding and hanging Barney…)
We had the sounds of O Holy Night and The Holly And The Ivy filling the air as we all decorated the tree. I was madly snapping pictures so I could capture the smiles and togetherness. I got a great shot of Kate on her Daddy’s shoulders hanging one up high. And, of course, I got several of the one branch that the girls had hung 78 ornaments on; weighing it down so much that it almost reached the floor. And every few seconds we would hear a gentle “thunk” or “clank” as the ones that had been hung by little hands simply fell repeatedly off of the branches. It was a scene that warmed my heart. And the fact that we made it though it without an outburst or meltdown from me was… well, I suppose it was nothing short of a Christmas miracle.
As the weeks drew on and our Advent calendar showed fewer and fewer days left to celebrate, the girls were giddy and were unusually cooperative. You see, Allison, our Elf on the Shelf, spent the holiday season with us for the first time this year. She kept close tabs on the girls and was often used as leverage when they would act ugly. If Meg would pout, Mike would say, “Do I need to go touch Allison and take away her magic?” If Kate talked back to me I would say, “Are you seeing this, Allison?” Boy, are we going to miss having her in the house. Someone needs to needs to come up with a “Gnome in Your Home” (patent pending) to watch them for the rest of the year until Allison comes back.
All season, the girls sang Christmas songs. I loved hearing their interpretation of the lyrics:
We Three Kings Of Oreos Are
God Rescue Merry Gentlemen
Deck The Halls With Balls Of Jolly
And Kate, sweet Kate, wanted to give her daddy a picture for Christmas. She asked me if I would wrap it for her. I told her I would so she went into the next room with her paper and her crayons. She came back a few minutes later with a picture of a green stick figure and a heart. I asked her who the person was. She said it was her daddy. Then she told me, “I made him green since it’s his favorite color. And then I drew a heart because I love him.” I almost collapsed into a puddle of tears, but before I could, she quickly gasped and said, “I forgot to make a rainbow!” and ran out of the room to finish her masterpiece.
After it was wrapped and under the tree, she would pick it up almost daily and look at it and ask when it would be time for Daddy to open it. Finally on Christmas morning, it was time. Well, it wasn’t exactly time. We hadn’t even started on our stockings yet. But Kate was about to burst out of her skin for Mike to open it. So, we agreed he should go on and open it. You could see it all over Kate’s face – the pride she had in her work. The hope that Mike would love it. It was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. He loved it, of course, and gave her a big bear hug. Meanwhile, Meg opened a stocking stuffer that did not meet with her approval so she chucked it across the room. My girls are very different. And I love them both to pieces. (In Meg’s defense, for the rest of the day she would say, “Thank you SO much” every time she opened one of her gifts. Very sweet. Just don’t give her a bouncy ball that lights up in her stocking. Lesson learned.)
The other thing that made this Christmas extra-special – aside from being together with Mike’s family on Christmas Eve and my parents on Christmas day – was that we awoke to snow on Christmas morning. And it continued through the late afternoon. In all, we got about 5 inches of accumulation. At 37 years old I had my first white Christmas! It was absolutely beautiful! I couldn’t stop watching it come down. And it gave the girls something to look at in wonder after all of the presents had been opened. They were too busy wanting to make a snowman and roll around in it to realize that Christmas had ended.
And so it ended. As it does every year. The gifts were all opened. The food had made us all uncomfortably full. Christmas music was playing, but you knew that tomorrow you wouldn’t be listening to it anymore. The build-up was over. This magical season we’d anticipated for so long was over and we’d only have the blah of the winter to look forward to. Actually, we have a trip to my sister’s for New Year’s to look forward to. That’s the only thing that keeps me from being really sad on Christmas day. Knowing we’ll be in Greenville doing it all again in a week.
On Christmas night, my dad and I were the only ones still up. We sat out on the screened in porch in front of the fire with my glass of wine and his glass of scotch listening to Christmas music for the last time for 11 months. We talked about his Christmases growing up. We talked about my love of my childhood Christmas and how fun it was to watch my kids experience it for real this year – perhaps for the first time. It was a sign of a lot of fun and memorable Christmases to come. I was getting a little sad wondering what would be the last Christmas song I’d listen to this season. We decided to end on a silly note – Stan Freberg’s Christmas Dragnet which is probably 50 years old. He laughed at the nostalgia it brought to him. “I haven’t heard this in probably 50 years!” And I laughed at the fact that I was such a nerd that I actually think it’s just as funny as he does!
I turned off the fire and then the music and we came inside closing the door on a wonderful day and thinking to myself, okay, only 364 days to go.
Monday, December 6, 2010
How 'Bout Them War Eagles!
In this season if miracles, perhaps there are none bigger than the fact that Auburn is ranked #1 in the BCS poll. It seems like as long as I have been an Auburn fan (and, I’ll get into what that means later) it has been one disappointment after another.
Not that we haven’t had some really good seasons – we have. We went undefeated when I was in school there in the early-mid 90’s. Of course, we were on probation at the time so we couldn’t go to a bowl or have a shot at the national title. Then, more recently, under Tommy Tuberville we were undefeated and did not get an invitation to play for the national championship. Very discouraging. We seem to always find a way to shoot ourselves in the foot.
Until Cam Newton. Except…oh, wait…we might have paid him to play for us. I certainly hope it isn’t true and the NCAA doesn’t seem to think there’s been any wrongdoing (at least for now), but I still have an uneasy feeling about this season. Cam is a tremendous athlete and has been awesome (or, AUsome, I suppose) to watch. It has really been a fun season to experience except for the dark cloud that has been following us around amid rumors of possible pay-to-play shenanigans. I hope it’s not true and I hope we win in Arizona. I will be cheering (and probably cussing some too) for my Tigers from home and will be very proud of we win the title. That would be AUsome for us, for sure.
And that’s about the extent of my plans for the game. I’ll be excited if we win and bummed if we lose. And, you know, then I’ll go back to my day to day life. So, that’s what makes me an Auburn fan and not an Auburn person.
You may find yourself asking, "But Maggie, what the difference in an Auburn fan and an Auburn person?" Let me see if I can explain it to you the way it I understand it as exemplified by my college boyfriend.
An Auburn FAN is someone who goes to some of the games and roots for Auburn to win. They are able to take a win or a loss in stride and focus on their job, their family, their hygiene and other essential duties in their lives. They don’t really like people who root for Alabama but have a healthy respect for the rivalry that exists. If it rains or if there’s a blowout, they’ll leave a game early. They may have their diplomas framed in their office and could perhaps have some kind of Auburn trinket on a bookshelf in their house. They look back at their college time with mostly fondness (but perhaps some regret at the choices of hair) but love their life now and wouldn’t go back and do college over again.
In contrast, an Auburn PERSON is a complete loon who was born and raised to worship Auburn and everything associated with it. These are the people whose parents said to them, “You can go anywhere you want to for college. But I’m only paying you to go to Auburn”. Their mood rises and falls with the performance of the football (or insert other sport here) team. They absolutely loathe University of Alabama graduates and are unable to see reason where this is concerned. They stay at a game until the bitter end no matter how crappy the weather or how much Auburn is winning or losing. Their Auburn paraphernalia isn’t limited to one bookshelf, one wall, or even one room. No, their love of Auburn is proudly displayed in most rooms of their house. Whereas some people may have contemporary style, these people’s style is called “Auburn”. They get down to Auburn any chance they get and probably organize neighborhood or work caravans for multiple sporting events. And last but not least, they believe wholeheartedly and will actually spend the time on several occasions to tell you that there is actually a difference between an Auburn fan and an Auburn person.
I suppose I’m just a lowly old fan. I love Auburn. I’m glad we’re winning. And that’s about the end of it. Have I given us a few “War Damn Eagles” this season? You bet! I’ve been excited. It is exciting. But I've kept in it what I would consider a healthy perspective.
My college roommate, whom you may remember from this story, and I always thought the battle cry “War Damn Eagle” was funny. We understood “War Eagle” even though a lot of people are confused by that since we are the tigers. But throwing the “damn” in there, kind of makes us sound like a bunch of loudmouth, football-lovin’ Alabama rednecks. As in, “War Dayum Eagle, Yeeeeeeeehaaaaaw!”
We thought it would be funny to insert some other curse words in there just to see if it packed the same punch. A few of my favorites:
War Poot Eagle!
War LordyBabyJesus Eagle!
War Butthole Eagle!
War Buns Eagle!
Oh, the fun you can have when you’re 19!
So, on January 10th, I’ll be tuning in like a good little Auburn fan and will be very emotional about it – win or lose - in the 15 minutes after the conclusion. And that will be that. And hopefully, the NCAA is truly done with their investigation and this cloud of suspicion around Auburn athletics will dissipate. I won't give anyone a hard time for thinking that Auburn did something dirty to get Cam to come and play. Because it is very possible that we did. I'd love a win and a BCS title, but I will keep it in perspective and not go all "Auburn person" on you about it.
Until next football season, War Sphincter Eagle to ya!
Not that we haven’t had some really good seasons – we have. We went undefeated when I was in school there in the early-mid 90’s. Of course, we were on probation at the time so we couldn’t go to a bowl or have a shot at the national title. Then, more recently, under Tommy Tuberville we were undefeated and did not get an invitation to play for the national championship. Very discouraging. We seem to always find a way to shoot ourselves in the foot.
Until Cam Newton. Except…oh, wait…we might have paid him to play for us. I certainly hope it isn’t true and the NCAA doesn’t seem to think there’s been any wrongdoing (at least for now), but I still have an uneasy feeling about this season. Cam is a tremendous athlete and has been awesome (or, AUsome, I suppose) to watch. It has really been a fun season to experience except for the dark cloud that has been following us around amid rumors of possible pay-to-play shenanigans. I hope it’s not true and I hope we win in Arizona. I will be cheering (and probably cussing some too) for my Tigers from home and will be very proud of we win the title. That would be AUsome for us, for sure.
And that’s about the extent of my plans for the game. I’ll be excited if we win and bummed if we lose. And, you know, then I’ll go back to my day to day life. So, that’s what makes me an Auburn fan and not an Auburn person.
You may find yourself asking, "But Maggie, what the difference in an Auburn fan and an Auburn person?" Let me see if I can explain it to you the way it I understand it as exemplified by my college boyfriend.
An Auburn FAN is someone who goes to some of the games and roots for Auburn to win. They are able to take a win or a loss in stride and focus on their job, their family, their hygiene and other essential duties in their lives. They don’t really like people who root for Alabama but have a healthy respect for the rivalry that exists. If it rains or if there’s a blowout, they’ll leave a game early. They may have their diplomas framed in their office and could perhaps have some kind of Auburn trinket on a bookshelf in their house. They look back at their college time with mostly fondness (but perhaps some regret at the choices of hair) but love their life now and wouldn’t go back and do college over again.
In contrast, an Auburn PERSON is a complete loon who was born and raised to worship Auburn and everything associated with it. These are the people whose parents said to them, “You can go anywhere you want to for college. But I’m only paying you to go to Auburn”. Their mood rises and falls with the performance of the football (or insert other sport here) team. They absolutely loathe University of Alabama graduates and are unable to see reason where this is concerned. They stay at a game until the bitter end no matter how crappy the weather or how much Auburn is winning or losing. Their Auburn paraphernalia isn’t limited to one bookshelf, one wall, or even one room. No, their love of Auburn is proudly displayed in most rooms of their house. Whereas some people may have contemporary style, these people’s style is called “Auburn”. They get down to Auburn any chance they get and probably organize neighborhood or work caravans for multiple sporting events. And last but not least, they believe wholeheartedly and will actually spend the time on several occasions to tell you that there is actually a difference between an Auburn fan and an Auburn person.
I suppose I’m just a lowly old fan. I love Auburn. I’m glad we’re winning. And that’s about the end of it. Have I given us a few “War Damn Eagles” this season? You bet! I’ve been excited. It is exciting. But I've kept in it what I would consider a healthy perspective.
My college roommate, whom you may remember from this story, and I always thought the battle cry “War Damn Eagle” was funny. We understood “War Eagle” even though a lot of people are confused by that since we are the tigers. But throwing the “damn” in there, kind of makes us sound like a bunch of loudmouth, football-lovin’ Alabama rednecks. As in, “War Dayum Eagle, Yeeeeeeeehaaaaaw!”
We thought it would be funny to insert some other curse words in there just to see if it packed the same punch. A few of my favorites:
War Poot Eagle!
War LordyBabyJesus Eagle!
War Butthole Eagle!
War Buns Eagle!
Oh, the fun you can have when you’re 19!
So, on January 10th, I’ll be tuning in like a good little Auburn fan and will be very emotional about it – win or lose - in the 15 minutes after the conclusion. And that will be that. And hopefully, the NCAA is truly done with their investigation and this cloud of suspicion around Auburn athletics will dissipate. I won't give anyone a hard time for thinking that Auburn did something dirty to get Cam to come and play. Because it is very possible that we did. I'd love a win and a BCS title, but I will keep it in perspective and not go all "Auburn person" on you about it.
Until next football season, War Sphincter Eagle to ya!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
I'm Unsophisticated And Stuff
I just re-read my last blog post and I feel I must apologize for it. It was horribly boring and was not at all packed with the usual, copious amounts of sarcasm. Therefore, I am returning to my roots and "giving the people (my 1-2 readers) what they want".
I went out of town last weekend on a much needed girls' trip. We went to the North Carolina mountains and got to shop, drink, relax, drink, eat, drink, laugh, drink, and drink. There were seven of us from the neighborhood and we had a lot of laughs and even got to see a little snow.
Of course, as always happens when a bunch of girls get together, everything that was planned was planned around the next meal. Where it would come from. Who would cook it. When we'd eat it. It's all we could talk about. It's all we wanted to think about. So, one day we ended up going to a lunch place where part of the group had been the previous day before the rest of us had arrived. They described the menu as "eclectic" but very good. Usually an "eclectic" menu means that they are going to have a bunch of weird stuff that I will not recognize. This place was no different.
We walked in and it smelled wonderful. It was a cozy little place with funky decor. I began to get nervous.
I'm not cool enough for this place, I thought to myself.
She's not cool enough for this place, the other patrons seemed to be thinking.
Still, we went to our table tucked back in a little room and began opening our menus. The first thing I noticed was that there seemed to be an exorbitant amount of dishes that featured tempeh. The one that stood out the most was an avocado tempeh melt. I hate to admit that I was not entirely sure what tempeh was until I looked it up for the purpose of typing this story. Tempeh is basically a soybean patty and is not exactly that "out there". I mean, it's a topping option at my favorite pizza place, so how weird could it be?
But when it's the main ingredient in several menu items, I begin to get irritated. It's almost like the menu is saying,
Tempeh is so normal that we use it as a base in many of our dishes. If you don't know what it is, your palate is not sophisticated enough, you boorish hillbilly.
I don't know about you, but when I see a menu item that is a "melt", I am hoping to receive something horrible for me. Tempeh and avocados? Who are they trying to impress?
So, as I began pouring over the menu I became less confident I would find something that I would recognize and, consequently, would want to eat. I saw an appetizer - the always popular plantains with mango yogurt (WHAT??!! Ever heard of nachos, people?). I wasn't really that hungry, so I skipped past the appetizers and looked toward the main dishes. I scoured through all kinds of words I didn't understand like "aioli" and finally landed on fish tacos. That seemed fairly harmless, but I am so unrefined that I really don't like to eat fish in my tacos. I'm a beef kind of a girl. Fish makes a dish more distinguished. The assumption you would make if you looked at this menu is that only a common redneck would eat chicken or beef in a taco. But, I was happy with my choice so now it was time to tell the waitress (In a place like this, I'm sure the word "waitress" would be frowned upon, They probably call them "waitperson" or "cuisine attendant") what I would be having to drink.
I asked her for a diet coke. You could practically hear the music screech to a halt and all conversations cease when I made this request. She looked down her nose at me and told me that they did not have Coke products, but they only had Zevia colas. Naturally, I had never heard of a damn Zevia, but I ordered a "Zero-Calorie-Zevia". This was supposed to be the closest thing they had to the barbaric Diet Coke that their simple-minded patron (me) had requested. I was growing more and more disgusted with the pretentious menu.
And then it happened.
As the others at my table were skeptically ordering their Zevais, I noticed another drink option that had been kind of set off from the rest in order to make it stand out. It was "Organic Carrot Juice". And it was $4.00. Seriously? Organic carrot juice? I shouldn't have been surprised that they had organic juices. I mean, this place was dripping with organic and vegan and farm-raised and non-antibiotic-eatin' things. But seriously - WHO DRINKS CARROT JUICE?!! I have watched enough Looney Tunes to know that Bugs Bunny does. Anyone else? Anyone? Anyone?!!
WHO has EVER ordered that?! WHY would you order that unless you just want your friends to think you are soooo cultured?
It gets worse.
Right beneath the place where it had Organic Carrot Juice it had a blurb that announced the you could get it with ginger for seventy-five cents more. A bargain if you ask me!
So, let me get this straight. Not only am I going to be a complete douche bag for ordering freakin' organic carrot juice, but I am now going to shout from the rooftops that I am an even bigger A-hole by demanding they add ginger to it?! How pretentious could this place be? Or, I am just a simple-minded imbecile who has no culture and no palate?
Places like this are so annoying to me because they just cannot be normal. They try way too hard to be so genteel and sophisticated which makes them a total turnoff to me They want me to know what a dolt I am because I do not regularly eat what they are offering. They tell me I am also probably killing innocent animals, melting the glaciers, and raping the land just by waking up in the morning. Why do I even get out of bed?
Maybe I am just too simple. Maybe not wanting a tempeh melt makes me weird. Maybe ginger is what makes organic carrot juice the drink of choice for the fine folks in the Carolina mountains. Maybe the Diet Coke executives run sweatshops overseas and the good people at Zevia are building elementary schools in Somalia. Maybe I could learn a few things at a place like this.
Or maybe I should have a coke and smile and move on.
I went out of town last weekend on a much needed girls' trip. We went to the North Carolina mountains and got to shop, drink, relax, drink, eat, drink, laugh, drink, and drink. There were seven of us from the neighborhood and we had a lot of laughs and even got to see a little snow.
Of course, as always happens when a bunch of girls get together, everything that was planned was planned around the next meal. Where it would come from. Who would cook it. When we'd eat it. It's all we could talk about. It's all we wanted to think about. So, one day we ended up going to a lunch place where part of the group had been the previous day before the rest of us had arrived. They described the menu as "eclectic" but very good. Usually an "eclectic" menu means that they are going to have a bunch of weird stuff that I will not recognize. This place was no different.
We walked in and it smelled wonderful. It was a cozy little place with funky decor. I began to get nervous.
I'm not cool enough for this place, I thought to myself.
She's not cool enough for this place, the other patrons seemed to be thinking.
Still, we went to our table tucked back in a little room and began opening our menus. The first thing I noticed was that there seemed to be an exorbitant amount of dishes that featured tempeh. The one that stood out the most was an avocado tempeh melt. I hate to admit that I was not entirely sure what tempeh was until I looked it up for the purpose of typing this story. Tempeh is basically a soybean patty and is not exactly that "out there". I mean, it's a topping option at my favorite pizza place, so how weird could it be?
But when it's the main ingredient in several menu items, I begin to get irritated. It's almost like the menu is saying,
Tempeh is so normal that we use it as a base in many of our dishes. If you don't know what it is, your palate is not sophisticated enough, you boorish hillbilly.
I don't know about you, but when I see a menu item that is a "melt", I am hoping to receive something horrible for me. Tempeh and avocados? Who are they trying to impress?
So, as I began pouring over the menu I became less confident I would find something that I would recognize and, consequently, would want to eat. I saw an appetizer - the always popular plantains with mango yogurt (WHAT??!! Ever heard of nachos, people?). I wasn't really that hungry, so I skipped past the appetizers and looked toward the main dishes. I scoured through all kinds of words I didn't understand like "aioli" and finally landed on fish tacos. That seemed fairly harmless, but I am so unrefined that I really don't like to eat fish in my tacos. I'm a beef kind of a girl. Fish makes a dish more distinguished. The assumption you would make if you looked at this menu is that only a common redneck would eat chicken or beef in a taco. But, I was happy with my choice so now it was time to tell the waitress (In a place like this, I'm sure the word "waitress" would be frowned upon, They probably call them "waitperson" or "cuisine attendant") what I would be having to drink.
I asked her for a diet coke. You could practically hear the music screech to a halt and all conversations cease when I made this request. She looked down her nose at me and told me that they did not have Coke products, but they only had Zevia colas. Naturally, I had never heard of a damn Zevia, but I ordered a "Zero-Calorie-Zevia". This was supposed to be the closest thing they had to the barbaric Diet Coke that their simple-minded patron (me) had requested. I was growing more and more disgusted with the pretentious menu.
And then it happened.
As the others at my table were skeptically ordering their Zevais, I noticed another drink option that had been kind of set off from the rest in order to make it stand out. It was "Organic Carrot Juice". And it was $4.00. Seriously? Organic carrot juice? I shouldn't have been surprised that they had organic juices. I mean, this place was dripping with organic and vegan and farm-raised and non-antibiotic-eatin' things. But seriously - WHO DRINKS CARROT JUICE?!! I have watched enough Looney Tunes to know that Bugs Bunny does. Anyone else? Anyone? Anyone?!!
WHO has EVER ordered that?! WHY would you order that unless you just want your friends to think you are soooo cultured?
It gets worse.
Right beneath the place where it had Organic Carrot Juice it had a blurb that announced the you could get it with ginger for seventy-five cents more. A bargain if you ask me!
So, let me get this straight. Not only am I going to be a complete douche bag for ordering freakin' organic carrot juice, but I am now going to shout from the rooftops that I am an even bigger A-hole by demanding they add ginger to it?! How pretentious could this place be? Or, I am just a simple-minded imbecile who has no culture and no palate?
Places like this are so annoying to me because they just cannot be normal. They try way too hard to be so genteel and sophisticated which makes them a total turnoff to me They want me to know what a dolt I am because I do not regularly eat what they are offering. They tell me I am also probably killing innocent animals, melting the glaciers, and raping the land just by waking up in the morning. Why do I even get out of bed?
Maybe I am just too simple. Maybe not wanting a tempeh melt makes me weird. Maybe ginger is what makes organic carrot juice the drink of choice for the fine folks in the Carolina mountains. Maybe the Diet Coke executives run sweatshops overseas and the good people at Zevia are building elementary schools in Somalia. Maybe I could learn a few things at a place like this.
Or maybe I should have a coke and smile and move on.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
What I Am Loving These Days
Well, it's been three weeks since my last post, so I suppose I'm supposed to have something witty or important or both to say. Since I don't, I figured I would just share with you some things I am happy about/thankful for/interested in these days. Since I probably will be too lazy to post something else before Thanksgiving, I thought it would be a perfectly festive topic. Here we go. Brace yourself!
1. Mike and the kids, family, friends, blah, blah, blah... all of the predictable ones.
Now that we've gotten that out of the way...
2. Brickbreaker - I am completely addicted to this silly game on my Blackberry but I am AWFUL at it! I play it while I'm on the phone on hold. I play it while stopped at red lights. I play it while my kids are swinging on their swing set. I even dream about it. I hate when I end up catching the "Flip" bullet - I die every time. I love the "laser" bullet. I end up just shooting through everything in order to advance to the next level. But, alas, I've never made it past the 10th level. I hear other people bragging about getting up to level 30-something. Bastards!
3. Fall smells - I love the crisp scent of Fall in the air. It smells fresh and earthy from the leaves on the ground. We live down the street from a campground so we can also smell the campfires wafting over here. This time of year, it is lovely. Plus, I have pumpkin pie scented reed diffusers all over my house. I can also see the beautiful (although this year, not so much) colors in the trees as the leaves change. I love everything about Fall. My grandmother used to say that she didn't like Fall because that's when everything dies. Having been a student for so long and then working for several years in higher education, the Fall was always the start of everything for me. I love the anticipation of Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the smells and the colors. I love the temperatures. I love it all.
4. Auburn has a shot at the BCS Title - For the first time in a long time (maybe ever?), Auburn has a chance of playing for the national championship. I realize a lot has to happen between now and the end of the season, but it's been exciting to be an Auburn fan again. We have a Heisman candidate for the first time in a long time, too. I said it's great...to be...an Auburn Tiger!
5. There is a video I've seen on a couple of different websites that shows a woman solving a Wheel of Fortune puzzle after only revealing one letter. What I love about this is that I DO THAT ALL THE TIME! I can do it with no letters revealed! Why is this news? I should totally be on that show, but then I'd have to suffer the humiliation of having been on that show. She's now recognized as a genius (by Wheel of Fortune standards, but still...) and here I sit, solving puzzles without the recognition I deserve. But still, even in my anonymity, I have still been shown by this video that I am, in fact, a truly special person who can solve the hell out of some Wheel of Fortune puzzles. Yay me!
6. Oprah's Farewell Season - Okay, I am not the "crazy Oprah lady" who goes out and reads all of her Book Club recommendations and purchases all of her favorite things. I think she's self-important (even though I know she is very generous) and an alarmist, but I also think she adds a lot of value to our world. I am loving her season so far! She has reunited the cast of The Sound Of Music after 45 years! She has interviewed George W. Bush and made him appear as a reasonably intelligent person. She spoke with Lisa Marie Presley about her bizarre relationship and marriage to Michael Jackson. She even made Ricky Martin seem interesting.
7. The book One Day by David Nicholls - The last really good book I read. We meet a couple the morning after the first day they've met. Each chapter takes you to that date exactly one year in the future so you can see how their lives and their relationship progresses over time. I found myself dying to get to the next chapter so I could see what their lives were like. Very well drawn out characters and an interesting way to take you through the story of their relationship.
8. Okay, number 1 on my list really already encapsulates this, but I am loving the way my girls are relating to each other these days - They fight a lot of the time, but they also have these little conversations that are just so ridiculous and sweet. They correct each other and tattle on each other and show consideration for each other make each other laugh. They are best friends and I am fortunate enough to get to be in the same space with them. They make me proud every day and make me realize how much I would have missed if I hadn't decided to have children. I'm a lucky gal.
9. New music on my I-Pod - Every now and again I get into a music slump where I've worn everything out on my I-Pod and desperately search for new music. I have been in one such rut lately, but have happened upon a few new things that have made me happy. (Let me clarify - it's "new" to me, not new music. I don't listen to anything new. I'm too lame for that.) Crooked Fingers - a new find for me, old Traveling Wilburys stuff, Violent Femmes stuff from my high school days, Duquette Johnston - a guy who went to my high school and graduated the year after me, and Kings of Leon who I have just recently discovered. I'm excited to listen to my I-Pod again! Oh! And I also found Goody two Shoes by Adam Ant and added it to my workout mix. Jealous?
10. Finally, Conan debuted on TBS last night, so all is right with the world. Oh, how I have missed my sweet, sweet Conan! It was great to have him and his ridiculous sense of humor back on the air. His ratings were good and he's gotten mostly positive reviews. I, of course, think he is a genius and the funniest of all of the late-night hosts. Welcome back, Coco!
Well, sorry for the boring post. Perhaps some stupid reality show person will be in the news too much in the days to come and I'll have some fresh material for you. Happy Tuesday!
1. Mike and the kids, family, friends, blah, blah, blah... all of the predictable ones.
Now that we've gotten that out of the way...
2. Brickbreaker - I am completely addicted to this silly game on my Blackberry but I am AWFUL at it! I play it while I'm on the phone on hold. I play it while stopped at red lights. I play it while my kids are swinging on their swing set. I even dream about it. I hate when I end up catching the "Flip" bullet - I die every time. I love the "laser" bullet. I end up just shooting through everything in order to advance to the next level. But, alas, I've never made it past the 10th level. I hear other people bragging about getting up to level 30-something. Bastards!
3. Fall smells - I love the crisp scent of Fall in the air. It smells fresh and earthy from the leaves on the ground. We live down the street from a campground so we can also smell the campfires wafting over here. This time of year, it is lovely. Plus, I have pumpkin pie scented reed diffusers all over my house. I can also see the beautiful (although this year, not so much) colors in the trees as the leaves change. I love everything about Fall. My grandmother used to say that she didn't like Fall because that's when everything dies. Having been a student for so long and then working for several years in higher education, the Fall was always the start of everything for me. I love the anticipation of Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the smells and the colors. I love the temperatures. I love it all.
4. Auburn has a shot at the BCS Title - For the first time in a long time (maybe ever?), Auburn has a chance of playing for the national championship. I realize a lot has to happen between now and the end of the season, but it's been exciting to be an Auburn fan again. We have a Heisman candidate for the first time in a long time, too. I said it's great...to be...an Auburn Tiger!
5. There is a video I've seen on a couple of different websites that shows a woman solving a Wheel of Fortune puzzle after only revealing one letter. What I love about this is that I DO THAT ALL THE TIME! I can do it with no letters revealed! Why is this news? I should totally be on that show, but then I'd have to suffer the humiliation of having been on that show. She's now recognized as a genius (by Wheel of Fortune standards, but still...) and here I sit, solving puzzles without the recognition I deserve. But still, even in my anonymity, I have still been shown by this video that I am, in fact, a truly special person who can solve the hell out of some Wheel of Fortune puzzles. Yay me!
6. Oprah's Farewell Season - Okay, I am not the "crazy Oprah lady" who goes out and reads all of her Book Club recommendations and purchases all of her favorite things. I think she's self-important (even though I know she is very generous) and an alarmist, but I also think she adds a lot of value to our world. I am loving her season so far! She has reunited the cast of The Sound Of Music after 45 years! She has interviewed George W. Bush and made him appear as a reasonably intelligent person. She spoke with Lisa Marie Presley about her bizarre relationship and marriage to Michael Jackson. She even made Ricky Martin seem interesting.
7. The book One Day by David Nicholls - The last really good book I read. We meet a couple the morning after the first day they've met. Each chapter takes you to that date exactly one year in the future so you can see how their lives and their relationship progresses over time. I found myself dying to get to the next chapter so I could see what their lives were like. Very well drawn out characters and an interesting way to take you through the story of their relationship.
8. Okay, number 1 on my list really already encapsulates this, but I am loving the way my girls are relating to each other these days - They fight a lot of the time, but they also have these little conversations that are just so ridiculous and sweet. They correct each other and tattle on each other and show consideration for each other make each other laugh. They are best friends and I am fortunate enough to get to be in the same space with them. They make me proud every day and make me realize how much I would have missed if I hadn't decided to have children. I'm a lucky gal.
9. New music on my I-Pod - Every now and again I get into a music slump where I've worn everything out on my I-Pod and desperately search for new music. I have been in one such rut lately, but have happened upon a few new things that have made me happy. (Let me clarify - it's "new" to me, not new music. I don't listen to anything new. I'm too lame for that.) Crooked Fingers - a new find for me, old Traveling Wilburys stuff, Violent Femmes stuff from my high school days, Duquette Johnston - a guy who went to my high school and graduated the year after me, and Kings of Leon who I have just recently discovered. I'm excited to listen to my I-Pod again! Oh! And I also found Goody two Shoes by Adam Ant and added it to my workout mix. Jealous?
10. Finally, Conan debuted on TBS last night, so all is right with the world. Oh, how I have missed my sweet, sweet Conan! It was great to have him and his ridiculous sense of humor back on the air. His ratings were good and he's gotten mostly positive reviews. I, of course, think he is a genius and the funniest of all of the late-night hosts. Welcome back, Coco!
Well, sorry for the boring post. Perhaps some stupid reality show person will be in the news too much in the days to come and I'll have some fresh material for you. Happy Tuesday!
Monday, October 18, 2010
Giving My Kids The Sun, The Moon And The Stars
A couple of days ago as I was driving the kids to school, Kate said from the back seat, "The moon is the sun". I responded back to her in the manner I often do when my mind is on other things - with a dismissive, "Mmm hmm, yes".
Then I thought back to an article Mike had read about how children develop and thrive. The author's point was that children whose parents continue to challenge them in the absence of school (spring break, summers, etc.) and take advantage of educational opportunities wherever they exist become more successful than children with parents like me. The author didn't mention me by name, of course, but I'm pretty sure it was implied.
So, when I thought of that article, I decided that Kate deserved a better response and further, a better life, than what I was giving her.
"Actually, Kate," I said, "the moon is a moon and the sun is a star."
"What, Mama?" "What is a moon?"
Dang. I don't really know what a moon is.
"The moon is a moon, kind of like a planet, but the sun is a big, bright star."
"The sun is a star?"
Oh, Lord, here it comes, I thought. She's going to ask me what a planet is versus a star. How the hell am I going to explain that to a 4 year old when I don't really know the answer as a 37 year old?
"Well, yes, honey, it's our brightest star," I began, now second guessing if the sun actually was star. "It's kind of a nebulous body that gives us our light and our heat."
Oh, great, I thought. Like she's going to know what nebulous means. Do I know what nebulous means?!
"What I mean is that it's a big, fiery ball of gases up in the sky and our planets revolve around it."
Terrific, I thought, all she knows of gas is that it goes into a car or comes out of her bottom. How am I going to explain this one?
I started to kind of panic. Every time I tried to explain it in a new way, I used words or metaphors that I was worried would elicit more questions from her. I just wanted the conversation to be over, but in a way that made her a more curious, intelligent person and not the mouth-breather I was currently molding her to be. I wanted to feed her thirst for knowledge, but I wanted out of the current conversation because I knew I had no hope of explaining the intricacies of the universe to her. I do well to just explain why she has to empty her bladder before she goes to bed each night. But I continued. I should have stopped, but I pressed on.
"You see, God created the earth and there was this big BANG..." Okay, now I am teaching creation and evolution in one breath - and neither one very well. I can't have her telling her friends at pre-school (in a church, no less) about the big bang theory. But I also personally believe in the evolution argument, so now what am I going to do? I don't think the two have to be mutually exclusive. But then... we've established that I am an idiot. I want my daughters to learn both theories and decide what they think and believe. But is now the time to go into all of this???
"There are nine planets (there are 9, right?) in our solar system." What the hell does a 4 year old know about the damn solar system? WHAT AM I DOING?!! "We live on the planet earth and we have a moon that we call... the moon." I am an idiot. "The planets allrevolve move around the sun and it keeps us warm."
What if she asks me what the moon does? I don't know what the moon does. It just sits there and... moons around... and stuff. "We've sent people up all the way to the moon before. There's an American flag (and a Tri-Delta pin so the story goes) up there." Why is my mouth still moving? Now what am I going to say if she asks if people live up there? Or, worse, what if she wants to know if there's life on other planets?
At this point, I could feel perspiration forming on my forehead. It was becoming ever clearer that I was too dumb to have had children. At least I knew I was too dumb. Most dumb people don't know they're dumb. So, I guess I had one up on them. I began thinking about about how much worse this would get when the girls would bring their homework home and ask me for help. They'd end up in remedial classes if I was the one to offer assistance. Mike was going to have to be their tutor.
I was picturing the four of us sitting around the table in a few years. Mike would be explaining math or geography or something. Kate and Meg would have their books open and would be listening intently. Then, pan over, and there's me. Furiously taking notes so as not to miss a word he was saying. Their schooling would be my ticket to an acceptable level of education.
"Does any of that make sense, sweetie?", I asked Kate.
Silence.
"Kate?"
Silence.
I looked in the rear view mirror and there was Kate. Earphones on. Staring at the TV screen. Watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Not listening to any of the foolishness coming from the front seat. How much had she heard, I wondered. Did she only hear me absent mindedly agree with her? Did she hear the word "nebulous"?
Of course, I do see the irony that here I am freaking out trying to educate my daughter and yet I have allowed her to be glued to a DVD for the 15 minutes it takes to get her to school. I am clearly part of the problem and not part of the solution here. I can only hope she never asks me another question ever, ever again.
The only thing I am left to wonder is, what the hell is a moon? Perhaps there is a 4 year old out there who can explain it all to me.
Then I thought back to an article Mike had read about how children develop and thrive. The author's point was that children whose parents continue to challenge them in the absence of school (spring break, summers, etc.) and take advantage of educational opportunities wherever they exist become more successful than children with parents like me. The author didn't mention me by name, of course, but I'm pretty sure it was implied.
So, when I thought of that article, I decided that Kate deserved a better response and further, a better life, than what I was giving her.
"Actually, Kate," I said, "the moon is a moon and the sun is a star."
"What, Mama?" "What is a moon?"
Dang. I don't really know what a moon is.
"The moon is a moon, kind of like a planet, but the sun is a big, bright star."
"The sun is a star?"
Oh, Lord, here it comes, I thought. She's going to ask me what a planet is versus a star. How the hell am I going to explain that to a 4 year old when I don't really know the answer as a 37 year old?
"Well, yes, honey, it's our brightest star," I began, now second guessing if the sun actually was star. "It's kind of a nebulous body that gives us our light and our heat."
Oh, great, I thought. Like she's going to know what nebulous means. Do I know what nebulous means?!
"What I mean is that it's a big, fiery ball of gases up in the sky and our planets revolve around it."
Terrific, I thought, all she knows of gas is that it goes into a car or comes out of her bottom. How am I going to explain this one?
I started to kind of panic. Every time I tried to explain it in a new way, I used words or metaphors that I was worried would elicit more questions from her. I just wanted the conversation to be over, but in a way that made her a more curious, intelligent person and not the mouth-breather I was currently molding her to be. I wanted to feed her thirst for knowledge, but I wanted out of the current conversation because I knew I had no hope of explaining the intricacies of the universe to her. I do well to just explain why she has to empty her bladder before she goes to bed each night. But I continued. I should have stopped, but I pressed on.
"You see, God created the earth and there was this big BANG..." Okay, now I am teaching creation and evolution in one breath - and neither one very well. I can't have her telling her friends at pre-school (in a church, no less) about the big bang theory. But I also personally believe in the evolution argument, so now what am I going to do? I don't think the two have to be mutually exclusive. But then... we've established that I am an idiot. I want my daughters to learn both theories and decide what they think and believe. But is now the time to go into all of this???
"There are nine planets (there are 9, right?) in our solar system." What the hell does a 4 year old know about the damn solar system? WHAT AM I DOING?!! "We live on the planet earth and we have a moon that we call... the moon." I am an idiot. "The planets all
What if she asks me what the moon does? I don't know what the moon does. It just sits there and... moons around... and stuff. "We've sent people up all the way to the moon before. There's an American flag (and a Tri-Delta pin so the story goes) up there." Why is my mouth still moving? Now what am I going to say if she asks if people live up there? Or, worse, what if she wants to know if there's life on other planets?
At this point, I could feel perspiration forming on my forehead. It was becoming ever clearer that I was too dumb to have had children. At least I knew I was too dumb. Most dumb people don't know they're dumb. So, I guess I had one up on them. I began thinking about about how much worse this would get when the girls would bring their homework home and ask me for help. They'd end up in remedial classes if I was the one to offer assistance. Mike was going to have to be their tutor.
I was picturing the four of us sitting around the table in a few years. Mike would be explaining math or geography or something. Kate and Meg would have their books open and would be listening intently. Then, pan over, and there's me. Furiously taking notes so as not to miss a word he was saying. Their schooling would be my ticket to an acceptable level of education.
"Does any of that make sense, sweetie?", I asked Kate.
Silence.
"Kate?"
Silence.
I looked in the rear view mirror and there was Kate. Earphones on. Staring at the TV screen. Watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Not listening to any of the foolishness coming from the front seat. How much had she heard, I wondered. Did she only hear me absent mindedly agree with her? Did she hear the word "nebulous"?
Of course, I do see the irony that here I am freaking out trying to educate my daughter and yet I have allowed her to be glued to a DVD for the 15 minutes it takes to get her to school. I am clearly part of the problem and not part of the solution here. I can only hope she never asks me another question ever, ever again.
The only thing I am left to wonder is, what the hell is a moon? Perhaps there is a 4 year old out there who can explain it all to me.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Where you start is not as important as where you finish. - Zig Ziglar
This post is a little late, but on Sunday, September 26th, I "competed" in Chattanooga's Susan G. Komen's Race For The Cure. I signed up to participate with my friend Wendy with whom I had run in the only other 5k I have ever entered. This race took place well over a year after our first one. I suppose it took me that long to decide I wanted to do it again. You've seen in previous posts that I feel like a 5k is probably the very least I should be able to do successfully. I'm fairly out of shape, but I figure if I can run 3 miles at any given time, I'm doing pretty well.
Back in April, 2009, we decided to sign up for Knoxville's Dogwood Classic. What appealed to me about that particular race was that it was in Knoxville on Cherokee Boulevard along the beautiful Tennessee River. Wendy and I were friends from college and, in college, we were both pitifully out of shape. Now she and I have remained very good friends over the years and I love her to death. But she is no athlete. Growing up, I danced for 14 years and I rode horses competitively for about 6 years. I'm certainly not a stellar athlete, but I knew if she was my competition I'd do pretty well. Plus, Wendy weighs about 78 pounds soaking wet. She's tiny. I thought that her poor, fragile little body would tucker out around the second mile. She was the perfect person to run with because I knew my time would suck. I assumed hers would as well and we'd have a good laugh about it.
Pretty much immediately after I signed up for the Dogwood Classic, I abandoned exercise altogether. I have no idea why, but I just lost interest in it. I figured that I had been running about 3 miles on the treadmill and that once I got into the spirit of the competition, my adrenaline would take over and it would keep me going.
Not so. What ended up happening was that after about 15 paces, I had to stop and walk. I couldn't believe how quickly I had to stop and gasp for breath. Admittedly, I hadn't exactly trained for this, but I was very surprised at how different running was when I didn't have a treadmill creating my momentum for me. I can tell you, one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced was the feeling I had when I came upon the sign that said MILE 1. WHAT??!! I have two more of these damn things to go??? By the time I reached that damn sign I had already had to stop and walk about 4 times! Are you kidding me?
In case you are wondering how Wendy did, she beat me. We started out together but then I had to peel off and walk. She managed to keep running the entire time. I was proud of her and a little embarrassed for assuming that I'd actually somehow manage to beat her. I was ashamed that I used to be in great shape - thin, flexible - and now I couldn't even run one mile without stopping. I vowed that I would run in another one. I just wasn't too anxious to actually sign up for one.
Fast forward 17 months, and she and I were registering for the Race For The Cure. This time, however, things were different. Ever since around the middle of the summer, I had been back on the treadmill. It wasn't in anticipation of a 5k. It really was more because I was overweight. I used to kind of joke about it because I've always been so unattractively skinny, but there really wasn't any getting around it. None of my clothes were fitting. I had that little layer of belly that was hanging over my pants (which were so tight that you could make out the imprint of the buttons on my skin). I needed to do something. So I started walking/running again.
I had been kind of off and on with my exercise routine, but once Wendy and I registered for this race, I really began to take it more seriously. I made sure I ran at least 4 times a week. I even ran at least once a week outdoors so I could get used to having to use my puny muscles to propel my own body forward without the help of the treadmill.
And I hate running outside. I hate it. I can't stop and get water which I need several times during a workout. I don't like passing cars because there's that awkward Are they going to wave to me? moment before I wave and they don't and I feel like a complete tool. And I suffer from an affliction that is highly embarrassing and probably very noticeable. The affliction is: shorts-gathering-up-in-my-crotch-itis. I have hideous legs that come together and touch at the very top of my thighs. What this means is that they rub together when I run. My shorts then begin to get drawn up into my crotch and I have to tug them out which is neither attractive nor conducive to running. I think I am beginning to understand why the cars won't wave to me. I have grossed them out...
Anyway, the day came and I was ready. I had a power mix cued up on my I-Pod to help motivate me. I had been fitted for running shoes and was wearing Nike running clothes to more look the part of a runner. I looked like I belonged there and this time, I felt like I did, too.
This time, Wendy had actually kind of fallen into the same pattern I had the last time around. She admitted not having trained much for the race and was just going to see how it went. I felt like this time I would be able to actually keep up with her and was disappointed that she may need to stop and walk since I was determined not to stop. She and I gathered together with the runners who claimed to be able to run a 10 minute mile. On the treadmill, I can do that. Outside I wasn't so sure. But, that's where I decided to place myself. I was confident this time. I was prepared.
I didn't have a goal in mind as far as the time I wanted to finish with. For starters, I couldn't remember my time in the previous race so I didn't really have a baseline. The main thing I wanted to be able to do was to keep running for the duration of the race. I was actually excited about it. Wendy and I lined up as best we could in a crowd of hundreds of people. They shouted the obligatory, On Your Mark! Then they shot the gun and the race was underway. As soon as my first foot hit the pavement, I looked up and was in a cloud of dust that was my trusted pal, Miss I-Didn't-Train-For-This Wendy. For someone who was claiming to not really be ready for the race, she sure left my ass in a hurry.
No matter. I pressed on. Almost immediately, there was a giant hill. No, not a hill. A mountain. What kind of cruel joke was this?! I had run in my neighborhood (which is hilly) during my training, but the hills were usually at the end of my trek when I could then stop and walk to cool down right afterward. We were just getting started and already my legs were burning and I was losing my breath. I continued up the hill with just about every other entrant passing me by but I did not stop. I kept plugging along. Again I came to the dreaded MILE 1 sign, but I was feeling good. I just may do this, I thought to myself. Of course, the time came - earlier than I thought it should - when the people who had already made the loop and were on their way back to the finish line began passing me. Total buzz-kill. They really should design a route where we don't have to see those people finishing when we have barely started!
As I ran, I kept trying to find Wendy, but I didn't see her again. I wondered if maybe she had petered out and I had somehow passed her without knowing it. (She hadn't.) I kept running and I kept running. Even when I would grab some cold water from a volunteer, I kept running. Of course, I had water dripping down my face and legs because I was slinging it everywhere, but I kept running.
Did I reach my goal? Well, no. I did stop between the second and third mile. I walked for no more than about 15 seconds, but it was what I needed to get my breath back and finish the race. I was bummed because once I actually did finish the race, I knew I could have kept going without having to stop. I could have made it. I just lost my confidence in that moment. I really did step it up when I got close to the finish line. I'd say for the last 1/4 mile I was actually running instead of jogging. I remembered back to when I finished the other race - even getting to the end of the race with people cheering couldn't get me to run faster. I was too exhausted. This time, I was RUNNING!
As I passed through the arches made out of pink balloons, I looked for the clock. I couldn't see it. I had no idea what my time was. It really didn't matter because I had only walked for 15 seconds, so I knew it was going to be better than my previous time. My main objective at that time was to somehow find Wendy in the huge crowd and to go collect a bunch of free stuff from the vendors working the event.
We met up and discussed our experience and then spent the rest of the time walking around trying to get as many give-aways as possible. She had not stopped to walk at any point. She, too, hadn't seen the clock when she finished. We drank our free Gatorade and ate our free M&Ms and then made our way back to the car to go home.
I got a text message from her later that night. They had posted our times online and she was irritated that she had only beaten her previous time by - as she put it - "a whopping 14 seconds". So, when I got to my computer, I pulled up the scores. One depressing thing that happened was when I began to scroll through all of the different age groups to find my name. I scrolled for what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of time before I finally got to my age group (35-39). Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. Good grief, how old am I?!! It should not have taken that long to find myself.
But then, there I saw Wendy. She only finished 2-3 people (in my age group) ahead of me. So, I guess that was a small victory. I saw my time and it was a pretty good time for me. I was satisfied with it. Felt good about it. Then I went and looked up my time from the Dogwood Classic. Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling...
Scrolling
Scrolling
Then there it was. Maggie McCallie. My time. I had beaten my previous time!! I had beaten my previous time!! My hard work had paid off! I was vindicated! I had beaten my previous time by...
Drumroll
Drumroll
Drumroll
A whopping 15 seconds.
Back in April, 2009, we decided to sign up for Knoxville's Dogwood Classic. What appealed to me about that particular race was that it was in Knoxville on Cherokee Boulevard along the beautiful Tennessee River. Wendy and I were friends from college and, in college, we were both pitifully out of shape. Now she and I have remained very good friends over the years and I love her to death. But she is no athlete. Growing up, I danced for 14 years and I rode horses competitively for about 6 years. I'm certainly not a stellar athlete, but I knew if she was my competition I'd do pretty well. Plus, Wendy weighs about 78 pounds soaking wet. She's tiny. I thought that her poor, fragile little body would tucker out around the second mile. She was the perfect person to run with because I knew my time would suck. I assumed hers would as well and we'd have a good laugh about it.
Pretty much immediately after I signed up for the Dogwood Classic, I abandoned exercise altogether. I have no idea why, but I just lost interest in it. I figured that I had been running about 3 miles on the treadmill and that once I got into the spirit of the competition, my adrenaline would take over and it would keep me going.
Not so. What ended up happening was that after about 15 paces, I had to stop and walk. I couldn't believe how quickly I had to stop and gasp for breath. Admittedly, I hadn't exactly trained for this, but I was very surprised at how different running was when I didn't have a treadmill creating my momentum for me. I can tell you, one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced was the feeling I had when I came upon the sign that said MILE 1. WHAT??!! I have two more of these damn things to go??? By the time I reached that damn sign I had already had to stop and walk about 4 times! Are you kidding me?
In case you are wondering how Wendy did, she beat me. We started out together but then I had to peel off and walk. She managed to keep running the entire time. I was proud of her and a little embarrassed for assuming that I'd actually somehow manage to beat her. I was ashamed that I used to be in great shape - thin, flexible - and now I couldn't even run one mile without stopping. I vowed that I would run in another one. I just wasn't too anxious to actually sign up for one.
Fast forward 17 months, and she and I were registering for the Race For The Cure. This time, however, things were different. Ever since around the middle of the summer, I had been back on the treadmill. It wasn't in anticipation of a 5k. It really was more because I was overweight. I used to kind of joke about it because I've always been so unattractively skinny, but there really wasn't any getting around it. None of my clothes were fitting. I had that little layer of belly that was hanging over my pants (which were so tight that you could make out the imprint of the buttons on my skin). I needed to do something. So I started walking/running again.
I had been kind of off and on with my exercise routine, but once Wendy and I registered for this race, I really began to take it more seriously. I made sure I ran at least 4 times a week. I even ran at least once a week outdoors so I could get used to having to use my puny muscles to propel my own body forward without the help of the treadmill.
And I hate running outside. I hate it. I can't stop and get water which I need several times during a workout. I don't like passing cars because there's that awkward Are they going to wave to me? moment before I wave and they don't and I feel like a complete tool. And I suffer from an affliction that is highly embarrassing and probably very noticeable. The affliction is: shorts-gathering-up-in-my-crotch-itis. I have hideous legs that come together and touch at the very top of my thighs. What this means is that they rub together when I run. My shorts then begin to get drawn up into my crotch and I have to tug them out which is neither attractive nor conducive to running. I think I am beginning to understand why the cars won't wave to me. I have grossed them out...
Anyway, the day came and I was ready. I had a power mix cued up on my I-Pod to help motivate me. I had been fitted for running shoes and was wearing Nike running clothes to more look the part of a runner. I looked like I belonged there and this time, I felt like I did, too.
This time, Wendy had actually kind of fallen into the same pattern I had the last time around. She admitted not having trained much for the race and was just going to see how it went. I felt like this time I would be able to actually keep up with her and was disappointed that she may need to stop and walk since I was determined not to stop. She and I gathered together with the runners who claimed to be able to run a 10 minute mile. On the treadmill, I can do that. Outside I wasn't so sure. But, that's where I decided to place myself. I was confident this time. I was prepared.
I didn't have a goal in mind as far as the time I wanted to finish with. For starters, I couldn't remember my time in the previous race so I didn't really have a baseline. The main thing I wanted to be able to do was to keep running for the duration of the race. I was actually excited about it. Wendy and I lined up as best we could in a crowd of hundreds of people. They shouted the obligatory, On Your Mark! Then they shot the gun and the race was underway. As soon as my first foot hit the pavement, I looked up and was in a cloud of dust that was my trusted pal, Miss I-Didn't-Train-For-This Wendy. For someone who was claiming to not really be ready for the race, she sure left my ass in a hurry.
No matter. I pressed on. Almost immediately, there was a giant hill. No, not a hill. A mountain. What kind of cruel joke was this?! I had run in my neighborhood (which is hilly) during my training, but the hills were usually at the end of my trek when I could then stop and walk to cool down right afterward. We were just getting started and already my legs were burning and I was losing my breath. I continued up the hill with just about every other entrant passing me by but I did not stop. I kept plugging along. Again I came to the dreaded MILE 1 sign, but I was feeling good. I just may do this, I thought to myself. Of course, the time came - earlier than I thought it should - when the people who had already made the loop and were on their way back to the finish line began passing me. Total buzz-kill. They really should design a route where we don't have to see those people finishing when we have barely started!
As I ran, I kept trying to find Wendy, but I didn't see her again. I wondered if maybe she had petered out and I had somehow passed her without knowing it. (She hadn't.) I kept running and I kept running. Even when I would grab some cold water from a volunteer, I kept running. Of course, I had water dripping down my face and legs because I was slinging it everywhere, but I kept running.
Did I reach my goal? Well, no. I did stop between the second and third mile. I walked for no more than about 15 seconds, but it was what I needed to get my breath back and finish the race. I was bummed because once I actually did finish the race, I knew I could have kept going without having to stop. I could have made it. I just lost my confidence in that moment. I really did step it up when I got close to the finish line. I'd say for the last 1/4 mile I was actually running instead of jogging. I remembered back to when I finished the other race - even getting to the end of the race with people cheering couldn't get me to run faster. I was too exhausted. This time, I was RUNNING!
As I passed through the arches made out of pink balloons, I looked for the clock. I couldn't see it. I had no idea what my time was. It really didn't matter because I had only walked for 15 seconds, so I knew it was going to be better than my previous time. My main objective at that time was to somehow find Wendy in the huge crowd and to go collect a bunch of free stuff from the vendors working the event.
We met up and discussed our experience and then spent the rest of the time walking around trying to get as many give-aways as possible. She had not stopped to walk at any point. She, too, hadn't seen the clock when she finished. We drank our free Gatorade and ate our free M&Ms and then made our way back to the car to go home.
I got a text message from her later that night. They had posted our times online and she was irritated that she had only beaten her previous time by - as she put it - "a whopping 14 seconds". So, when I got to my computer, I pulled up the scores. One depressing thing that happened was when I began to scroll through all of the different age groups to find my name. I scrolled for what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of time before I finally got to my age group (35-39). Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. Good grief, how old am I?!! It should not have taken that long to find myself.
But then, there I saw Wendy. She only finished 2-3 people (in my age group) ahead of me. So, I guess that was a small victory. I saw my time and it was a pretty good time for me. I was satisfied with it. Felt good about it. Then I went and looked up my time from the Dogwood Classic. Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling...
Scrolling
Scrolling
Then there it was. Maggie McCallie. My time. I had beaten my previous time!! I had beaten my previous time!! My hard work had paid off! I was vindicated! I had beaten my previous time by...
Drumroll
Drumroll
Drumroll
A whopping 15 seconds.
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