Belly Roll. Not to be confused with Jelly Roll

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Which is kind of how we got here, winter belly.

Me and you. We had a good deal of fun this winter, no? The pastries. The breads. The deliciousness of the mint mocha lattes at Starbucks. The wonder of that damn Maple Log thing they make at the grocery store...

I noticed you waited until almost February to make your "Hail Mary" play. Yep. Up until then, I had been faithfully sticking to the 3 times a week Yoga. It had been cold, but I was still walking some every day. I got cocky. I see that now.

I had been lulled into believing that you would not be making your traditional appearance. My new "lifestyle" had beaten you into submission.

Alas. I was quite wrong, ,for that is when the bitter cold spell hit. The brutal bitter, kick you in the teeth spell in February and a little bit in March. I gave up the Yoga. Too cold. Too tired. Too sick of winter.

I ramped up the eating, after all - I had eaten this way all winter with nary a consequence. WOOO-HOOOO.

It was last week, when I stepped out of my shower that I saw you. The overhang. The perma-line that denotes where the roll sits. The past six weeks of debauchery was sitting there, smiling at me - and not in an attractive way. No, more like the smile the Romans must have given the gladiators before the lions rushed out. Mocking, yet still trying to be unobtrusive.

Today, I threw the capri pants on and I saw you clearly, belly roll.The pants which were practically falling off of me in September were now being nicely held by your round bulginess.

You'll notice, belly roll, the extended walk this morning. You'll notice, belly roll, that I grocery shopped today after my meeting. You'll notice, belly roll, that you are in for a low carb lifestyle again. I know you have some kind of inkling, cause the desire to shove my face into the Maple log is nearly irresistible. Well Played, Belly roll.

However, I pat you and fondly wish you adieu.

Inner life of Moms

Monday, March 19, 2007

Elizabeth tagged me for a Meme about Real Moms....

I was thinking about this on my way to and from class yesterday. The snow storm was coming, but hadn't yet gotten to Montreal. The weather turned from Spring like ( meaning I only needed a fleece to walk around) to bone chilling, hat, mitten, heavy overcoat kind of weather. I needed to stop at the McGill Library to grab one last book for some light reading, while cursing the fact that I seem to have lost ANOTHER right hand glove leaving me with LOTS of single left hand gloves....

(Oh, I laugh at my little joke! The book is "Private Speech: From Social Interaction to Self-regulation", and I will read it after I finish the "Neo-Vygotskian Approach to Child Development". God damn, but am I a barrel of laughs to talk with!)

At any rate, I actually let out a squeal of excitement when I found the book - on the right place on the shelf...and that is when it struck me.

Real moms keep a private life. Now I don't mean going to the bathroom alone - we all gave that up upon conception. Nor am I referring to the unfettered sex of the pre-child days, or the ability to spontaneously decide to "meet friends" without a maneuver worthy of the diplomatic talks between the Arabs and Israeli's.

No, what I mean is a private life, inside your mind. Maybe it is reading ridiculously titled books while working on a degree. Maybe it is reading thriller novels when the kids are tucked into bed, or recording a favorite tv show to watch later - when you are alone. Can I suggest sneaking off to a mid-day matinée ( the way I got to Pan's Labyrinth a few weeks ago)? Or going to a coffee house to read the paper with a hot cup of coffee for 30 minutes? Or a hot bath with good smelling bath salts? Or blog?

I know we all hear "You have to take care of yourself, so you can take care of your family"....but I would not even tack that second part on to the statement. You aren't taking care of yourself in ORDER to take care of your family - You need to take care of yourself so you can nurture YOU.

At each point in my life when I did not have the energy or health to nurture Me, I was certainly in no position to give anything to anyone else. That made me a grumpy, resentful Dawn. She did not have the patience to deal with homework, food, laundry, cat litter or any other damn thing that was being thrown at me. She was, quite simply, a bitch. And not in the "empowerment" way that I am happily bitchy at times.

Maybe it is the way I am built, but I can't imagine giving over everything to my child. My need to keep an inner self, inner thoughts, inner privacy is fundamental to keeping me balanced. When I forget this, begin to sacrifice for spouse and child to the exclusion of Dawn? It has never ended well.

I remind you all to carve out time for you. I know - it can be nearly impossible. It is easier to say than to do. Putting in a another load of laundry can wait. The dishes will still be there, I swear. Give yourself a half hour to read the book, watch the show. Save up the half hours to go to a movie by yourself.

Real Moms nurture their souls.

Baleful From the Start

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

I was at My Mom's last week and looked at my baby picture on the wall.

My God, my expression has not changed from Day One.

These Boots were made for Walkin'

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Today we were in Burlington. And we drove by a shoe store in the church street market.

And I saw them.

And I knew they had to be mine....

Fuck you, Winter. I have my Spring Rain Boots.

And they are as bad ass as me.

P.S. They are Chooka Boots, and my next pair....Love Hurts

Never a good conversation starter

Thursday, March 01, 2007

So, last night, I am transcribing the interviews for the research assistant position. Or transcribing numero three of five.

(And as an aside for any of you thinking about the glamorous field of research - ease up on the qualitative interviews!! Transcribing sucks the asses of a thousand clowns - and not the cute clowns either - the stanky ass carnie clowns!!!! I am forced to drink shots of espresso in a beverage called "THE RED EYE" to stay awake.)

At any rate, I am typing along, buzzing from the coffee when Terrance enters the room. He looks unhappy. What a surprise. I disconnect from my headphones.

"What's wrong?"

He is sick. He is tired. His sinuses, his belly, his head, his back. He is Terrance. He stiffens and begins to expound on the pain of his gas. Surely, if I knew how painful this gas was, I would be sympathetic.

I laugh. A memory, fueled by espresso, bubbles up. I laugh. Terrance suspects I am laughing at him. This, in this case, is untrue.

"What?", he scowls.

"Did I ever tell you...." I let the sentence dangle off. I think better of sharing this story with him. "No, maybe that is one I shouldn't share...."

Now his curiosity is piqued.

"WHAT!" - he presses hard. I balance my dignity with the humor of this story. This guy has seen me push a baby et al out of my vaginal area. I have puked on him. My dignity has already been shattered, a long, long time ago.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was driving home and was about halfway home when I had to jump out of the car and run into the bushes cause my intestinal tract was expelling something RIGHT NOW!?! And it wasn't in the woods either - it was in the one open space along the whole damn highway - so there I was - hoping no one, especially the police - would pull up and see me squatting by the side of the road, having some sort of truly horrific ass purging...and all I could find after was some dunkin donuts napkins in the weeds, that I had to use cause, well - what else could I do?

That was the day I ran into the house and went straight into the shower. And ever after, I drove by that spot, I would think "Thats the place where I totally shit in the open"."

I stop. He is staring at me.

I wait. and then he says...

"Yeah, thats no big deal."

WHAT? Are you MY HUSBAND?? What the fuck?

My ability to shock him is crumbling.
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