Number 39 of 101 Things to do for Children is to memorize poetry, teach it to your child, and recite it together.
Does singing
Get a haircut and get a real job
Clean your act up and don't be a slob
Get it together like your big brother bob
Why don't you get a haircut and get a real job
count?
George Thorogood is coming to town, so the local radio dudes have been playing his songs a fair bit. Something to do with winning tickets.
My three-year old picked up the above verse pretty quickly. . .
Wednesday, 30 October 2013
Sunday, 27 October 2013
Step #2 Revisited: Was I Happy Now, Today?
It was tough. A busy schedule the past couple weeks has left me a little on the exhausted side. And, after checking the calendar, I've realized that I may have a touch of PMS.
So today I've been a bit whiny. The kind of whiny where your husband insists that you take a nap. So you do. And you feel better.
Anyway, today was tough. Not for anything other than some annoyances (like some gross mis- and lack of communication), but it did take some good effort and conscious thinking on my part to actually be happy.
My grandmother moved to town this weekend. Everyone, including her, is so very excited. She has a beautiful basement suite, and we'll get to see her all the time.
And yet, I found it hard to get excited today. It felt like an effort to get the kids out the door to go see her new place.
Was I really that tired? Is everyone else's bad moods affecting me? Or are my hormones making me that blah? I don't know. Maybe part of it is that I have one full week of maternity leave left, and a million things to accomplish in that time... No pressure on myself, or anything.
I do know that I am happy that she's here. I do love her place. I did manage to catch myself, and I consciously thought to be happy now, but I hope that tomorrow, or the next time I'm feeling a bit grumpy, I can give myself a pep-talk sooner.
My problems really are quite small after all.
So today I've been a bit whiny. The kind of whiny where your husband insists that you take a nap. So you do. And you feel better.
Anyway, today was tough. Not for anything other than some annoyances (like some gross mis- and lack of communication), but it did take some good effort and conscious thinking on my part to actually be happy.
My grandmother moved to town this weekend. Everyone, including her, is so very excited. She has a beautiful basement suite, and we'll get to see her all the time.
And yet, I found it hard to get excited today. It felt like an effort to get the kids out the door to go see her new place.
Was I really that tired? Is everyone else's bad moods affecting me? Or are my hormones making me that blah? I don't know. Maybe part of it is that I have one full week of maternity leave left, and a million things to accomplish in that time... No pressure on myself, or anything.
I do know that I am happy that she's here. I do love her place. I did manage to catch myself, and I consciously thought to be happy now, but I hope that tomorrow, or the next time I'm feeling a bit grumpy, I can give myself a pep-talk sooner.
My problems really are quite small after all.
Wednesday, 23 October 2013
Saturday, 19 October 2013
Just How Bad Is Sugar, Anyway?
I just finished watching The Fifth Estate's episode on sugar. I have to confess that I haven't watched it entirely--I didn't start recording it until a few minutes in, and I cut it off because of child-related noise levels, but I'm still going to sum it up for you.
Sugar has two molecules: glucose, which feeds you, and fructose, which kills you. A ton of processed foods have added sugars; and a lot of those are sweetened with fructose, which kills you. Sugar makes you fat, gives you Alzheimer's, diabetes, Alzheimer's, heart disease, cancer, Alzheimer's, diabetes, Alzheimer's, and it makes you fat.
The food industry wants you to eat more of their food, so they're adding sugar which makes it taste great, but it also makes you want to eat more. You never feel full from sugar. The associations dealing with most of the above diseases aren't standing up to the big foodies. They need more research. More people have to get fat, I guess. And slip into diabetic comas. And talk about--what were we talking about, anyway?
The American Heart Association is taking notice (the Canadian Heart and Stroke Foundation hasn't come back from their coffee break at Tim Horton's yet). They believe people like Stanhope when they say that sugar--fructose in particular--will give you heart disease. So, the AHA is putting limits on how much sugar you should consume. Are you ready for it?
Women: 6 teaspoons/day.
Men: 9 teaspoons/day.
They aren't talking heaping, either. They're talking level measured.
Okay, I say, but the labels measure sugar in grams. How the many grams of sugar is a teaspoon? Four. That's right. A teaspoon of sugar is four grams. So the tablespoon of Kirkland chocolate chips I measured out right now has seven grams, or 1.75 (let's call it two) teaspoons of sugar in it.
How many chocolate chips are in a tablespoon? Twenty-six. 26. Twenty-fucking-six. That doesn't even cover the bottom of a glass prep bowl! I'd like to say that I put the chocolate chips back in the bag, but I don't want to lie to you. I probably sprinkled three teaspoons or more of coconut sugar on my oatmeal this morning. I get one more teaspoon of sugar today. It's not even ten a.m. I'm so fucked.
I'm going to have to start drinking my coffee with cream only, again.
Which, to be honest, if you do that for a long enough time (like while you're pregnant), when you can have sugar again, your husband's coffee, which was never sweet enough, is now really disgusting. You do get used to unsweetened foods.
Try it.
That's right, I said I'm challenging you to cut out some sugar.
Pick one thing that you eat or drink every day, and make it sugar free. I'm not talking about substituting one sugar for another--sugar is sugar is sugar (although fructose will kill you faster)--or about substituting sugar with a sweetener like aspartame or sucralose or even agave because those aren't any better for you (that's a topic for another day, but you can check out Food Babe and 100 Days of Real Food for more fun reading).
I'm challenging you to drink your coffee or tea black or creamy, but not sweet. I'm challenging you to eat an apple instead of drinking fruit punch. I'm challenging you to give up your favourite chocolate bar for a piece of fruit (I know, I know).
I'm challenging someone to find a food at Tim Horton's that doesn't have more than three teaspoons of sugar in it. That's twelve grams.
Hmmm. What gets culled....
Sugar has two molecules: glucose, which feeds you, and fructose, which kills you. A ton of processed foods have added sugars; and a lot of those are sweetened with fructose, which kills you. Sugar makes you fat, gives you Alzheimer's, diabetes, Alzheimer's, heart disease, cancer, Alzheimer's, diabetes, Alzheimer's, and it makes you fat.
The food industry wants you to eat more of their food, so they're adding sugar which makes it taste great, but it also makes you want to eat more. You never feel full from sugar. The associations dealing with most of the above diseases aren't standing up to the big foodies. They need more research. More people have to get fat, I guess. And slip into diabetic comas. And talk about--what were we talking about, anyway?
The American Heart Association is taking notice (the Canadian Heart and Stroke Foundation hasn't come back from their coffee break at Tim Horton's yet). They believe people like Stanhope when they say that sugar--fructose in particular--will give you heart disease. So, the AHA is putting limits on how much sugar you should consume. Are you ready for it?
Women: 6 teaspoons/day.
Men: 9 teaspoons/day.
They aren't talking heaping, either. They're talking level measured.
Okay, I say, but the labels measure sugar in grams. How the many grams of sugar is a teaspoon? Four. That's right. A teaspoon of sugar is four grams. So the tablespoon of Kirkland chocolate chips I measured out right now has seven grams, or 1.75 (let's call it two) teaspoons of sugar in it.
How many chocolate chips are in a tablespoon? Twenty-six. 26. Twenty-fucking-six. That doesn't even cover the bottom of a glass prep bowl! I'd like to say that I put the chocolate chips back in the bag, but I don't want to lie to you. I probably sprinkled three teaspoons or more of coconut sugar on my oatmeal this morning. I get one more teaspoon of sugar today. It's not even ten a.m. I'm so fucked.
I'm going to have to start drinking my coffee with cream only, again.
Which, to be honest, if you do that for a long enough time (like while you're pregnant), when you can have sugar again, your husband's coffee, which was never sweet enough, is now really disgusting. You do get used to unsweetened foods.
Try it.
That's right, I said I'm challenging you to cut out some sugar.
Pick one thing that you eat or drink every day, and make it sugar free. I'm not talking about substituting one sugar for another--sugar is sugar is sugar (although fructose will kill you faster)--or about substituting sugar with a sweetener like aspartame or sucralose or even agave because those aren't any better for you (that's a topic for another day, but you can check out Food Babe and 100 Days of Real Food for more fun reading).
I'm challenging you to drink your coffee or tea black or creamy, but not sweet. I'm challenging you to eat an apple instead of drinking fruit punch. I'm challenging you to give up your favourite chocolate bar for a piece of fruit (I know, I know).
I'm challenging someone to find a food at Tim Horton's that doesn't have more than three teaspoons of sugar in it. That's twelve grams.
Hmmm. What gets culled....
Thursday, 17 October 2013
Whose Bullshit Are You Believing about your Body Self-Image?
I was at the pool today (the boys have lessons). I take the baby into the women's change room while my husband takes our toddler into the men's. We don't use the family rooms because there are only two at this particular pool, and the wait time is annoying.
I cannot change in the privacy cubicles--there is no safe place to put the baby; the "play-pen" (it looks more like a baby-jail, complete with bars!) is out in the open area, and sometimes I need to use it to keep Mr. Squirmy Pants from smashing his head on the (disgusting) hard tile floor by falling (crawling) off the benches.
So I just disrobe and let it all hang out while I'm changing. (I'm no good at "draping" with the towel.)
Do I have a perfect body? Fuck no. I'm 5'6" ish, 200+/- pounds, I had two kids (in my mid-to-late thirties), I haven't exercised regularly for a few years now (but I do try), I like chocolate a little too much, and I don't always have time to shave my legs. I'm lumpy, I'm bumpy, and one side of my cleavage is three times the size of the other side (they just grew that way).
Do I like my body? Honestly? Usually I don't. But, my husband still thinks I'm hot, and his penis concurs, so I've been trying really hard to if not love my body, to at least like and accept it without judgement. I know what I have to do to get it to where I'll love it; I'm not looking for perfection, but I'd love to be more fit.
Anyway, back to the pool. Yes, I'm sure that some ladies are looking at me and they're thinking, "Wow, she's really comfortable with her body!" Um, no. I'm not. Or at least, I wasn't. It's more a matter of "I'm naked out of necessity." The first few times I had to tell myself that "If anyone doesn't like how I look naked, they don't have to look."
You know what happens? If you keep telling yourself that, or something like that, enough, and if you get publicly naked often enough (appropriately--like in the pool's change room--not in the pool itself), pretty soon you are comfortable with your own body. Or at least resigned enough to it that you don't really care, and are, therefore, for lack of a better word, comfortable.
I wish everyone at the pool felt that way about their bodies. I see super-fit and hot mamas struggling with their crawling babies because they're trying to change in a tiny box so that you can't see them. I see beautiful women struggling with draping while they change; you can tell by their posture that they're trying so hard to be comfortable with themselves, but that inside they're failing miserably. I see gorgeous little girls, young girls, who are already so obsessed and uncomfortable and ashamed of their bodies because that is all they see from their adults, that they have to use the cubicles, and that makes me sad.
Seeing all of this tonight reminded me of this post about not believing your own bullshit. (You may also wish to check this one out.)
And then I was reminded of these comics. They're awesome. And so relevant. And they're a perfect example of how easy it is to let other people's bullshit become your own bullshit.
After looking at the comics, be sure to scroll down to the end and view the slide show titled "Meet our Body Image Heroes". These people rock. They've said a big "NO" to believing their own bullshit and/or everyone else's bullshit.
I havetwo three questions for you:
How do these comics make you feel? How do you feel about your own nakedness in public (change room situation), and/or in private? How do you feel about other people's nakedness in public?
Okay, four questions:
Whose bullshit are you believing about your body self-image?
I cannot change in the privacy cubicles--there is no safe place to put the baby; the "play-pen" (it looks more like a baby-jail, complete with bars!) is out in the open area, and sometimes I need to use it to keep Mr. Squirmy Pants from smashing his head on the (disgusting) hard tile floor by falling (crawling) off the benches.
So I just disrobe and let it all hang out while I'm changing. (I'm no good at "draping" with the towel.)
Do I have a perfect body? Fuck no. I'm 5'6" ish, 200+/- pounds, I had two kids (in my mid-to-late thirties), I haven't exercised regularly for a few years now (but I do try), I like chocolate a little too much, and I don't always have time to shave my legs. I'm lumpy, I'm bumpy, and one side of my cleavage is three times the size of the other side (they just grew that way).
Do I like my body? Honestly? Usually I don't. But, my husband still thinks I'm hot, and his penis concurs, so I've been trying really hard to if not love my body, to at least like and accept it without judgement. I know what I have to do to get it to where I'll love it; I'm not looking for perfection, but I'd love to be more fit.
Anyway, back to the pool. Yes, I'm sure that some ladies are looking at me and they're thinking, "Wow, she's really comfortable with her body!" Um, no. I'm not. Or at least, I wasn't. It's more a matter of "I'm naked out of necessity." The first few times I had to tell myself that "If anyone doesn't like how I look naked, they don't have to look."
You know what happens? If you keep telling yourself that, or something like that, enough, and if you get publicly naked often enough (appropriately--like in the pool's change room--not in the pool itself), pretty soon you are comfortable with your own body. Or at least resigned enough to it that you don't really care, and are, therefore, for lack of a better word, comfortable.
I wish everyone at the pool felt that way about their bodies. I see super-fit and hot mamas struggling with their crawling babies because they're trying to change in a tiny box so that you can't see them. I see beautiful women struggling with draping while they change; you can tell by their posture that they're trying so hard to be comfortable with themselves, but that inside they're failing miserably. I see gorgeous little girls, young girls, who are already so obsessed and uncomfortable and ashamed of their bodies because that is all they see from their adults, that they have to use the cubicles, and that makes me sad.
Seeing all of this tonight reminded me of this post about not believing your own bullshit. (You may also wish to check this one out.)
And then I was reminded of these comics. They're awesome. And so relevant. And they're a perfect example of how easy it is to let other people's bullshit become your own bullshit.
After looking at the comics, be sure to scroll down to the end and view the slide show titled "Meet our Body Image Heroes". These people rock. They've said a big "NO" to believing their own bullshit and/or everyone else's bullshit.
I have
How do these comics make you feel? How do you feel about your own nakedness in public (change room situation), and/or in private? How do you feel about other people's nakedness in public?
Okay, four questions:
Whose bullshit are you believing about your body self-image?
Tuesday, 15 October 2013
The Third Easy Step for World Dominance. I Mean Flat Abs and Amazing Sex.
I've been looking at 8 Easy Steps for getting flat abs, amazing sex, and ruling the world. Number three is:
Look at the stars.
It won’t fix the economy. It won’t stop wars. It won’t give you flat abs, or better sex or even help you figure out your relationship and what you want to do with your life. But it’s important. It helps you remember that you and your problems are both infinitesimally small, and conversely, that you are a piece of an amazing and vast universe. I do it daily; it helps.
Huh. This makes me think of that scene in Ants where one little tiny ant is in therapy because he feels small and insignificant. He's told that he is small and insignificant. Pan out to a gazillion ants working away for the colony.
It's a bit depressing, but in the end, isn't he important to somebody?
Looking at the stars is helpful. It might not feel like it right now, but your problems are little, really. But you are amazing because without you, and without the rest of us, the universe would be incomplete; it would just be a bunch of stars with no one to admire them. That we know of.
Sunday, 13 October 2013
Random Thoughts for Sunday the 13th. Of October.
It's 8:15 and I'm wondering how I'm still vertical. Semi-vertical. I'm seated, so I guess my thighs are horizontal. I woke up at 3:30 when my husband left for work. Closed my eyes. The baby cried, so I thought I should get up and change his diaper. He stopped. I fell back to sleep for two minutes. Now he cried harder because he pooped and his bum is raw, poor thing. Changed his diaper, refreshed his bottle, roll my eyes at the folks who say "no" to bottles in bed (bad for their teeth) because otherwise buddy doesn't fall to sleep at all. As it is he cried for fifteen minutes before passing out again (I did try other things; I finally had to just go).
Fell asleep again. I think. Woke up at six to make cranberry sauce. It's fucking awesome, and I canned some for Christmas. If it lasts that long. We have a lot of turkey leftovers. The kids woke up. Fed them. Fed myself. Kind of. Helped my mom get the turkey ready for dinner (Thanksgiving). Got the rest of the food prepped. Cleaned the house. Had a bath. Finally. When was the last time I had a shower, anyway? I even shaved my legs. Hallelujah. Holy cow. Hallelujah took forever to spell. I wonder if my husband will even notice that I shaved my legs. I wonder if we'll have sex tonight.
Had a bunch of people over for Thanksgiving. Kicked my mom out of the kitchen a few times. I'm almost forty but there's no way in hell I know how to mash a pot full of freaking potatoes, I guess. She's a lot like her mom. Won't sit down unless you tie them up. But then again, my husband decided to play Warm Bodies while supper was finishing. Not her cup of tea. So I got him to change the channel so that she'd sit down for more than a minute. She sat for two. Will I be like that with my kids? I have two boys. Either I'll be cooking the big dinners, or I'll be driving their girlfriends crazy. Or maybe they'll have boyfriends. Maybe I'll just write myself a letter to read later: "Remember when your mom drove you crazy at holidays?" Yeah, I think I'll just enjoy their mashed potatoes because by then I'm going to be okay with sitting down and hanging out with whoever else is sitting down. Yeah.
Made coffee, and the coffee pot peed all over the kitchen. Hubby's excited because he hates it so now he has a reason to get a new one. Whatever. You just can't make a full pot because the basket's too small for how strong we like to make it. The grounds floated and clogged up the works. Cleaned it up and made a new pot. It leaked too. Come Christmas Daddy's getting a new coffee pot and this fucking piece of shit's going in the garbage. Like I have time to clean up coffee all night. Oh my god I had a cup. That's why I'm still awake.
Had a great dinner. Had a great day. Except for maybe listening to the baby cry all day because he's probably got five teeth coming out at once. Poor thing. Dosed him with teething tablets and Tylenol. Hopefully his bum gets better. Baboons would be jealous, I think.
I wonder why my dishwasher sucks? It was probably cheap. But hey, at least we have one. I'm not stuck washing dishes all night. And I'm totally okay with running two loads. From the look of the (neatly rinsed) piles of dishes on the counter, though, we might do three in all.
Ooh. There is more pumpkin pie in the fridge. 'Night.
Fell asleep again. I think. Woke up at six to make cranberry sauce. It's fucking awesome, and I canned some for Christmas. If it lasts that long. We have a lot of turkey leftovers. The kids woke up. Fed them. Fed myself. Kind of. Helped my mom get the turkey ready for dinner (Thanksgiving). Got the rest of the food prepped. Cleaned the house. Had a bath. Finally. When was the last time I had a shower, anyway? I even shaved my legs. Hallelujah. Holy cow. Hallelujah took forever to spell. I wonder if my husband will even notice that I shaved my legs. I wonder if we'll have sex tonight.
Had a bunch of people over for Thanksgiving. Kicked my mom out of the kitchen a few times. I'm almost forty but there's no way in hell I know how to mash a pot full of freaking potatoes, I guess. She's a lot like her mom. Won't sit down unless you tie them up. But then again, my husband decided to play Warm Bodies while supper was finishing. Not her cup of tea. So I got him to change the channel so that she'd sit down for more than a minute. She sat for two. Will I be like that with my kids? I have two boys. Either I'll be cooking the big dinners, or I'll be driving their girlfriends crazy. Or maybe they'll have boyfriends. Maybe I'll just write myself a letter to read later: "Remember when your mom drove you crazy at holidays?" Yeah, I think I'll just enjoy their mashed potatoes because by then I'm going to be okay with sitting down and hanging out with whoever else is sitting down. Yeah.
Made coffee, and the coffee pot peed all over the kitchen. Hubby's excited because he hates it so now he has a reason to get a new one. Whatever. You just can't make a full pot because the basket's too small for how strong we like to make it. The grounds floated and clogged up the works. Cleaned it up and made a new pot. It leaked too. Come Christmas Daddy's getting a new coffee pot and this fucking piece of shit's going in the garbage. Like I have time to clean up coffee all night. Oh my god I had a cup. That's why I'm still awake.
Had a great dinner. Had a great day. Except for maybe listening to the baby cry all day because he's probably got five teeth coming out at once. Poor thing. Dosed him with teething tablets and Tylenol. Hopefully his bum gets better. Baboons would be jealous, I think.
I wonder why my dishwasher sucks? It was probably cheap. But hey, at least we have one. I'm not stuck washing dishes all night. And I'm totally okay with running two loads. From the look of the (neatly rinsed) piles of dishes on the counter, though, we might do three in all.
Ooh. There is more pumpkin pie in the fridge. 'Night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)