I'm A Weight Watcher

I'm a weight watcher...
I'm a weight watcher...
Become one now!
Dooby Doo, dooby doo

I'm pretty sure that's an old add jingle for weight watchers. It's been running through my head all day, because today I went to my first meeting. I've been flirting with the idea since May, but guilt has kept me away. Every time I would think about it, I'd think about all those people in Africa. People in Nigeria and Kenya, who live on less than a dollar a day and never have enough to eat and don't have food to give their children. They are starving; I'm over here in fat-land America paying $39.00 a month so that I can get on a plan to stop making a glutton of myself. Just doesn't seem right, you know?
Then I saw some pictures of myself at the lake. I usually don't have to look at myself because I man the camera. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't even me. Who is the fat lady with my kids? I tore up the pictures and went the next morning and paid my $39.00. I don't want to be a super model, I just want to recognize the woman in the photo. I think I'll turn my guilt into something positive. Like every time I want to take another helping, I'm going to think about those same women in Africa, and I'm gonna think, "Those women don't have food to feed their babies. You have fed all your children and have eaten what is a healthy meal for your body." Then I'm going to return thanks for my meal and pray for those who are truly hungry. Maybe, when I've reached my goal, I should send my $39.00 a month to World Hunger.
My "goal weight" is considerably more than the one Weight Watchers has down for me. I haven't weighed that since the sixth grade. And I wasn't a fat girl. Who are they kidding? My goal is the upper portion of the "healthy weight range." I haven't weighed that since I was a senior in high school (on the drill team, taking ballet, and step aerobics), but here we go! Thank goodness I'm nursing, I get more points that way.

The Not So Sacred Sacrament

This Sunday we celebrated the Lord's Supper. As we prepared for service this morning I remarked that this would be K's first time to take the sacrament. If only I had remembered that it was also the first for another member of the family. If I had, much of what followed might have been averted.
You see, it was the first time I had ever watched the Lord's Supper. He just graduated out of the church nursery on his birthday. He wiggled and squirmed through the whole service as usual. He was even more put out with me than normal because after several David and Goliath demonstrations, I had confiscated his zip-lock baggie of coins for the state missions offering. He kept interjecting a pouty, "Why you steal Jesus's money?" into the quite pauses of the music and message. There is nothing like a truly worshipful Sabbath to get you through the rest of the week, and I tell you friends, that this was NOTHING like one. But things didn't get really hairy until the cloth came off the Lord's supper table and the deacons began to pass out what looked very much to I like small saltine crackers. When I handed the plate over his head to his brother, he began to cry (imagine a sobbing moan with many shuddering breaths). "Whyyyyyy, huh, huh, caaaaan't I haaaaave, huh, huh, snaaaaack, huh, huh, hiccup?" I whispered a quick explanation of why he couldn't have any "crackers." He had just about regained some composure when the cup was passed. Missing out on stale saltines was one thing, but grape juice, too??!! It was too much to be borne. And by this time, I felt like crying right along with him!

Breasts and Thumbs

Mastitis (spelling??!!) sucks--no pun intended. Somehow I managed to nurse three babies and never get it, but now....OUCH! I sit here smelling the noxious aroma of cooked cabbage rising from my bosom. But I'm very thankful for this cabbage, mind you. My DH ran out and got me some after dinner. And I'm glad that I pulled this home remedy from the dark recesses of my memory.

nursing girlfriend: "I had terrible mastitis for the first three weeks. The lactation consultant said to wear cabbage leaves in my bra."

me: /nonchalantly/"Oh really?...How interesting. I've never had that problem myself...."

But in other news...M does not have a dying tooth (which we were very afraid of). She has been to see the dentist and says that she has no signs of bottle rot and the tooth that was showing signs of darkening is only bruised. I didn't know teeth could bruise, did you? That is the good news. The bad news is that she is at a "stage 2" (whatever that means) in jaw damage from sucking her thumb. Thumb sucking is the only one of her self-soothing behaviors that we have not heretofore attempted to weed out. We took the headbanging, we took the rocking, but the thumb...well, she just looked so darn cute with her blanket all nuzzled up to her chin and that tiny little thumb placed gingerly in her mouth. But in the face of certain enormous orthodonistry bills cuteness has to go. Yesterday, we put some socks on her hands at nap (she only sucks to get to sleep). We smiled and said, "Doctor says, 'No more thumb sucking.'" She giggled at the socks on her hands, politely waited until we had left the room and then stripped the socks. Last night, she watched as we taped the socks on her hands, with the clear expression of "these people have lost their minds." Again I said, with a little more firmness, "Doctor says, 'No more thumb sucking.'" I want her to know that of all the terrible changes we've put her through this past year and a half, this one is not my idea! About ten minutes later we heard her whimper--she could not get them off. She cried for about five minutes, softly. I won't tell you how tempted I was to take off those socks! Then she went to sleep. Today's nap a little whimpering, then sleep. My baby is growing up. Sigh.

Tagged

I've been tagged by suz, so here we go:

Four jobs I've had in my life:
1. Secretary
2. Desk clerk/night auditor for a hotel
3. Missionary to central California
4. Public school teacher

Four movies I've watched over and over:
1. Pride and Prejudice (A&E version with Colin Firth...mmm, mmm)
2. My Big Fat Greek Wedding
3. Return To Me
4. Steel Magnolias

Four tv shows I love to watch:
*I don't have a television that picks up channels. My husband and I just decided when we got married that it was an addiction that we'd rather forgo. But when I'm at my mom's house I will request:
1. Law and Order reruns
2. Adoption Story
3. That show about FBI cold cases (can't remember exactly what the name is)
4. Sell This House

Four places I've been on Vacation:
1. Disney World! (March 2006-what a blast!)
2. San Antonio
3. Colorado/New Mexico
4. Italy
* No, Suz, adoption trips to Russia do not count, because there is nothing remotely relaxing about them!

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Hot chocolate and chocolate milk (any time, any season)
2. Wheat Thins (original)
3. Italian cream Cake
4. Nachitoches Meat Pie

Four places I'd rather be now:
1. a crop
2. a salon
3. a date
4. a cruise

Four people who will respond:
Sorry, suz, but you're my only pal in blog-land. DH has a blog, but it is purely academic. Don't think your fun game would fit between, "High Thresholds for Church Membership" and "Martin Luther's Heidelberg Disputation of 1518"

Party in the Pink

Well, I's fourth birthday was a "pinktacular" success. My kids have a knack for requesting the impossible party theme, but it is always fun seeing what I can dig up. My son got hooked on the panther while watching Boomerang at Nana's house. He wanted a "pink pamfer party." I found a discontinued Wilt*n pan on ebay. Quite by chance came upon some pink panther mylar balloons. The pink panther stand up is curtsey of an overhead projector and acrylic paints. We had the party at the family lake house, and the kids were just coming out of the water when I made them pose for this picture. I is the one with the life jacket. He's one of the cutest kids ever. Him and the two little girls standing behind and beside him. The other two cutest kids in the world missed this photo op. But I think you will agree that my nieces and nephews are a pretty fine looking crew, too.

The abandoned blog

I was just reading some blogs and realized that it has almost been a month since I blogged on my own! K and A are off at school these past two weeks, and you would think I'd have more time now, but seems busier than ever. I guess the older two kind of occupy I and M when they are home. They are the brains for the elaborate imaginative games that go on around here. Like, "Robots and Dinosaurs from Outerspace" and "Movie Stars Turned Russian Caregivers." Which strangely enough, the only one ostracized from that game is the child who actually spent the first year of her life in a Russian orphanage. Go figure.
But after a year of teaching Kindergarten, I'm glad to be getting reacquainted with my OWN young impressionable minds. I've taught K off and on for six years. I have taken a solemn vow never to send a child off to Kindergarten in the state that many of my students were in. Not so much for their sake, but for the sake of that poor woman. Prior to the first day of K my children must be:
1) Able to put on their own coat--I know it sounds crazy, but honestly I had five kids last year who had never put on their own coat!
2) Self wipers--ie, they should not have to be told to get a tissue when snot is dripping down their chin. This rule also applies to other areas of personal hygiene, but I won't go in to that.
3) confident with the 26 letters of the alphabet and their sounds, plus ch, sh, and th and that old bossy letter r.
4)thoroughly trained in basic German shepherd (come, go, sit, stay, etc.)
5) Uses scissors and glue appropriately. I mean, really, if your child comes home without the "uses scissors and glue appropriately" box checked, you should just pull them out and try again next year. You are wasting their time. They will not be able to keep up, and secretly, oh so secretly, the teacher will loathe them. (I hope no schoolboard ever gets a link to my blog. May have a tough time getting hired).
I used to have "be able to tie shoes" on that list. But, God forgive me, A can still not tie her shoes. I've tried, but she has a bad case of CBT. She is quite handicapped with it. Don't know where she gets it. I make her wear sandals or slip ons most of the time.
That's a tall order for I, and we are getting a late start. I only have two more years to whip him into shape. M is getting an even later start on account of the aforementioned "lost" year. I have only three more years with her. SO, in addition to the regular cleaning, washing, cooking, I try to squeeze in some developmentally appropriate, intellectually challenging, gross and fine motor, vocabulary building, adult scafolded play. You see, Mr. or Mrs. Elementary School Administrator, I'm a good teacher!

Cleaning House With Kids

O.K. yesterday I was reading an article on Christian Women's Online Magazine about keeping kid's rooms clean. And I felt bad, really bad. Like usual when I read those type of book/articles, I begin to feel guilty. Because these women always have like, twenty kids, and their dinner's are always cooked, and their house is always immaculate, and they never raise their voice over the gentle hum of a whispering wind as they quote Bible verses all day long to their (homeschooled) children who soak up their words as sponges soak water...etc.
I feel like such a dismal failure! Can anyone out there relate? Anyway, I decided to give the tips a try (minus the Bible verses, because frankly, I thought she was stretching them a bit.), and I must say it went a lot better than usual. When I stayed in the room with them--calm and peaceable--while they cleaned and offered encouragement, I was amazed at how clean the room became. Real clean, too, not the toys-stuffed-in-underwear-drawer pick-up or the don't-open-the-closet-unless-you-have-a-death-wish straighten. I will definitely try this strategy again.
But I'm going to be totally honest with you...my four oldest children had peanut butter and jelly for dinner, the baby I nursed on a Boppi while I folded a few items from the monstrous pile of laundry on my sofa. I can't recall any quoted scripture today, but we did administer the rod of correction to my five year old, who poked her little brother in the head with a pencil. I'm counting the days till I can send her to public (collective gasp) school. BUT, their rooms are very clean. And I still love Jesus. And, best of all forever, He loves me.

Bringing in the Whats?

My husband is the pastor of a small, mostly graying congregation. They live for a "good ole fashion Sunday singin'." We just came from one-complete with fiddle, banjo and harmonica. Only thing missing was the mouth harp and someone playing the spoons. My husband loves to request the oldest, and hokiest of southern gospel songs at the singings for our own private enjoyment. Tonight, he called for "Bringing in the Sheaves." We were in the second verse when my five year old little girl looked at me and whispered, "Is it bringing in the sheep or bringing in the shees? Like you and me are shees and Daddy and Papa are hees?" I answered "Neither, it's bringing in the sheaVes." She asked "What's a "sheave?" And I just had to laugh because I don't really know. Is it another word for a wheat stalk? And I wonder how many generations of southerners have sang that song and not known what it was. We don't even grow wheat, for goodness sake!

Just Another Day

I have no great purpose for this blog. No major epocs to chronicle in my life at present. It is, as one of my favorite country songs puts it, "just another day in paradise." I mainly wanted to be able to comment on other people's blogs. And besides, "everyone is doing it." I am the stay-at-home mom of five (mostly, but with side job so as to feed said children). We live along the Texas coast, and when we moved here a year ago, my husband started calling our home a "tropical paradise" because we have a palm tree in our front yard. The fact that the palm trees and yards in which they sit are surrounded by refineries continuosly belching cancerous polutants is completely irrelevant to him. He is an eternal optimist, and I a permanent realist. But since my family lives, laughes, and loves here, makes it--in its own way--a paradise.