Our family joined the Y about a year ago and we LOVE it. We've tried to take advantage of all the things they have available: the gym, the fitness center, the elevated track, the childcare (THAT was a one-time event) and the swimming pool. Michaela has taken a few sessions of swim lessons there to gear up for summer and we've loved her instructors. Michaela, Jenna and I have gone swimming there a bunch of times this winter and we always have a blast.
So Mommy has a bright idea to sign Jenna up as well for a session of lessons this spring: she loves water, and I'm always lookin' for ways to pass the time. We signed up for a Mommy and Me -type class which unfortunately means I have to go in, with a swimsuit on, showing off my ample tooshie to the whole pool area. But I'm a Big Girl (both literally and figuratively, haha) so I signed us up and talked it up big to Jenna. She was thrilled.
Today was our first class and it was extremely sweet and comfortable and Jenna had a great time. There were two very earnest instructors there who could not have been nicer and more gentle and we sang songs and incorporated some swimming basic skills into playing.
I am all about little kids and programs and love and gushiness, but I have to confess... I felt a little gay singing the hokey pokey with a bunch of strangers while wearing my bathing suit and putting Jenna's "left foot in" and shaking it all about. Maybe I'm getting jaded in my old age. The moms were all very sweet and a little nervous and all the babies-all girls- wore little suits with pink and flowers and bows. One of the participants was taking the class with her grandfather and I thought to myself: that's LOVE for your grandchild.
The other unfortunate event that occured during the lesson was that I spotted two men over 65 years old who go to my church. And one of them was wearing a Speedo. Yeah... it was awkward. My brain kept chanting over and over: Too Much Information! Too Much Information! TMI! TMI! but I somewhat held it together and offered a little wave to them. See? I am a Big Girl.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Poor MiMi
Michaela is sick. Pukey, poopy, pale, feverishly sick. Poor thing is not used to feeling crappy since she so rarely ever gets anything so she's trying to keep a stiff upper lip.
She was complaining yesterday about her tummy feeling "grouchy" (I love that description) and then took a nap, had a fever, took some Motrin and didn't want to go out to dinner.
I knew something was definitely up if she's passing on exploring a restaurant's bathroom, one of her favorite activities when dining out.
She and Jenna and I snuggled in to watch Bee Movie and about halfway through she threw up all over me. I had my arm around her and she covered me from about mid-shoulder to mid-thigh in loveliness. Those of you who know us well may remember that both girls have puked on me before, ironically both on separate Mother's Days. I say you're not a real warrior mom until ALL of your kids have puked on you.
After we got Michaela in the tub and calmed down- she said very seriously to me after it was over,"I REALLY didn't like that!"- Dan asked me why the girls always seem to hit me directly with the puke and suggested that the next time he feels queasy he'll snuggle up into the crook of my arm and try puking there as well.
Perfect- a puking trifecta.
She was complaining yesterday about her tummy feeling "grouchy" (I love that description) and then took a nap, had a fever, took some Motrin and didn't want to go out to dinner.
I knew something was definitely up if she's passing on exploring a restaurant's bathroom, one of her favorite activities when dining out.
She and Jenna and I snuggled in to watch Bee Movie and about halfway through she threw up all over me. I had my arm around her and she covered me from about mid-shoulder to mid-thigh in loveliness. Those of you who know us well may remember that both girls have puked on me before, ironically both on separate Mother's Days. I say you're not a real warrior mom until ALL of your kids have puked on you.
After we got Michaela in the tub and calmed down- she said very seriously to me after it was over,"I REALLY didn't like that!"- Dan asked me why the girls always seem to hit me directly with the puke and suggested that the next time he feels queasy he'll snuggle up into the crook of my arm and try puking there as well.
Perfect- a puking trifecta.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Laugh for the day
I was nursing Jenna this morning (we can't seem to shake the two feedings a day routine... I told my family that Jenna's breastfeeding is like the war in Iraq: no exit strategy exists) and Michaela was getting ready for school. I was leaning over Jenna to help Michaela button her cute pink polo shirt and talking to Michaela about how small the buttonholes are, how did they get unbuttoned anyway, etc. Jenna detaches, looks up at me and says:
"Please stop talking. I'm trying to nurse."
I laughed and laughed and laughed some more: at the absurdity of the whole situation, at the fact that she's almost three years old and still doing this, at how hopeful I was at her three MONTH birthday that I was 25% done with my breastfeed-for-a-year plan, at my seeming inability to accurately explain to anyone how completely vile she is when her nursey-nursey is not delivered when she wakes up and at naptime, how slightly irritated her tone was to me when she said this and how she nestled right back in to finish up.
No exit strategy.
And I HAVE tried giving her sippy cups, thanks for the suggestion. I'm not a complete moron.
"Please stop talking. I'm trying to nurse."
I laughed and laughed and laughed some more: at the absurdity of the whole situation, at the fact that she's almost three years old and still doing this, at how hopeful I was at her three MONTH birthday that I was 25% done with my breastfeed-for-a-year plan, at my seeming inability to accurately explain to anyone how completely vile she is when her nursey-nursey is not delivered when she wakes up and at naptime, how slightly irritated her tone was to me when she said this and how she nestled right back in to finish up.
No exit strategy.
And I HAVE tried giving her sippy cups, thanks for the suggestion. I'm not a complete moron.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Flashback Friday: How We Met
Do you know that I married Dan because my mom was an English teacher?
Yes, it's true. I have my wonderful, loving, ever-present cheerleader of a mom to thank for helping me find my true love, Dan.
Let me tell you the story... (pause here to grab a drink and a blanket and snuggle in...)
I was a freshman at good ol' Plattsburgh State University taking an English 101 class that everyone is required to take. I had fun in the class because English was always my best subject, and because (you guessed it) my mom was an English teacher and not only passed on to me a genetic predisposition to enjoy reading and writing... she also made DAMN sure that I had excellent grammar and a rich vocabulary. (When taking my SATs and GREs, if I came across a word I was unfamiliar with I would try to hear my mom say the word in my head and figure out what the context was.) So I'm flying through the class - I mean, let's face it- Plattsburgh is no Ivy League college... some students there were barely literate- and I get a letter in the mail asking if I'd be interested in becoming a writing tutor at the campus Learning Center.
I was very interested and through that class met one of my favorite professors, Mary Dossin, who was sweet and brilliant and encouraging and just a stellar human being. She taught me how to teach writing and I got a job meeting with nervous freshmen and bewildered upperclassmen and helping them understand the process of writing. It was a real trip, considering most of them, after I read a paper or page or paragraph and gave them some general direction, would follow up by continually asking me, "Well, what should I put??" They had a really hard time understanding that it wasn't a matter of "what to put", it was about cohesiveness and clarity and getting your point across and supporting it with examples... but I digress.
I tutored a freshman named Adam who was from Long Island, who looked like he was about twelve and acted like he was about 10. His coping mechanism for college was to secure a tutor for every class and a writing tutor to look it all over for backup. But God bless him, he started this whole chain reaction: he said to me one day, "You should meet my sociology tutor, Sara... you'd really like her." So I did and I did like her. And she said to me,"You should meet my best friend, Michele... you'd really like her." So I did and I REALLY liked her and we all became good friends.
The fall semester of my senior year came and we were excited because Michele and I were both graduating in December and making plans for our futures. I had gathered information from graduate schools in Florida, California and Massachusetts and started the application process for their Gerontology programs. We were thinking about getting an apartment together for the spring and summer, working a meaningless job and saving up a few bucks for whatever life was about to hand us. I was doing an independent study at the time that I really enjoyed (looking at my grandfather's old diaries from the 1950's) and all my classes were in my major, Sociology, so I was interested and engaged in my schoolwork. Life was good.
Then one fateful Wednesday in September, Michele says to me, "My friend Chris is having a party this weekend... we should go. He's really nice." and I reply, "Michele, I am graduating in three months... I won't know anyone there and I am not interested in meeting any new people." "Come on," she said, "it'll be fun." I reluctantly agreed.
So Friday came along and she says she's too tired to go out and suggests we stay in and get a bite to eat or watch a movie. No, I tell her, I've gotten myself all psyched up to go to this party and we're going to go. We get ready and go down to Brinkerhoff Street where Chris lives and I realize as we're climbing the steps to the apartment that I have been here before: my freshman year, I went to a party here with a totally different group of friends and it was the first and maybe only time (I am a REAL school dork) that I put off doing a paper that was due the next day and went out instead. I giggle to myself as I'm climbing the stairs thinking about how long ago that seems.
We go in and it turns out Chris lives with four other guys and one of them is Dan. I met Dan for the first time in the hallway of this apartment and literally felt the earth move when I met him. He was just so tall and dark and handsome and I instantly started plotting how I could sink my hooks into this guy. (Months later, when we were very much together and were discussing this moment, I asked him what he thought of me when he first met me. His response: "I don't know. I thought you were cute." He later added that I was "warm" and "friendly" and "I felt comfortable talking to you." Doesn't THAT knock your socks off?? I feel the EARTH MOVE and you think I'm FRIENDLY???)
How did I finally nab this guy, you may ask? Well, let me share with you my killer opening line after we had been introduced and then dispersed. We met again in the living room, where the five guys living there had constructed a bar for entertaining their guests. Dan was behind the bar. I went up to him and said...
"So, this is the bar, huh?"
"Yup."
"Can I come back there?" (So forward!!)
"If you want." (Such a conversationalist!)
But it turned out OK. We hung out that night, he called me the next day, and went on our first date on the following Thursday night. We were inseparable from that point on and got engaged in February and married in October.
And now we've been married for eleven years, have two kids, a cat and a house.
The really, really ironic thing is that I had dated the same guy on and off all through college- "on" when we loved each other and "off" when we had screaming fights and didn't speak to each other for months- and it turns out that Dan was friends with him. They golfed together and had classes together. How funny is that?
So thank you, Mom, for helping me land my hubby.
And for continually reminding me the last 25 years how to say the word "nuclear" correctly. :)
Yes, it's true. I have my wonderful, loving, ever-present cheerleader of a mom to thank for helping me find my true love, Dan.
Let me tell you the story... (pause here to grab a drink and a blanket and snuggle in...)
I was a freshman at good ol' Plattsburgh State University taking an English 101 class that everyone is required to take. I had fun in the class because English was always my best subject, and because (you guessed it) my mom was an English teacher and not only passed on to me a genetic predisposition to enjoy reading and writing... she also made DAMN sure that I had excellent grammar and a rich vocabulary. (When taking my SATs and GREs, if I came across a word I was unfamiliar with I would try to hear my mom say the word in my head and figure out what the context was.) So I'm flying through the class - I mean, let's face it- Plattsburgh is no Ivy League college... some students there were barely literate- and I get a letter in the mail asking if I'd be interested in becoming a writing tutor at the campus Learning Center.
I was very interested and through that class met one of my favorite professors, Mary Dossin, who was sweet and brilliant and encouraging and just a stellar human being. She taught me how to teach writing and I got a job meeting with nervous freshmen and bewildered upperclassmen and helping them understand the process of writing. It was a real trip, considering most of them, after I read a paper or page or paragraph and gave them some general direction, would follow up by continually asking me, "Well, what should I put??" They had a really hard time understanding that it wasn't a matter of "what to put", it was about cohesiveness and clarity and getting your point across and supporting it with examples... but I digress.
I tutored a freshman named Adam who was from Long Island, who looked like he was about twelve and acted like he was about 10. His coping mechanism for college was to secure a tutor for every class and a writing tutor to look it all over for backup. But God bless him, he started this whole chain reaction: he said to me one day, "You should meet my sociology tutor, Sara... you'd really like her." So I did and I did like her. And she said to me,"You should meet my best friend, Michele... you'd really like her." So I did and I REALLY liked her and we all became good friends.
The fall semester of my senior year came and we were excited because Michele and I were both graduating in December and making plans for our futures. I had gathered information from graduate schools in Florida, California and Massachusetts and started the application process for their Gerontology programs. We were thinking about getting an apartment together for the spring and summer, working a meaningless job and saving up a few bucks for whatever life was about to hand us. I was doing an independent study at the time that I really enjoyed (looking at my grandfather's old diaries from the 1950's) and all my classes were in my major, Sociology, so I was interested and engaged in my schoolwork. Life was good.
Then one fateful Wednesday in September, Michele says to me, "My friend Chris is having a party this weekend... we should go. He's really nice." and I reply, "Michele, I am graduating in three months... I won't know anyone there and I am not interested in meeting any new people." "Come on," she said, "it'll be fun." I reluctantly agreed.
So Friday came along and she says she's too tired to go out and suggests we stay in and get a bite to eat or watch a movie. No, I tell her, I've gotten myself all psyched up to go to this party and we're going to go. We get ready and go down to Brinkerhoff Street where Chris lives and I realize as we're climbing the steps to the apartment that I have been here before: my freshman year, I went to a party here with a totally different group of friends and it was the first and maybe only time (I am a REAL school dork) that I put off doing a paper that was due the next day and went out instead. I giggle to myself as I'm climbing the stairs thinking about how long ago that seems.
We go in and it turns out Chris lives with four other guys and one of them is Dan. I met Dan for the first time in the hallway of this apartment and literally felt the earth move when I met him. He was just so tall and dark and handsome and I instantly started plotting how I could sink my hooks into this guy. (Months later, when we were very much together and were discussing this moment, I asked him what he thought of me when he first met me. His response: "I don't know. I thought you were cute." He later added that I was "warm" and "friendly" and "I felt comfortable talking to you." Doesn't THAT knock your socks off?? I feel the EARTH MOVE and you think I'm FRIENDLY???)
How did I finally nab this guy, you may ask? Well, let me share with you my killer opening line after we had been introduced and then dispersed. We met again in the living room, where the five guys living there had constructed a bar for entertaining their guests. Dan was behind the bar. I went up to him and said...
"So, this is the bar, huh?"
"Yup."
"Can I come back there?" (So forward!!)
"If you want." (Such a conversationalist!)
But it turned out OK. We hung out that night, he called me the next day, and went on our first date on the following Thursday night. We were inseparable from that point on and got engaged in February and married in October.
And now we've been married for eleven years, have two kids, a cat and a house.
The really, really ironic thing is that I had dated the same guy on and off all through college- "on" when we loved each other and "off" when we had screaming fights and didn't speak to each other for months- and it turns out that Dan was friends with him. They golfed together and had classes together. How funny is that?
So thank you, Mom, for helping me land my hubby.
And for continually reminding me the last 25 years how to say the word "nuclear" correctly. :)
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
The possibilities are endless
So we're driving in the car and Jenna says to me, "Mom, do you know what I like about you?"
Immediately my mind starts to race about what my baby is about to say... the hours I've held her? the hugs and kisses? the fun things we do together? the endless nursing? the devotion? the patience?
What will she say?
I am literally tingling and say, "No, Jenna, what do you like about me?"
After an extremely awkward pause and deciphering a few sentences, I realize she's asked me, "Mom, do you know What I Like About You?"
...ah yes, the song What I Like About You...
... track 17 on the Jock Rock CD we've listened to continuously for a few weeks now.
I am humbled, disappointed... and no longer tingling.
Immediately my mind starts to race about what my baby is about to say... the hours I've held her? the hugs and kisses? the fun things we do together? the endless nursing? the devotion? the patience?
What will she say?
I am literally tingling and say, "No, Jenna, what do you like about me?"
After an extremely awkward pause and deciphering a few sentences, I realize she's asked me, "Mom, do you know What I Like About You?"
...ah yes, the song What I Like About You...
... track 17 on the Jock Rock CD we've listened to continuously for a few weeks now.
I am humbled, disappointed... and no longer tingling.
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