I told you there was no rhyme or reason to this. Today I am up .2 lbs, although I have to question the accuracy of my scale. It said 160 this morning—which I didn't like. So I tried again, with the scale in a different place this time, and it said 161.2; I really didn't like that! So I put the scale back in the first position and I tried one more time; it said 160. Maybe I should try every spot in the house; maybe there's a space on the floor that will make my scale say 132. ;-)
However, I did lose 2 3/4 inches off of my waist in the last two weeks. The exercise must pay off.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Other Side of the Story . . .
My mom loves to tell the story of when I cut Denise's hair. The way she tells it, she and my dad had been out for the evening; when they got home, they went into the bedroom to check on the littlest girls (Denise and me). Denise was asleep in her bed with a hat on. Mom thought that was odd. When she removed the hat, she was shocked to see that Denise's hair had been butchered! (Yes, "butchered" is Mom's word.) Apparently her hair was very short all over and cut to the scalp in some places. Mom also found one of our dolls with the same stylish hairdo. She says she made Denise wear a bonnet every time they went out, for a long time. That's how Mom tells it.
At last, after 35 or so years of concealment, here is my side of the story:
First of all, I'm not sure how old we were; I'd guess I was between four and six years old which would make Denise between one and four. But what I do remember is this: It was school picture time; that meant that in the evening you could take your whole family to the school and get a family picture for a really good price. So we went. And when we got there the photographer went on and on and on about how cute Denise was and, specifically, what beautiful, long hair she had. He just couldn't get over how much beautiful hair that baby had, and there was my mom agreeing with every word he said. And this little, blue-eyed angel was bitten by the green-eyed monster! After all, my hair was longer than Denise's, and it was a pretty color; but nobody was saying anything about that. Huh!
[picture: blue-eyed angel]
It was probably not the same night as the photo session. I remember my parents were not home. I remember that all my brothers and sisters were in the living room, watching TV. I remember trying to talk Denise into letting me cut her hair—maybe I even pointed out that Mom had short hair, or perhaps demonstrated on the doll. I don't remember what I told her. I do remember sneaking across the hall, through my parent's room, through their bathroom and into the kitchen to get the highchair, then sneaking all the way back to our bedroom with the chair. (How did my siblings not notice that?) I remember Denise "had to be in the highchair" so I could cut her hair.
I don't remember cutting her hair, or the doll's hair, or cleaning up or putting away the highchair. I don't remember what her hair looked like when I was finished with it. I don't remember putting Denise to bed with a hat on. I don't even remember getting in trouble—unless you count Mom telling the story over and over again for the whole rest of my life. :-) But that's just funny.
Now you know my side of the story.
I can't tell you if this picture is just before the hair-cutting, or the year after. I'm guessing it's the year after—see how short Denise's hair is?
Bonus Note: Surely you have all heard of the "Mother's Curse"—you know, the one where your mom curses you with children who are just like you. Well, Kaylie, Rachel and Jessica—hmmm; and I think Ryan, too—all went through about three years of scissor-happiness. It seemed like every time I turned around they were cutting their own hair, each others' hair, the cat's hair . . . sheets, T-shirts, pillowcases, you name it. Mom got her revenge!
At last, after 35 or so years of concealment, here is my side of the story:
First of all, I'm not sure how old we were; I'd guess I was between four and six years old which would make Denise between one and four. But what I do remember is this: It was school picture time; that meant that in the evening you could take your whole family to the school and get a family picture for a really good price. So we went. And when we got there the photographer went on and on and on about how cute Denise was and, specifically, what beautiful, long hair she had. He just couldn't get over how much beautiful hair that baby had, and there was my mom agreeing with every word he said. And this little, blue-eyed angel was bitten by the green-eyed monster! After all, my hair was longer than Denise's, and it was a pretty color; but nobody was saying anything about that. Huh![picture: blue-eyed angel]
It was probably not the same night as the photo session. I remember my parents were not home. I remember that all my brothers and sisters were in the living room, watching TV. I remember trying to talk Denise into letting me cut her hair—maybe I even pointed out that Mom had short hair, or perhaps demonstrated on the doll. I don't remember what I told her. I do remember sneaking across the hall, through my parent's room, through their bathroom and into the kitchen to get the highchair, then sneaking all the way back to our bedroom with the chair. (How did my siblings not notice that?) I remember Denise "had to be in the highchair" so I could cut her hair.
I don't remember cutting her hair, or the doll's hair, or cleaning up or putting away the highchair. I don't remember what her hair looked like when I was finished with it. I don't remember putting Denise to bed with a hat on. I don't even remember getting in trouble—unless you count Mom telling the story over and over again for the whole rest of my life. :-) But that's just funny.
Now you know my side of the story.
I can't tell you if this picture is just before the hair-cutting, or the year after. I'm guessing it's the year after—see how short Denise's hair is?Bonus Note: Surely you have all heard of the "Mother's Curse"—you know, the one where your mom curses you with children who are just like you. Well, Kaylie, Rachel and Jessica—hmmm; and I think Ryan, too—all went through about three years of scissor-happiness. It seemed like every time I turned around they were cutting their own hair, each others' hair, the cat's hair . . . sheets, T-shirts, pillowcases, you name it. Mom got her revenge!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Whoo-Hoooo!
I'm down to 159.8 this week! There really seems to be no rhyme or reason to this—I actually thought I'd gain a pound or two this week. So it's pretty exciting to be down by nearly three. Whoo-hoooo!
Friday, September 12, 2008
Brandon
It must be time to talk about another of my great kids!
When Brandon was starting school he had NO interest in learning his letters and numbers, thank you very much. Now he is a terrific reader; I can't drag him away from his books. He is very smart.
All of Brandon's brothers and sisters like to play with him, from Michael who is six years older, to Jessica who is five years younger. He frequently says hilarious things, but in a very dry way—which makes them more hilarious. Better still, he knows he's funny and plays that up for all of us. He can also quote you lines and sing songs from every movie he's seen. (Actually I think he instantaneously memorizes every movie he's seen.) He uses movie quotes in every day conversations—usually in a way that will make you laugh.
Brandon also invented one of our favorite family games: The Movie Question Game. To play, one person will ask a question from a movie—a question that a movie character asked; then someone else has to answer the question with the line used in the movie. For example, Brandon will say, "I've got a movie question: 'What's that got to do with anything?' " Then anyone in the family has the chance to answer; the right answer in this case would be : " 'No, no. He's got a point.' " You might go on to explain that the question was asked by Kronk in The Emperor's New Groove, and it was his shoulder-angel who answered the question. It is currently a favorite game of our family.
We all like having Brandon around. He's a good kid and a nice one. I think we'll keep him!
Brandon is my funny, funny boy. He was born in Tennessee (does that have something to do with the funny stuff?). Can you guess which kid is Brandon?
When I was pregnant with Brandon, Bruce was going to school full time and delivering pizzas every evening for work, so when Brandon's due-date got close I was a little worried. For one thing, my babies came pretty fast once they decided to come; but more worrisome was that if Bruce was on a pizza run I would have no way to contact him if I went into labor. I had friends who would have been more than willing to take me to the hospital, but that's just not the same as having your husband there. So when I went for a pre-natal appointment and they said I was really close, I told them my woes. The doctor said, "You are so close; just go to the hospital and we will start you." If you have ever been in the 39th week of pregnancy, you will completely understand that I was more than willing to take them up on that.
So Bruce and I went home and called some friends to babysit. We took Michael, Jason and Lindsey over to their house, visited a little, got some lunch, went to the bank. It was kind of surreal. I told Bruce, "This is more like we are going out to buy a puppy than going to have a baby." When we got to the hospital, they checked me, hooked me up with some pitocin and left us there. For six hours! Nothing interesting happened until about 6:30 p.m. The doctor came in and broke my water and Brandon showed up around 7:00. Brandon is the only baby I saw being born—I really had no desire to watch myself (or anyone else) giving birth. But when his head was delivered the doctor sat me up so I could see him. I never knew before that babies came out blue! Isn't that funny? Brandon's mouth was twitching and moving even before the rest of his body was delivered—at the time I thought he was just preparing to cry, but now I think he just couldn't wait to tell me his first funny joke. :-) 
When Brandon was starting school he had NO interest in learning his letters and numbers, thank you very much. Now he is a terrific reader; I can't drag him away from his books. He is very smart.
All of Brandon's brothers and sisters like to play with him, from Michael who is six years older, to Jessica who is five years younger. He frequently says hilarious things, but in a very dry way—which makes them more hilarious. Better still, he knows he's funny and plays that up for all of us. He can also quote you lines and sing songs from every movie he's seen. (Actually I think he instantaneously memorizes every movie he's seen.) He uses movie quotes in every day conversations—usually in a way that will make you laugh. Brandon also invented one of our favorite family games: The Movie Question Game. To play, one person will ask a question from a movie—a question that a movie character asked; then someone else has to answer the question with the line used in the movie. For example, Brandon will say, "I've got a movie question: 'What's that got to do with anything?' " Then anyone in the family has the chance to answer; the right answer in this case would be : " 'No, no. He's got a point.' " You might go on to explain that the question was asked by Kronk in The Emperor's New Groove, and it was his shoulder-angel who answered the question. It is currently a favorite game of our family.
We all like having Brandon around. He's a good kid and a nice one. I think we'll keep him!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
I Love Ballet!
Well, I am really doing it—the ballet on Tuesdays and Thursdays. In fact, I just finished with today's work. This morning, being a lady, I worked up a good glisten doing my barre work. [Horses sweat, men perspire and ladies glisten.] And as I sit here I feel a tiny tremor in my legs; the little shaking that says, "You've been working." It feels good! I love that my body and my brain still know what to do, and I can feel that I am doing it right. I can't do as much as I did when I was eighteen, after eight solid years of ballet classes. But I know that 
even after a 20-year sabbatical I'm still pretty darn good. And I know I can get even better again—for an at-home, in-the-closet ballerina. Good enough for what I want anyway, which is just to tone up and regain some flexibility. I don't know why I never did this before. I love it!
even after a 20-year sabbatical I'm still pretty darn good. And I know I can get even better again—for an at-home, in-the-closet ballerina. Good enough for what I want anyway, which is just to tone up and regain some flexibility. I don't know why I never did this before. I love it!
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