I baked and frosted 24 cupcakes tonight to prepare for Monkey Man's 6th birthday extravaganza. I stuffed 17 goody bags with Oreos, Rice Krispie Treats, and Tootsie Rolls.
And I didn't eat one. I'm writing this while in the fetal position drooling, but nope, didn't touch one.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Victory is SWEET!
Yeah, so I totally made those cookies my bitch today. I was volunteering at Monkey Man's school, and I had some cutting and collating to do in the Faculty Room. And what does every Faculty Room in most towns in the U.S. have? Foods containing sugar. Cookies, cake, everything left over from last night's family birthday dinner that no one wants in their house.
There I sat. Two cartons of large Costco-type cookies in one corner (from where I sat, I believed them to be of the oatmeal raisin and sugar cookie variety, but I dared not go too close for fear that one might actually catapult its way into my unsuspecting mouth. They are not my favorite kinds, but who the hell cares? They were COOKIES!) And in the opposite corner - me and all my math copies. Those badass cookies had the advantage, simply because they were cookies. I had a thermos of Green Tea to quell my cravings. The odds were so stacked against me.
But for the next hour, I ignored their mockery. "C'mon, no one is in here. Just take a little bite. It won't even count! You know you're gonna cave before 6 weeks is up, anyway. Just do it!"
And my response? "Eat me."
Yeah, cuz that's how I roll when it comes to the Cookie Vs. Sugar(less) Mama showdown.
There I sat. Two cartons of large Costco-type cookies in one corner (from where I sat, I believed them to be of the oatmeal raisin and sugar cookie variety, but I dared not go too close for fear that one might actually catapult its way into my unsuspecting mouth. They are not my favorite kinds, but who the hell cares? They were COOKIES!) And in the opposite corner - me and all my math copies. Those badass cookies had the advantage, simply because they were cookies. I had a thermos of Green Tea to quell my cravings. The odds were so stacked against me.
But for the next hour, I ignored their mockery. "C'mon, no one is in here. Just take a little bite. It won't even count! You know you're gonna cave before 6 weeks is up, anyway. Just do it!"
And my response? "Eat me."
Yeah, cuz that's how I roll when it comes to the Cookie Vs. Sugar(less) Mama showdown.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
I’m Your Sugar(less) Mama
Today started a 6 week adventure in which I will not eat sugar. Let me clarify – sugar in the form of cookies, ice cream, graham crackers, cake, POP EMS - aka “special treats” in our house. I will be eating fruit and veggies and I am allowing myself a Fiber 1 Oats & Chocolate bar if I am scratching my face and shaking with cold sweats from sugar withdrawal. Basically, the food has to have some kind of nutritional value. Fiber One Oats & Chocolate bars are pretty awesome and I’m 36 going on 37, so anything fiber has value in my world.
This sugar abstinence happens to be coinciding with Lent and giving something up, however, I am not particularly religious. I don’t feel like I HAVE to sacrifice something. Many people also try to do something good for each day of Lent. Because of this, I will write SOMETHING on my blog every day for 40 days. This could go in either direction – either I’ll get some really awesome posts from writing so much, or my brain will be dead from lack of sugar and ideas and my blog will self-combust. Hopefully it’ll be funny either way. There is a good chance at some point I might be writing about hallucinogenic conversations I’m having with Pop ‘Ems. I just don’t know what sugar withdrawal will bring. It’s all so exciting to wonder what kind of a cranky bitch I might turn into.
What I do know is that at the end of Day 1, I’m in bed at a safe distance from the Tootsie Rolls, Golden Oreos, and Rice Krispie Treats that are waiting to get stuffed into Monkey Man’s birthday party goody bags. And my dad brought over some mini Oreos for Monkey Man that I am fairly certain are whispering my name.
And on that note, Good Night, Day 1 and sweet dreams of carrots, apples and the oh so naughty Fiber One bar.
This sugar abstinence happens to be coinciding with Lent and giving something up, however, I am not particularly religious. I don’t feel like I HAVE to sacrifice something. Many people also try to do something good for each day of Lent. Because of this, I will write SOMETHING on my blog every day for 40 days. This could go in either direction – either I’ll get some really awesome posts from writing so much, or my brain will be dead from lack of sugar and ideas and my blog will self-combust. Hopefully it’ll be funny either way. There is a good chance at some point I might be writing about hallucinogenic conversations I’m having with Pop ‘Ems. I just don’t know what sugar withdrawal will bring. It’s all so exciting to wonder what kind of a cranky bitch I might turn into.
What I do know is that at the end of Day 1, I’m in bed at a safe distance from the Tootsie Rolls, Golden Oreos, and Rice Krispie Treats that are waiting to get stuffed into Monkey Man’s birthday party goody bags. And my dad brought over some mini Oreos for Monkey Man that I am fairly certain are whispering my name.
And on that note, Good Night, Day 1 and sweet dreams of carrots, apples and the oh so naughty Fiber One bar.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Peeing, Pooping, & Poppy Love
While I was cleaning up after dinner tonight, my dad was sitting in the living room waiting ever so anxiously to continue his pre-dinner game of Lego Star Wars with Monkey Man. No sarcasm there. Although my dad is 1,000 times more patient than me, he, too, has no clue how to play, but that man will play all day with Monkey Man. Me? After 3 minutes, I head off to do the laundry. Or some other mundane task that is still way more exciting than Lego Star Wars/Indiana Jones/Batman.
Where was I? Oh, Monkey Man announced that he was going to the bathroom. He always feels the need to contact the media, let the neighbors know, and call his grandparents when he needs to pee. Or poop. He's going on 6 and I really think sometimes he still expects a prize from the potty training prize bag.
While in the bathroom, he yelled out, "Poppy, I love playing with you." My dad responded, "I love playing with you, too."
"Poppy, I love you," Monkey Man yelled mid-pee.
"I love you,too," Poppy responded. Then said, "You're some kid!"
Monkey Man yelled, "Thanks!"
A 73 year-old man and an almost 6 year-old boy - Grandfather and Grandson, and best friends.
Monday, February 28, 2011
What a Relief!
I’m not talking about Alka-Seltzer, the plop plop fizz fizz kind…No, I’m talking about Monkey Man and his comic relief. Partner that with my almost daily stress relief of kickboxing, and we got a few funnies out of tonight.
Monkey Man usually stays home with Hubby when I go to the gym. It is very much “my time” – it’s one hour for me to think about nothing but the hundreds of push ups, sprints and punches I’m doing. However, Hubby has a new job that keeps him out late a few nights a week so my “me” time is now “we” time. “We” in that out of 1 hour, 30 minutes of that is spent with Monkey Man calling me over from the side of the room to ask me how much longer. I figure with the amount of stress I’m relieving exercising added to the amount of stress he’s giving me calling me over, they cancel themselves out. I’m not decreasing my stress, but at least I’m not totally increasing it.
Tonight, Monkey Man called me over for the 48th time. “Mom, your hair looks horrible,” he informed me. I am so thankful that he told me! Up until tonight, I thought my bright red, sweaty face, half-soaked tank top, and many pieces of hair sticking out of my ponytail was a good look for me.
And just as I was leaning over to listen to my son’s pep talk, I noticed a big, wet splotch on his homework paper. Take that, Monkey Man. I just totally sweated on your Letter G homework assignment. That’ll teach ya.
Monkey Man usually stays home with Hubby when I go to the gym. It is very much “my time” – it’s one hour for me to think about nothing but the hundreds of push ups, sprints and punches I’m doing. However, Hubby has a new job that keeps him out late a few nights a week so my “me” time is now “we” time. “We” in that out of 1 hour, 30 minutes of that is spent with Monkey Man calling me over from the side of the room to ask me how much longer. I figure with the amount of stress I’m relieving exercising added to the amount of stress he’s giving me calling me over, they cancel themselves out. I’m not decreasing my stress, but at least I’m not totally increasing it.
Tonight, Monkey Man called me over for the 48th time. “Mom, your hair looks horrible,” he informed me. I am so thankful that he told me! Up until tonight, I thought my bright red, sweaty face, half-soaked tank top, and many pieces of hair sticking out of my ponytail was a good look for me.
And just as I was leaning over to listen to my son’s pep talk, I noticed a big, wet splotch on his homework paper. Take that, Monkey Man. I just totally sweated on your Letter G homework assignment. That’ll teach ya.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Memo From Mom Monday
TO: Hubby’s Ego
RE: Smarty Marty
DATE: February 6, 2011
Remember the other day when Monkey Man was chattering while brushing his teeth about something that was very clever? I don’t remember what it was now, because I’m writing this a few days later and I have no idea what I ate for dinner last night. Oh, yes I do. Tortilla chips and spinach dip – you took Monkey Man to my parents’ house and I was waiting for my friends to come over so I forwent any semblance of a healthy meal and just waited for the chips to bust out at 7 p.m.
Anyway, when Monkey Man said this funny, but now forgotten thing, I called him a Smarty Marty. Because he IS smart, and I have a problem with rhyming anything I can. Then I asked him, as I often do, “How’d you get so smart?” Of course, I always expect the answer to be, “I got it from my mom,” but I'm pretty sure you've been coaching him.
“From Daddy,” he coyly said, with a big grin on his face. You were in the bathroom, too, and you heard this. “Thanks a lot!” I answered, while you chuckled. Then you chimed in, “Why’d you say that?” To which Monkey Man replied:
“Mommy, I don’t want to offense you (yes, he said offense), but you don’t know how to unlock the levels on Lego Batman or Lego Indy. And you don’t know that much about sports.”
He is correct. When I play Lego Batman or Lego Indy, I am more interested in making my characters do flips or getting Princess Leia to dance on Lego Star Wars. And although I don’t care about sports, I actually shock myself at my basic knowledge of some of the games when he asks questions. However, I don’t know the stats on Cam Newton from Auburn, and we all know you can sit and talk a hole into the wall on that topic. But that’s not good enough. Neither is giving a 10 minute dissertation on Apartheid that I delivered earlier that day while watching a Disney Channel movie called, “The Color of Friendship.” Apparently, unlocking secret levels beats the hell out of South Africa’s history.
So let me just remind you of one thing – he may have gotten his brains from you, but his good looks? Yep, that’s all me.
RE: Smarty Marty
DATE: February 6, 2011
Remember the other day when Monkey Man was chattering while brushing his teeth about something that was very clever? I don’t remember what it was now, because I’m writing this a few days later and I have no idea what I ate for dinner last night. Oh, yes I do. Tortilla chips and spinach dip – you took Monkey Man to my parents’ house and I was waiting for my friends to come over so I forwent any semblance of a healthy meal and just waited for the chips to bust out at 7 p.m.
Anyway, when Monkey Man said this funny, but now forgotten thing, I called him a Smarty Marty. Because he IS smart, and I have a problem with rhyming anything I can. Then I asked him, as I often do, “How’d you get so smart?” Of course, I always expect the answer to be, “I got it from my mom,” but I'm pretty sure you've been coaching him.
“From Daddy,” he coyly said, with a big grin on his face. You were in the bathroom, too, and you heard this. “Thanks a lot!” I answered, while you chuckled. Then you chimed in, “Why’d you say that?” To which Monkey Man replied:
“Mommy, I don’t want to offense you (yes, he said offense), but you don’t know how to unlock the levels on Lego Batman or Lego Indy. And you don’t know that much about sports.”
He is correct. When I play Lego Batman or Lego Indy, I am more interested in making my characters do flips or getting Princess Leia to dance on Lego Star Wars. And although I don’t care about sports, I actually shock myself at my basic knowledge of some of the games when he asks questions. However, I don’t know the stats on Cam Newton from Auburn, and we all know you can sit and talk a hole into the wall on that topic. But that’s not good enough. Neither is giving a 10 minute dissertation on Apartheid that I delivered earlier that day while watching a Disney Channel movie called, “The Color of Friendship.” Apparently, unlocking secret levels beats the hell out of South Africa’s history.
So let me just remind you of one thing – he may have gotten his brains from you, but his good looks? Yep, that’s all me.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Addendum: Too Much Dr. Seuss
Note to Reader: Please read "Too Much Dr. Seuss" first so that this makes sense. Once you've read it, you can now enjoy how Monkey Man's attention was turned to a very bad word. This is why a few years ago, I referred to the bucket. (And now you have TWO posts to catch up on!)
Yesterday, Monkey Man, Hubby and I were in the kitchen having a perfectly nice time chatting while getting Monkey Man ready to sleep at his grandparents' house. Chatting about making books (Monkey Man loves to write and illustrate books, and even more, loves to sell those books to his grandparents), what toys he was going to bring, when his next basketball game was - all perfectly innocent, normal conversation.
Then, he had a question:
"Remember when I didn't know fu@#er was a bad word?"
I tried SO HARD not to laugh, ran into the living room and lost it. I tried to keep it quiet, but inevitably, I began to snort and wheeze so my intentions of inconspicuous laughter were quickly given away. I heard my husband, who did not dart out of the kitchen, try to keep his cool, but my husband gets the giggles worse than a 7th grade girl, so he started cracking up when he heard me.
To answer your question, yes, Monkey Man, we remember those days fondly. And thanks to Grandma, you are now perfectly aware of this word and it's badness. So, yeah, now we're fu@!ed. Great.
Yesterday, Monkey Man, Hubby and I were in the kitchen having a perfectly nice time chatting while getting Monkey Man ready to sleep at his grandparents' house. Chatting about making books (Monkey Man loves to write and illustrate books, and even more, loves to sell those books to his grandparents), what toys he was going to bring, when his next basketball game was - all perfectly innocent, normal conversation.
Then, he had a question:
"Remember when I didn't know fu@#er was a bad word?"
I tried SO HARD not to laugh, ran into the living room and lost it. I tried to keep it quiet, but inevitably, I began to snort and wheeze so my intentions of inconspicuous laughter were quickly given away. I heard my husband, who did not dart out of the kitchen, try to keep his cool, but my husband gets the giggles worse than a 7th grade girl, so he started cracking up when he heard me.
To answer your question, yes, Monkey Man, we remember those days fondly. And thanks to Grandma, you are now perfectly aware of this word and it's badness. So, yeah, now we're fu@!ed. Great.
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