Exercise Gives You Gas… And Other Randomness
March 11, 2010 by NaysWay · Leave a Comment
So last night, I worked out for a long time after having foregone a workout. In a long time. And it was a good workout. Just me, my sweats, my newly purchased sports bras from Tarzhay, and a new exercise DVD. After coming down with bronchitis, me and workouts weren’t exactly on speaking terms, and I’ve got weight to lose because, honestly, I was supposed to be documenting that whole process, and I could just see this ugly spiral of procrastination churning in my belly and… never mind. You know what I’m saying.
Needless to say, I got my butt kicked. I hurt. I think I may have even cried a little. I farted A LOT! Did you know exercise pushes all that air out of you? I always wonder if I should ask BFam to spot me as extra motivation but, after last night, I’m thinking not.
Bo seemed not to mind.
My tattoo has healed nicely. I’m thinking of getting more added to it because, like I said, tattoos are addictive. And I’m still dumb. Obviously. Hello?!
I heart this dog. I can’t even help myself sometimes.
FUN FACT: Did you know that dogs can sense ailment before humans can? Before I was diagnosed with bronchitis, Bo routinely laid on my chest. He’d never done it before and I had no clue he was trying to tell me something. All this time I had my own personal Lassie and didn’t know it.
When I die, I’m leaving everything to him. (Sorry kids.)
I could really go for a glass of this right now.
It’s almost Spring which means it’s almost Summer which means AWESOME!
Which also means I’ve got to find a new word to replace awesome. I’m really starting to show my age here.
Mooter’s playing soccer in the Spring, and she’s going out for softball. Who’s trying to get coordinated? Eh? EH?!
(Also, that kid has grown AT LEAST a foot since this was snapped. Heaven help my wallet!)
This is my favorite picture of Booger. I don’t know why.
These acts of randomness were brought to you by nostalgia.
Is it Spring yet?!
Whatever Wednesday: Papiroflexia
March 10, 2010 by NaysWay · Leave a Comment
When Mooter was preschool age, she was briefly homeschooled by BFam. She was given age appropriate assignments, then creative time to use however she chose. Creative time almost always ended in a drawing.
Not long into her time with a socialized setting, Mooter was introduced to libraries. True to her creative roots, she’d glean more toward books about drawing. At some point, she happened on a book and couldn’t wait to come home and tell me about it. But the thing about Mooter is her version of telling you about it is actually showing you. Sometimes her words get lost, or she’s easily frustrated because what’s going on in her head isn’t accurately articulated. Before you ask, no. She isn’t autistic. She isn’t developmentally challenged in any way. She’s a bright girl who speaks full sentences. Her brain, however, is a quick-moving thing. Her mouth? Not so much. And there lies our problem: fast brain, slow mouth. (Wonder where she gets that from.)
After many runs to and from the home office for paper, many moans and groans from her work station in the middle of the living room floor, wads and wads of balled paper and failed attempts, my toddler walked up to me with her newest learned creative turn. She called it “oh-my-gah-mee”.
To Mooter, who now when I remind her of her oh-my-gah-mee, thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world. And still makes them for me.
FEAR No. 057 – Crevasses
March 9, 2010 by NaysWay · 3 Comments
Jack: It’s 1994. I went ice climbing, and I fell into a crevasse. I hurt my leg, and I couldn’t climb back up. So, fighting every natural instinct, doing the thing that seemed most awful to me, I climbed down into the darkness. And that’s how I got out. And when I got back to base camp, I went and found my fellow climber, the one who had cut me loose after I fell. And I said, “Connie Chung, you did the right thing.”
–Jack Donoghy, 30 Rock (Into The Crevasse, S04E02)
One of my favorite SpongeBob episodes is called Rock Bottom. (If you are not familiar with the excellence that is SpongeBob SquarePants, feel free to skip past this paragraph. Oh, and also? SHAME ON YOU! That is all.) In the episode, SpongeBob and his good friend, Patrick, take a bus trip home after a rousing excursion to the local amusement park, Glove World. Excited from their day, SpongeBob and Patrick are so caught up in talking about the rides and recounting their prizes, they totally miss the stop that would drop them home in Bikini Bottom. This gaffe pushes them outside city limits down a torturous, 90-degree angled cliff (for you Ohioans, think Demon Drop at Cedar Point), into a strange, foreign, and scary town called Rock Bottom. The only way in and out of the town is by bus – a tricky bus wickedly bent on leaving our dear, yellow sponge trapped. He is ultimately rescued and returned home, but not before experiencing some of his coldest and loneliest times in what seemed a desolate wasteland.
(And that, my friends, is how you dramatize SpongeBob. I’m available for kids parties.)
Some of my scariest FEAR moments have happened in dark, desolate wastelands (also known as “new experiences”). When I feel trapped in the FEAR, it’s because I’ve put myself there. More than I care to admit, I’ve wanted nothing more than to get out of the situation and, like anything trapped, I struggle. Twisting, turning, scrapping the air for higher ground. In the end, I’m only fighting myself. Never does it dawn on me that I may need to dig deeper in order to pull myself out.
Lately, I’ve been in a wasteland – a crevasse I’m in and can’t seem to figure my way out. I know the answer is to dig deeper. The shovel sits at my feet, but I don’t want to. With most emotionally sensitive people, sometimes the hollow cocoon of woe and dread is far more comforting than freedom. Of course, as I’d suspected when I realized I had a twin on my hands, Mooter is in her own crevasse. It’s times like these I really don’t envy BFam. It was more than enough having an emotionally unstable wife, but to have a daughter expressing the same traits makes you not want to come home for dinner sometimes. He doesn’t have to tell me. I know.
Yet when we are in our respective caves, figuring our respective ways out – should we choose that route – we tend to cling more to each other. To give you perspective, she and I have been extra clingy lately. To wit, the dog is officially over us both. (He is our mascot of love in most dire circumstances. We like to pet him and hug him and love him when we’re sad.) I keep trying to tell myself she’s too young to carry around such emotional burdens, but that would be like talking to a reflection so, instead, I just try to let her know I’m there and help her talk through it. And if I take my crapiness out on her, I make sure to sit her down and apologize.
So. The crevasse. How to dig yourself out. I feel I should be inclined to know but, then again, I’m not ready to dig just yet.
[Cover Image: Explorer Tree on Flickr by Josh Sommers]
Age In Revolt
March 8, 2010 by NaysWay · Leave a Comment
Ladies and gentlemen. This is what 50 looks like.
This is also what it looks like when you have this little thing in your skin biologically called “melanin”.
This is one of my aunt-in-laws. (Aunt by marriage? Aunt on the side?) She is one of the many in the brood of BFam’s relatives.
She’s a purdy lady.
Her family was nice enough to get together and throw a fantastic shin dig in her honor for her milestone day. It was warm. It was loving. It was full of nice things to say. It was one of the first times I’d been to an event where others showed how much they loved you while you were still living.
There’s no impact in telling someone when they’re dead.
This is Booger’s favoritest cousin in the whole wide world. She’s not that much younger than me, and she is the eldest child of Aunt Purdy Lady. They’ve heard this all her life (and I’m sure they’re pretty sick of it), but they could pass for twins. TWINS, I tells ‘ya. From their hair, to their demeanor, to their sense of fashion. It’s uncanny. And scary! She’s been apart of Booger’s daycare regimen since she was a little babe in swaddling clothes. These two have a special bond. She’s a good egg. I think we’ll keep her.
This is another one of the cousins. Little hamburger that he is. He could be such a ladies man if he weren’t just so darn silly! I like him.
This is BFam’s dad. He, BFam and BFam’s brother, Stoopid, all share the same government name. In our earlier days of dating, calling his home was a very confusing time. I was happy when they all adopted nicknames I could freely call them. BFam’s dad – let’s call him That Man – That Man, when asked to be, is pretty funny. The family was hardly surprised when Stoopid called home (in one of his many nomadic stupors) to tell us he was trying his hand at comedy. As long as I’ve known them, all three men have been hilarious crack-ups, keeping relatives in stitches. Of course, I’d be married to the one who never wants anyone to know he’s funny but me (see: Curmudgeon Saint Cranky Pants).
That Man was asked to roast his sister. Since his sister (and most of his family, including himself) is of the spiritual cloth, it wasn’t quite as blue of a roast as, say, Bea Arthur for Pamela Anderson. (Oh, that’s bad. Evacuate the kiddies before playing.) It was tasteful and classy. Lots of inside jokes, jabs at early childhood hairdos. Very loving, brotherly-type stuff.
I’ve said it before, but BFam’s family is large. With any family, you meet obstacles, conflicts in personalities, arguments, rough patches. If you’re the Kennedys, you meet scandals. But out of all their differences (knowing of and having witnessed several myself), it was very nice to see them all come together to celebrate the baby sister of the bunch.
The purdy lady.
[Photographic credit: Mooter (go, Mooter, go!)]
Then & Now
March 5, 2010 by NaysWay · 4 Comments
When Bo was a little bitty baby child, I loved him.
I thought there was nothing better in the world than a Bo.
Who else could get away with being so completely serene… and downright lazy?
Who else could make me believe ugly things were cute?
Who else could resemble the jowls of Walter Cronkite?
Everyone needs a Bo in their life.
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