Underneath it All

Here is my precious family.  When I look at this picture I am quite convinced that I have everything a girl could ever hope for.  So why have I been so focused on how I look during my "Forty Days of Fabulous?"  Why does it matter?  I have asked myself this question over and over throughout my life: “Does it matter how I look?” This question brings to mind a quote from the Jim Carrey movie, "Liar Liar."  The little boy looks up innocently at his father and states, "My teacher says that beauty is on the inside," Jim Carrey responds, "Yeah that's just what ugly people say."   

In the end, beauty, goodness, kindness, and worth truly come from inside.  When I am 90-years-old, on my deathbed, I probably won't be too concerned that my purple bouffant looks a little lopsided or that I had to roll my bosoms into my bra earlier that morning--I will be content that I led a good life, lived how I believed, and was surrounded by the people I loved most.

But...

I also believe that how you look on the outside can be a reflection of how you feel about yourself on the inside.  At least I know this is true for me.  When I am lonely, tired, feeling like a fatty, or like I just don't measure up to all the "perfect" moms in the world, I allow myself to look sloppy.  I guess it's sort of a weird self-punishment.  I tell myself, "I don't deserve to look beautiful, so why try."  I started this "Fabulous" program as a way of proving to myself that I do, in fact, deserve to look beautiful.  It's a kind of self-improvement therapy starting from the outside, moving inward.   I’m becoming beautiful on the outside AND inside…like a Kardashian.  

Getting Ready

A couple funny things about getting fancy for the day:


1. I look completely ridiculous in the process of hair-do.  Case in point: Velcro rollers.  My daughter Ally said "Mom, why do you have those little tunnels in your hair?"

2. Sometimes husband wonders if the look is complete but is reluctant to ask.  Example below: pin curls.  He asked, "So are you going out with those little buns on your head?"  



He was relieved to see that the result was the picture below and not some weird experiment with a rebellious, youthful look. 

3. Sometimes you hope that Thursday's hair and makeup will carry over through the next morning.  But you end up with a Freaky Friday:

The Morning After Day Deux

The best thing about choosing to spend an hour to curl my hair on day 2, Sunday, was that I didn't have to do my hair on day 3, Monday. I rocked my aftercurl. This was a wonderful thing because, as you can see, I was very tired that morning--so tired, in fact, that I had little brown bags under my eyes. 

If you scroll down, tilt your head and look a bit closer--you'll see the little bags.

 

Day Deux

Below is my Sunday look.  I used a 1" ceramic curler.  The first look I call "Happy," the second, "Magnum for Moms."  I've really had fun with this.  A collegue of my husband's said, "You know you've really been looking pretty these days."  I tried not to resent the fact that she sounded seriously surprised.  I said "Thank you.  I'm trying to pull it together--this whole two kids thing really threw me for a loop."  Maybe that awkward comment distroyed my fabulous, but I didn't mind.  I strutted out that door like a Beverly Hills Housewife free of emotional problems.  And I reminded myself, "Work it Girl!"

Forty Days of Fabulous

I’ve been tired and moping around for a while and I’m tired of being tired and moping around.  In a weird way, it is comfortable in this little rut and oftentimes being comfortable, for me, means looking like a slob.  In an effort to get excited about life and show myself a little more respect, I started a program on Saturday called, “Forty Days of Fabulous.”  Every day, before I show my face in public, for the next forty days, I will have styled hair, sensible makeup, and normal clothes (normal clothes meaning no random t-shirts, sweatpants/pajama pants, or hot-air-balloon sized frumpy shirts that hide everything and make me look 50 pounds heavier than my already heavy frame).   It is day four and I feel great.  Here are the pictures from day one.  They're a little goofy, but I'm goofy and will always be no matter the fabulousness.  Stay tuned.



Poop

     My oldest daughter had an accident the other day which involved poop and her wiping some of that poop on my arm.  Details omitted for the sake of our relationship and for the sake of any future mean girls in junior high (which is when, I believe, mean girls are the meanest).  So imagine me, with poop on my arm, disgusted.  My daughter is exhausted and therefore uncontrollably giggly about the whole thing.
     "You never wipe poop on people, never, ever," I say in a very non-yelling, but stern voice. "That is terrible!" I say.  She stops giggling and we head over to the bathtub.  As she climbs in, her lip begins to shake, then her chin, she sits in the running water, covers her eyes and lets out the most heartbreaking sob. 
    "Mom, you broke my feelings, Mom."  (She likes to use my name twice for dramatic emphasis) 
    "When I said 'That is terrible?'" I guessed.
    "Yes," she responded, "It was such...strong language, Mom!"

    Hopefully you will forgive my strong language as I attack the delicate subject of poop.  Yes, poop: the thing that is usually brown and smelly, and when you're getting healthy amounts of fiber, curved, or as Doctor Oz says, "C-Shaped."   I haven't paid particular attention to which alphabet letter my poop most resembles, but poop happens every day, if I'm lucky twice a day, and that is that.  I hadn't given much thought to poop, until a little over four year ago, when I became a mother.  Suddenly this stinky thing that I had long forgotten became a regular topic of my life's work and conversation. 
    "Did you see the meconium?" The doctor asked, referring the baby's very first poop--a sticky, jelly-ish, dark-brown, almost black, tar-like substance.  And after a few weeks, more questions about poop:

    "How many poopie diapers does she have in a day?"
    "What color is her poop, is it kind-of yellowish?" 
    "What is the texture of her poop?  It should be thin and slimy, almost greasy-looking."
    "Are you beginning to see the seeds in her poop?" (little pebbles in breastfed newborn baby poop)
    "Are her poops becoming less frequent, and thicker now?" (..."Now that you have ruined her life and switched to formula?")

    Poop is an overall barometer of good health.  Oh yes, and behavior.  Have you ever dealt with a constipated baby, or worse, a constipated TODLER?  You won't believe how much you value poop until your toddler is constipated.  And then of course there is the inevitable potty training.  I remember calling my mom two years ago completely panicked when I caught my daughter playing and coloring with her poop. 
   "Is it normal for kids to play with their poop?  Did any of your kids (one of my sixteen siblings) ever play with their poop?"
   "Oh yeah, oh yeah, your older brothers used to carry it around in their little, toy dump trucks and zoom it across the room.  And some of them liked to sculpt it, it's ok, it just means they're very artistic.  Just clean her up, and go out and buy her some play-dough or something."  I was stunned to silence.  You learn amazing things about your own mom when you have kids. So I stepped back and thought,  if my mom can deal with poopie dump trucks, I can deal with this isolated poop incident.  And I did.  We cleaned up and went shopping for a more suitable sculpting medium.

    The next time someone calls you, or something you do, a piece of S....Something stinky like poop, first, unfriend them on Facebook, then say "Thank you."  Because poop is essential.  There are many caring hours spent by moms across the world as they decide how to best wipe it up and toss it out.  Poop is a major labor of love in this life, so let's not give it such a bad name.

Blog Description

I’m having a very hard time pinning down a description for the top of my blog.  What would a visitor to this site most need to know about me and why I am writing?  Um...I don't know, how dare you put me in a small box!   The weight loss blog was easy "I’m fat, read all about my struggle to lose weight."  It was clear, concise, vision, direction, motivational poster with inspiring image of a tiny lighthouse standing amidst a tidal wave. 

This blog is more all-encompassing.  So I quickly jotted down some ideas for my blog description.  It must be a catchy one-liner that describes my life, which will of course be written in pretty cursive, accented by a crafty, flower background. 

Here’s what I came up with:

1) Me and my talkie talk

2) The world is my oyster, but oysters taste like day-old, throat-lugies

3) A regular mom on her way to glamorous and awesome, as soon as she cleans out the Toyota Corolla

4) I really want to be skinny but not as much as I want to always have chocolate

5) Sometimes I sit alone in a corner and speak to the small people who live in my wall

6) I'd much rather be fat and funny than skinny and annoying

7) Does it creep you out that I kind of want a huge collection of Barbie Dolls?

8) My life is awesomer than your life

9) The daily troubles of an amazing, Einstein, genius, artistic, super-model-type

10) Where do we go from here?  It doesn't matter, because wherever that is, there will always be a   McDonalds nearby

Sweet Feet!

I am completely addicted to flat shoes and have been since BEFORE my second daughter was born.  I'm sorta running out of excuses for this behavior.  I'm not pregnant, and I don't have a newborn strapped to me.  My baby is approaching seven months, so that makes...um..almost a year-and-a-half of wearing flat shoes.  I am not referring to the cutsie flat kind, with jewels and fabric flowers.   Mine are sandals: black, ATHLETIC sandals.  I made certain, when I bought them MORE than 20 months ago at "Ross", that it would be nearly impossible to decipher the "Columbia" name and logo.  I knew only creepy feet-people would take the time to read the tiny white-on-black print, and feet-people can't be trusted anyway, so um, that is my excuse...I wear black athletic sandals as a way of weeding out people who are only friends with me because of my feet. 

Actually, I wear them (even to church) because they are so, so comfortable!!  I really WANT to wear the awesome HUGE heels, but it seems that each time I try on heels, the available styles are at least 1" taller than the ones I tried  last time.  They keep growing taller, and taller!  Can we stop this, can we stop the insanity!!??  It's really scary for a shoe size 10-11, flat-footed mom!  I've always been clumsy in heels and the extra pounds lately are not helping.  I remember buying a $179 pair of BCBG satin heels in collage, about 3.5", showing them off to an acquaintance with a prideful strut, and her saying, "They're cute, but they look... really...uncomfortable."  "Uncomfortable" is nice-girl code for "They're really bad, you look desperate...don't hurt yourself."  These days you can really get away with such trashy-looking heels while just seeming "trendy" (Are you officially an old women when you say "These days?" Probably.)  I WANT SOME TRASHY heels!!  I suppose I could invest in some "Toms" but every time I try on the canvas shoe, I can't help but feel like a very old man wearing his house-shoes while reclining on the lazy boy after a long day at golf.  But maybe old-man-couch-potato shoe is better than black athletic sandal.  Oh Hum.  I will hold off on the heel, for now, for the safety of me and my children.  But some day me and my curvy figure with ROCK a SWEET pair.  And when I do, LOOK OUT!

Cleaning with all my heart

I don't actually take pride in the fact that my kitchen gets REALLY messy sometimes.  I like to joke about how I'm a little bit of a slob and have a hard time pulling it together some days, but in reality I am just like everyone else--I want to have a clean, welcoming place to cook and call home.  If clean is what I want, why does it not always happen?  Ironically, I was pondering this question in the last hour while cleaning the kitchen.  And I think the answer is as simple as this: I would rather be doing something else.  So I find lots of something else's to do while the mess piles up.  It is Classic avoidance, or "Sweeping" under the rug (although we all know I won't be doing any actual sweeping).  Part of me says, "Yeah someone else will get to that."  Then the rational part of me says, "I am the only person home right now who can even reach the counter top."  No one really likes to clean the kitchen (ok some of you freaks do), but people do it anyway because it has to be done.  Instead of continuing to avoid cleaning the kitchen by writing this post, I shall sign off, turn on some music, and make the cleaning somewhat enjoyable.  If it must be done, I might as well find a way to LIKE it, and do it the way I do lots of other things: with all my heart.

Here is some motivation: my "After" picture from a few weeks ago.

Wisdom from The Face-Painting Booth

Today we ventured off to not one, but TWO nearby fairs.  The first was complete with acres of prize livestock and fried EVERYTHING, the second a more quaint affair geared toward children with a few booths and bounce houses.  I have always loved and always will love a good, down-home, dirty state fair, despite the questionable bathrooms and UNIQUE attendees.  But the set-up crew could have been a little more considerate of the pigs by not parking them 10 feet from the chocolate-dipped bacon stand.  That image and the fattened, white-feathered turkeys running behind a remote-control monster truck made me seriously consider a vegan lifestyle...then it was lunch time and they had a deal on foot-long corn dogs.

The first state-fair event was a little too much stimulation for my four-year old, but she absolutely loved the local fair.  She happily walked up to each child, as she always does, and said, "Oh hi, you wanna come to my house?"  And she bounced with determined glee for TWO hours.  I convinced her to take a break to get her face painted.  She confidently asked for a sparkly butterfly and pointed to the top of her left cheek. 

The owner of the booth was a dark haired women with a dozen bright colored feathers and jewels hanging from her hair pined up messily with loose strands waving every direction.  She and her fiancé traveled to various farmers markets and parties with their face painting, feather extension, henna business.  She gave me a card and I asked the origin of her first name.  "Indian..Hindi and Sanskrit," She said.  "Oh fantastic!" I said.  "Do you have Indian heritage?" I asked.  "No, I don't have ancestors from India, but I am part Native American, Cherokee, actually, what is your heritage?" She asked.  "Um...some Swiss, Swedish, I think some Scottish...yeah I'm just regular white, I'm just a regular white lady."  She put her brush and paints down and looked me square in the face, "You are not regular, don't say that.  You are a very nice person and you are very pretty, I hope someone else has told you that today."   I was speechless for a few moments, and said, "Thank You."  The determination in her eyes said, "How dare you say you are something less than you are." I thought of my daughter and how I would want her to see herself as the treasure that she is yet here I was self loathing.  Wisdom comes from the strangest places and I'm glad my ears and eyes were open to catch it this time. I walked away a little humbled knowing that I need to give myself a little more credit, because I am different, I am me, and gosh darn it, people like me!

Bear In a Box

I joined a co-op playgroup/preschool and last week it was my turn to teach on Tuesday and Thursday.  On Tuesday the letter of the day was "B" and the theme "Bears."  The goal was to get the kids familiar with the "Buh" sound.  I was brainstorming other "B" words that could accompany "Bears" and I couldn’t get past "Boobs" and "Boogers."  I asked the internet and wasn’t satisfied with the reply so I headed over to my ZEN place: Michael’s Arts and Crafts!  Amongst the toll paints and woodcraft cutouts I found a flat, blank, wooden teddy bear and a latched wooden box just big enough to hold the little guy.  "Bear in a Box!" I said aloud.  "What are you gonna do mom?" my four-year-old daughter Ally asked with a note of apprehension.  "I am going to write a poem about a bear in a box and you and your friends will decorate the wooden bear and the wooden box!"  "Oh," she said, squelching a smile from the corners of her mouth: a signature “Ally Stamp of Approval.” So here it is:

Bear In a Box

I have a bear, a little bear

He was hiding outside under a chair

I asked him if he’d like to be

Inside a nice warm house with me

He said alright, he said he could

“But don’t you know I’m made of wood?”

“I know you are, I don’t mind

I think you’re quite a special find”

He looked around, scared and worried

And into the palm of my hand he hurried

“I am small and very flat

I’m surprised you didn’t notice that”

I shook my head, said, “Little bear

If you’re small or thick or covered in hair

My little friend you will always be

Safe in my room at home with me”

He seemed content with what I said and asked

“But where will I rest my weary head?”

I looked for a moment, found the perfect place

A bed for a bear, a wooden case

“It’s just the spot for a bear your size

A place you can hide your troubled eyes

But I will open the box every midday

So just the two of us can play”

His face lit up and he went to see

“Yes, this box is just the place for me!”

We fastened some felt to make it cozy

The excitement turned his cheeks all rosy

He hopped inside and said “Thank You”

“I’ve never had a friend so true”

I pated his head, tucked him in tight

He closed his box and went to sleep for the night

The very next day and every day after

Our afternoons were filled with laughter

We shared secrets and stories, books we read

Or we just played checkers instead

I know you’d really like to see

But he only answers a knock from me

And that is how, as sly as a fox

I keep my secret bear in a box

Lucky Charms Anyone??

I'm sure many of you have spent (wasted?) time on the website Pinterest.  I have also been sucked into this craze.  But as I browse all the crafts, recipes, interior decorating, vinyl lettering, quotable embroidered pillows, glass etched knick knacks, and home-grown-organic table spreads, I can't help but feel a little...inferior.  I don't know when pinterest became a ferocious competition, but in my insecure brain it WAS, and I was the dead-last loser.  Maybe the rest of you have perfect homes with ribbon encrusted girls bedrooms but that is not my home.  So, as an exercise in self-worth I aired my dirty...er..CLEAN laundry.  As if to say "You are ok, even though you have a 1.5-week pile of laundered clothes that need to be folded and put away."  It may come across a little sarcastic to put nasty home pictures next to mostly artistic images, but I knew that others could relate to REAL interior decorating and get a good laugh.  Above is another gem I snapped immediately after taking the "Laundry Vomit" picture: Lucky Charms as they were meant to be: a day old floating in greasy sink water.  SO in my own unique way I shall keep pinning and keep on keeping it real!  Here is "Laundry Vomit" for those who missed it.

New Blog, New Beginning

I am still overweight, and still trying to "Lose IT."  But I am also doing many other things.  Weight loss can seem all-encompassing to those of us who try so hard to do it, yet seem to only succeed at failing to lose anything but our sanity.  Losing weight is actually only a small part of who I am and I have a lot of random stuff to say about a lot of other random things.  So I welcome you to my new blog:  “Laughing and Losing It”--which covers, well, MORE about my life.  So for the voyeurs out there who are intensely disappointed at my abandonment of babyfatbrat.blogspot.com, don't worry I shall continue to reveal the embarrassing nuances of my life for your reading pleasure including some posts on weight loss.  If you are a new reader or friend, I encourage you to take a look at babyfatbrat.blogspot.comto get to know who I am and what I’ve been up to.   I stole the phrase “Laughing and Losing It” from my other blog because I feel it applies to how I react to the craziness of life.  Sometimes I am laughing, other times I am completely losing it, and most of the time I am doing a little bit of both.  I hope you enjoy and offer your comments in the many posts to come.  Here I go!