Hello, Garmin Forerunner 405CX.
It's a sexy beast. It keeps track of me while I scoot around the block, gives me splits, tracks my heart rate and gives an accurate calorie count. Then, it bundles all this information up and puts it on a nice little graph for my viewing pleasure. There's more it can do, but I did the typical "New Gadget Routine": I ripped it out of the box and slapped it on my wrist. Didn't read any literature, just pressed "start" and hoped for the best. Actually, I did have to do a little set-up, but then I got moving. If your gear doesn't make you do this, you have shit gear. I know this for a fact because I have a lot of shit gear myself. Don't beat yourself up. C'mon, let's hug.
My hubby got this for me for Christmas. He's very supportive of my efforts to drop the LB's. he's never been mean, grossed out, whatever about my being, errrr....husky. However, I owe it to myself to get back in shape like I was pre-kiddos. I want to get healthy, have more energy and blahblahblah. The other part of the picture is that my hubby was never a chubby-chaser. Why should he start now?
I'm not usually one to cling to a material object and hold it so near and dear to my heart; however, I find that I love this watch more than 99% of humanity. That makes me part of the 1% that everyone (who's cool) hates. I don't care. Let them eat cake! I love this friggin watch!
Christmas was great-minus all the barfing. The final tally: 3 of 5 had the stomach flu. A 4th got sick 2 days later. I should have out the watch on while puking to see what kind of workout I was getting. I lost 6lbs that night! Man, I always have great ideas after the fact. Dammit!
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
A note to the triage nurse:
I get it.
It's the Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night. Who the Hell wants to go to work? I know I always loathed those occasional Friday night air refueling missions when I was Active Duty. Shiiiiiiit, girl! I'm with you!
But you know what else I don't want to do on the Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night? I don't want to watch my baby vomit so hard he's breathless. I don't want him to crumple against me after hurling the water he just drank and letting out a soft whimper because he's too weak to cry. Then, he pulls himself up and stumbles to the kitchen and says "wahwah" because he's so friggin thirsty (since he can't keep anything down). I don't want to watch him sway and stumble or feel his tight little grip on my neck as he clings to me for comfort, his breath sour with stomach acid.
Above all else, The number one thing I do not want to do on the Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night is talk to you. I don't know how you got where you are...working the Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night. Perhaps you're the lowest on the totem pole. Maybe you guys drew straws. It could be your scheduler doesn't like you. Or, maybe you're hard up for extra cash and took the shift so you could put food on the table and this makes you angry. Either way, know how you DIDN'T get to be working this Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night? Not by me. I had no say in the matter. In fact, I don't even know your schedular's name much less a phone number. No, triage nurse, I had no say in the matter. Please don't take it out on my baby boy, Sam.
In case you're wondering, I heard every sigh. I noticed every impatient note in your voice as you "answered" my questions. I picked up on your "You're a dummy, Mom" vibe. For example, when you asked "how many times has he puked" and I said "10" I totally heard the annoyance as you had to explain that you don't count the actual number of times barf left his mouth, you count the times he had an "episode" of puking separated by time. So, although he puked 3x, it only counts as 1 since they were back-to-back. How stupid of me not to know this.
Like I said before, I get it. I know this is no big deal to you because, well...you told me it was no big deal. I thank you for your advice on how to help my little boy. It was hard pulling that nugget of wisdom out of your brain, but I have it. Sam has finally fallen asleep and I hope he is able to fight this thing while he slumbers.
But this isn't about my little man, it's about you. Ms. Triage Nurse, I wish you a healthy life. I hope there will never be a day our paths cross because tonight I will wish on a shooting star that I could harness the power of projectile vomit so I could do so right in your face (you know since it's no big deal). Hope you enjoy the rest of your night! I will hug my children and be glad I don't have to work Eve of Christmas Eve and Friday night. I've seen how that can make a person into a cold heartless mass of shit.
It's the Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night. Who the Hell wants to go to work? I know I always loathed those occasional Friday night air refueling missions when I was Active Duty. Shiiiiiiit, girl! I'm with you!
But you know what else I don't want to do on the Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night? I don't want to watch my baby vomit so hard he's breathless. I don't want him to crumple against me after hurling the water he just drank and letting out a soft whimper because he's too weak to cry. Then, he pulls himself up and stumbles to the kitchen and says "wahwah" because he's so friggin thirsty (since he can't keep anything down). I don't want to watch him sway and stumble or feel his tight little grip on my neck as he clings to me for comfort, his breath sour with stomach acid.
Above all else, The number one thing I do not want to do on the Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night is talk to you. I don't know how you got where you are...working the Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night. Perhaps you're the lowest on the totem pole. Maybe you guys drew straws. It could be your scheduler doesn't like you. Or, maybe you're hard up for extra cash and took the shift so you could put food on the table and this makes you angry. Either way, know how you DIDN'T get to be working this Eve of Christmas Eve and a Friday night? Not by me. I had no say in the matter. In fact, I don't even know your schedular's name much less a phone number. No, triage nurse, I had no say in the matter. Please don't take it out on my baby boy, Sam.
In case you're wondering, I heard every sigh. I noticed every impatient note in your voice as you "answered" my questions. I picked up on your "You're a dummy, Mom" vibe. For example, when you asked "how many times has he puked" and I said "10" I totally heard the annoyance as you had to explain that you don't count the actual number of times barf left his mouth, you count the times he had an "episode" of puking separated by time. So, although he puked 3x, it only counts as 1 since they were back-to-back. How stupid of me not to know this.
Like I said before, I get it. I know this is no big deal to you because, well...you told me it was no big deal. I thank you for your advice on how to help my little boy. It was hard pulling that nugget of wisdom out of your brain, but I have it. Sam has finally fallen asleep and I hope he is able to fight this thing while he slumbers.
But this isn't about my little man, it's about you. Ms. Triage Nurse, I wish you a healthy life. I hope there will never be a day our paths cross because tonight I will wish on a shooting star that I could harness the power of projectile vomit so I could do so right in your face (you know since it's no big deal). Hope you enjoy the rest of your night! I will hug my children and be glad I don't have to work Eve of Christmas Eve and Friday night. I've seen how that can make a person into a cold heartless mass of shit.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Too Cool For Christmas
Is it just me, or does there seem to be a bit of a backlash against Christmas magic?
Believe me, I feel pretty stupid writing "Christmas Magic" but I'm not sure how else to describe it. I define this "magic" as the belief that one man delivers toys to all the girls and boys around the world in a night. Or, it's the little bagged treat that a child might find on his or her nightstand every morning brought to them via a Christmas Angel who helps them count down the days till the 25th. These days such practices seem to be under fire, In particular, the "Elf on a Shelf".
For those who don't know (and until recently, I counted myself among your numbers) there's this elf. He sits on a shelf, but each day he moves to another shelf. Case closed. Recently, due to various social networks, blogs, sharing of pictures, some creative people have their elf sipping a beer, zip-lining from the staircase to the tree or reminding little ones to brush their teeth via lipstick on a mirror and smiling elf below with a toothbrush in hand.
Big deal. I personally don't have the time, imagination or energy to constantly move a toy all over the house. After our bedtime HELL of screaming overtired kids, the last thing I want to do is bake some homemade cookies, throw flour around the kitchen and break an egg on the counter and sit my elf next to it in an attempt to convince my 3-year-old that our toy did this. I just want to lay down and sleep myself! My kid wouldn't give a shit about the kitchen, she would happily gobble down the cookies and I'll not only have a kitchen to clean, I'll likely have to clean up after my sick kid who just ate a dozen Elf cookies. But I hold no grudges towards the Mom who can make that happen.
At my house, we are doing an advent calendar. It was my sister's idea; decorate some brown paper lunch bags with numbers to count down the days to Christmas. We hung them along the kitchen window drapes with a clothes pin so they are part of our decorations. Each night, I take one down, slip a little treat (a candy cane, plastic jewelry, Chapstick, etc.) in the bag and voila! Our house has been hit by Santa's helper. My daughter goes bananas. The look on her face each morning makes me start the day out on the right foot. Now, if I told my friends they have to do this or risk being a terrible parent, then yes, I deserve to be punched in the throat. But to say I suck because of something I do in the privacy of my own home, which has no bearing on your life or the life of your children, goes too far. As Ice Tea once said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "go eat a hot bowl of dicks".
I've seen some comments on how those who participate in creative elf on the shelf placements are "nut jobs" who "need to get a life". Really? A mom who wants to have a little fun with her kids is a nut job because she puts her elf in Dad's favorite chair and has him reading a book? Again, it doesn't have any effect on your life, why do you care? One person points it that it makes the rest of us non-creatve, time-crunched Moms look bad. I would argue that you writing you want to punch someone over something as asinine as a stuffed elf makes you look bad.
If I want my kids to believe in Santa or an elf who comes alive, that's my prerogative. My parents had us believing in Santa Claus and when I found out he wasn't real, I didn't resent them for this "great sham" they pulled over on us kids. I looked forward to doing the same to my own kids because it was such a sweet innocence. If people want to let their kids believe an elf smoked Dad's favorite cigar, drank some brandy and erased the DVR list, who cares? What harm is there? If the same friend broke into my house, threw a feral cat dressed as a reindeer in the living room with her elf strapped to its back, then we'd have an issue which I would resolve via a punch to the throat. Otherwise, keep posing that elf, enjoy the holiday season and love your kids the best way you know how.
Believe me, I feel pretty stupid writing "Christmas Magic" but I'm not sure how else to describe it. I define this "magic" as the belief that one man delivers toys to all the girls and boys around the world in a night. Or, it's the little bagged treat that a child might find on his or her nightstand every morning brought to them via a Christmas Angel who helps them count down the days till the 25th. These days such practices seem to be under fire, In particular, the "Elf on a Shelf".
For those who don't know (and until recently, I counted myself among your numbers) there's this elf. He sits on a shelf, but each day he moves to another shelf. Case closed. Recently, due to various social networks, blogs, sharing of pictures, some creative people have their elf sipping a beer, zip-lining from the staircase to the tree or reminding little ones to brush their teeth via lipstick on a mirror and smiling elf below with a toothbrush in hand.
Big deal. I personally don't have the time, imagination or energy to constantly move a toy all over the house. After our bedtime HELL of screaming overtired kids, the last thing I want to do is bake some homemade cookies, throw flour around the kitchen and break an egg on the counter and sit my elf next to it in an attempt to convince my 3-year-old that our toy did this. I just want to lay down and sleep myself! My kid wouldn't give a shit about the kitchen, she would happily gobble down the cookies and I'll not only have a kitchen to clean, I'll likely have to clean up after my sick kid who just ate a dozen Elf cookies. But I hold no grudges towards the Mom who can make that happen.
At my house, we are doing an advent calendar. It was my sister's idea; decorate some brown paper lunch bags with numbers to count down the days to Christmas. We hung them along the kitchen window drapes with a clothes pin so they are part of our decorations. Each night, I take one down, slip a little treat (a candy cane, plastic jewelry, Chapstick, etc.) in the bag and voila! Our house has been hit by Santa's helper. My daughter goes bananas. The look on her face each morning makes me start the day out on the right foot. Now, if I told my friends they have to do this or risk being a terrible parent, then yes, I deserve to be punched in the throat. But to say I suck because of something I do in the privacy of my own home, which has no bearing on your life or the life of your children, goes too far. As Ice Tea once said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "go eat a hot bowl of dicks".
I've seen some comments on how those who participate in creative elf on the shelf placements are "nut jobs" who "need to get a life". Really? A mom who wants to have a little fun with her kids is a nut job because she puts her elf in Dad's favorite chair and has him reading a book? Again, it doesn't have any effect on your life, why do you care? One person points it that it makes the rest of us non-creatve, time-crunched Moms look bad. I would argue that you writing you want to punch someone over something as asinine as a stuffed elf makes you look bad.
If I want my kids to believe in Santa or an elf who comes alive, that's my prerogative. My parents had us believing in Santa Claus and when I found out he wasn't real, I didn't resent them for this "great sham" they pulled over on us kids. I looked forward to doing the same to my own kids because it was such a sweet innocence. If people want to let their kids believe an elf smoked Dad's favorite cigar, drank some brandy and erased the DVR list, who cares? What harm is there? If the same friend broke into my house, threw a feral cat dressed as a reindeer in the living room with her elf strapped to its back, then we'd have an issue which I would resolve via a punch to the throat. Otherwise, keep posing that elf, enjoy the holiday season and love your kids the best way you know how.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
I'm fat, yet I want another cookie
I wish my mom was a crappy cook! Tonight's dinner: fried wontons and noodle soup. Then, I ate some pumpkin bread. Joyce, you fat bastard!
Anyone else freaked out about Christmas? I think I'm getting into gift card territory due to me not having a damn minute to think about what to buy people. Plus, I don't have the patience to cart my kids around crowded stores. I saw a guy cough up a hairball or something and then spit it on the floor. Can you guess where I was? Yup, free cookie to you if you guessed Walmart. I don't want my impressionable 3-year-old to see this. Plus, that kid has a knack for finding the grossest thing imaginable and stepping in it. Then, she'll fall down and somehow this piece of grossness will end up in her mouth. No thank you, Ma'am!
Speaking of cookies, I'm ramping up my workouts so I can shake some extra ass off of me. My YMCA membership is freaking great! I enjoy the classes and feel good about working out there. I'm not the fattest chick, nor am I the worst-dressed. If I could control my diet better, I'd really be kicking ass.
This past Wednesday, I saw a sad episode of "I'm Kicking Your 3-Year-Old Out of Dance Class". It was awful. The teacher told a Mom that her kid was a misery to have in class and she'd appreciate it if the kid would scram. She told her this in front of every other parent in the building. This teacher stopped the class (mid-dance) to take a 3-year-old out and kick her to the curb. I got to see a 3-year-old's heart BREAK right in front of me. There are things in life once seen that cannot be unseen. This is one of them. I wanted to hug that girl and give her anything she wanted at that moment: ice cream, candy, a doll, LeapPad, a car to make her feel better. Mom was no better, she was crying as well. I rubbed her back and tried to calm her down to no avail. She left, broken-hearted 3-year-old in tow. Oh, did I mention her other daughter? The one in the wheelchair who watched her sister crumple to the floor and her mom break down in front of strangers? Yeah. Pathetic. I was so angry I called the owner. I have not received a call back, but I will be following this one up.
This week's craft will be the decoration of gingerbread houses. Yes, I said houseS. I bought 4. I think my kid will eat more of the decorations than actually decorate. While I'll try to not be her partner-in-crime, I'd be a fool not to admit that, yes, I too will be eating a ton of candy meant for the gingerbread house. FAT BASTARD JOYCE!
Hey, Mom just stopped by to invite me out for a walk! I'm in! I joke a lot about it, but I do need to do something to get cookies, candy, cake off my brain. Maybe a little hypnosis. Or maybe I should grow up and get ahold of myself. I choose option "B".
G'nite!
Anyone else freaked out about Christmas? I think I'm getting into gift card territory due to me not having a damn minute to think about what to buy people. Plus, I don't have the patience to cart my kids around crowded stores. I saw a guy cough up a hairball or something and then spit it on the floor. Can you guess where I was? Yup, free cookie to you if you guessed Walmart. I don't want my impressionable 3-year-old to see this. Plus, that kid has a knack for finding the grossest thing imaginable and stepping in it. Then, she'll fall down and somehow this piece of grossness will end up in her mouth. No thank you, Ma'am!
Speaking of cookies, I'm ramping up my workouts so I can shake some extra ass off of me. My YMCA membership is freaking great! I enjoy the classes and feel good about working out there. I'm not the fattest chick, nor am I the worst-dressed. If I could control my diet better, I'd really be kicking ass.
This past Wednesday, I saw a sad episode of "I'm Kicking Your 3-Year-Old Out of Dance Class". It was awful. The teacher told a Mom that her kid was a misery to have in class and she'd appreciate it if the kid would scram. She told her this in front of every other parent in the building. This teacher stopped the class (mid-dance) to take a 3-year-old out and kick her to the curb. I got to see a 3-year-old's heart BREAK right in front of me. There are things in life once seen that cannot be unseen. This is one of them. I wanted to hug that girl and give her anything she wanted at that moment: ice cream, candy, a doll, LeapPad, a car to make her feel better. Mom was no better, she was crying as well. I rubbed her back and tried to calm her down to no avail. She left, broken-hearted 3-year-old in tow. Oh, did I mention her other daughter? The one in the wheelchair who watched her sister crumple to the floor and her mom break down in front of strangers? Yeah. Pathetic. I was so angry I called the owner. I have not received a call back, but I will be following this one up.
This week's craft will be the decoration of gingerbread houses. Yes, I said houseS. I bought 4. I think my kid will eat more of the decorations than actually decorate. While I'll try to not be her partner-in-crime, I'd be a fool not to admit that, yes, I too will be eating a ton of candy meant for the gingerbread house. FAT BASTARD JOYCE!
Hey, Mom just stopped by to invite me out for a walk! I'm in! I joke a lot about it, but I do need to do something to get cookies, candy, cake off my brain. Maybe a little hypnosis. Or maybe I should grow up and get ahold of myself. I choose option "B".
G'nite!
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