Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Scariest Halloween EVER... almost

I was sitting here, mindlessly surfing the web while the baby takes his nap. Mostly, I'm avoiding cleaning up the mess we've made in the past few days. when. my. computer. shut. off. All by itself. No Warning. Just. *bleep*

Yeah, off. Panic struck my heart. my beloved computer. it's dead. my laptop. my friend. Let the mourning begin. Turns out, once I'd calmed myself down, that perhaps it wasn't my computer that was dead. I removed the battery, reinserted it. Unplugged the power cord, replugged it back in. Then, a choir of thousands of angels began to sing as the fan began to hum, and the word "DELL" in big beautiful blue letters appeared on what had previously been the lifeless monitor. It turns out that my POWER cable is well, a bit on the used side. Right now I have half my battery life. My only hope is that Dell can ship me a power cord. suuper fast. Like tomorrow. Or I'll die. No seriously, I might actually curl up into a ball and die from lack of technology. Because 1:40 is NOT long enough to sustain me for the next week.

I have found the secret access code to my husband's computer. All is not lost. But, it could make for a terrible week. This computer is slow, and the waiting makes my brain hurt. But the power cord to my computer, which I thought was okay so long as I didn't. touch. the. cord. It really quit working. Just in time for NaBloPoMo... starting tomorrow. yah. good times. good times.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

At this moment...

one year ago, my baby boy was born.

All Done?

Happy Birthday sweetheart!

Monday, October 29, 2007

A year of learning

Childbirth isn't as scary as you think it is. Parenting, however is a different story.

A woman’s nipple can stretch 14 feet when a nursing baby turns his head to see what the answer is to Final Jeopardy.

A person can survive, albeit not well, on 2 hours of sleep per night for several months at a time.

Breastfeeding is natural, but doesn’t always come naturally. A person can survive on 20 minutes of sleep at a time for approximately 5 days before going completely insane.

Have a girl. The clothing manufacturers have deemed that boys do not need clothing.

Babies can go from giggles to gut-wrenching, ear-bleeding screams in less than one nanosecond.

Baby fingernails grow at the rate of one foot per hour.

A baby’s 9 inch arm can stretch to 10 feet.

Babies can throw better than I can.

Being a parent is the HARDEST thing I’ve ever done, but has more rewards than anything I’ve ever done.

Change diaper sizes when your child reaches the MINIMUM weight on the next size up.

While they seem small, babies can simultaneously hold enough poop to clog a toilet and enough vomit to fill a 5 gallon bucket.

The only night in three months that you eat in the living room, baby will vomit all over your nice fluffy couch.

Baby vomit is hard to get out of couches.

Baby vomit smell never goes away.

Toys are for losers. Babies instead like to play with boxes, envelopes, cell phones, remote controls, keys, and cups. Don’t buy toys.

Baby cereal can be used as hairspray, superglue, or cement.

It’s stupid to travel with baby. You should just plan on moving where you want to visit. You’ll have to bring enough stuff to fill a 4 bedroom house anyway.

Before babies there are 365 days in a year. After, that number is reduced to 12.

Babies produce enough ear wax in a week to wax a gymnasium floor.

Fetch: It’s not just for dogs anymore!

Legos, blocks and toys with sharp pointy corners have the ability to transport to alternate dimensions during the day so you can’t find them when you clean. They return to this dimension after you’ve gone to sleep. They return in the middle of the path you take as you stumble to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Stepping on a sharp toy in the middle of the night can cause you to pee your pants.

Even the best sleepers will wake up when mom starts screaming out profanity in the middle of the night because a sharp pointy toy has found the bottom of her foot on the way to the bathroom, causing her to pee her pants.

Go to the bathroom BEFORE you change any diapers or begin feeding/nursing, etc. It will make the experience better for all.

Just because it is legal to put your nearly one year old son on your lap for the flight, doesn’t mean you should. Children who are used to running around all day do not do well being HELD DOWN on a plane for several hours.

Raisins are NOT a good airline snack.

Raisins look the same going out as they do coming in.

Be careful when removing clothing after a raisin poo. Otherwise, you’ll end up with raisins EVERYWHERE..

It’s not fun to clean up pre-digested raisins.

Giant stuffed animals make great friends, but even better wrestling buddies.

“No” hurts worse than a chipped tooth.

A smile at the right time, followed by a hug can cost you 2.900 Bahrani Dinar. And its totally worth it. Because every time he sees that goofy stuffed dog a smile erupts all over his face.

What could be scarier than Halloween in a Muslim Country? Being a Parent

When you grow up and have kids, you start looking back on your own childhood and your parents. You suddenly realize that there were many times that you hurt your parents’ feelings, even if you didn’t mean to. You grasp how many times your parents let you do things, aware of the dangers that you were blissfully ignorant of. The fear and pain associated with parenting is not just one of labor and childbirth, but everlasting, and no one tells you about this.

What brought this up? Last night the baby hurt his Daddy’s feelings. He didn’t mean to. I’m sure this is just the first time of many more to come, and I’m sure I’ll get my fair share of hurt feelings. The baby woke up after only an hour or so. So, Dad and I went in. Daddy trying so hard to be the good Dad and help out, wanting to show his son that he loves him, tried to pick up the baby. The baby got a nasty snarl, and pulled his arm away as if Dad were a leper. Surely, Dad thought, he didn’t mean it. So he tried again. And again, the baby pulled away. The baby wasn’t even nice about it. He pulled his arm away in sort of, well, a bratty kind of way. He really wanted his Momma. What was wrong? We still don’t know. We just know it took hours to get him to go back to sleep, and that I ended up laying on the couch with him for over an hour until he finally was able to relax enough to sleep. I’m suspecting molars.

After watching the baby hurt Dad’s feelings, I started thinking about my mother and how she raised us. Looking back, I understand there were many times I hurt my mother’s feelings in much the same way. I know that both of my sisters have hurt her feelings as well; it’s just something children do. What is worse, though, is looking back at how many times she had to “let go.” The worst fear I have is something happening to my child; someone taking him from me or having him get seriously hurt. Every parent worries about their child being hurt, but only a few experience the fear that she did. You see, my, uh, I don’t really want to call him my “father” because he never lived up to that title. Let’s call him “Chromosome Donor,” or CD for short. CD wasn’t really in the picture. Sure, he’d show up randomly expecting us to love him as though we’d seen him every day and he’d actually made some attempt at being a father. One Christmas CD arrived, packed my sister and me up and took us to visit his family in Michigan. As I’ve gotten older I’ve been amazed at the fact that my mother had the strength to let us go, not knowing if we’d ever return. Only in the last year have I even begun to fathom the fear she must have felt that Christmas. I was only five or so, so I barely remember the trip, there are a few crazy memories (one was confusing the “northern lights” with some parking lot lights, and the other with trying to make my sister poop “white”), perhaps that’s a good thing. If I remembered too much more, I might remember the fake smile my mother kept on to hide the dam of tears she’d let fall after we left. He did return us, so all was okay. The fear didn’t end that day though. After the trip to Michigan, we KNEW who HE was. So, she had to do things to keep us from being tricked into leaving with him again, only without her knowledge. She developed a family password. Anyone who was to pick us up from school was to use that family password. I remember her saying “Even if it’s someone you know, unless I’ve told you they are coming to pick you up, they HAVE to say those words.” Those words were (I think we’re safe now.) Purple Cow. What a genius idea was that? Now, it’s pretty common, but in the early 80’s it wasn’t. I don’t know how my mother kept her sanity.
As we got older, there were more things to fear. First, we lived on a lake, so there was the possible “drowning.” We weren’t allowed to swim, or leave the backyard fence when she wasn’t home. HOW AMAZING IS IT THAT WE FOLLOWED THOSE RULES? How easy would it have been for one of us to disobey. JUST ONCE?? Then there’s the fact that she had three girls. There were worries about teenage pregnancy, drugs, car accidents, our sometimes less-than-wholesome friends. The list goes on and on.

Being a parent is scary. You don’t understand how scary it is until you become one, and then you discover how terrifying it was for your parents. You suddenly come to understand the reasons for your parent’s crazy rules; even the ones that seemed silly and outrageous. They weren’t there just to keep you in line, but to keep you safe; because, to be honest, your parents love you more than life itself. Those rules, those crazy regulations, helped ease their fears. We’ve started setting some rules for our child. Easy rules so far: No playing with dangerous things, expensive things that could break. No biting, pulling hair, etc. With each rule I set for my son, I thank my parents for doing the same for me all those years ago. With each new grey hair (yes, I have a new one SMACK in the middle of my forehead) I get from worrying about my son’s safety, I wonder how our parents survived. Somehow, I think it has to do with love. When the baby eats his bananas and gets a silly goober face, or figures something out, or just climbs into my lap for no reason it all comes into perspective.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Daddy Heaven is....

....when the baby wants to hold hands while walking.

....when the baby falls asleep on his shoulder.

.... watching Blues Clues together.

.... hearing your child say "daddy" and mean you.

.... getting that belly laugh after you say "I'm gonna getchoo!"

.... throwing soft giant blocks around the room together.

.... watching the baby's eyes light up when he sees a stuffed dog, and watching him hug and smile and kiss the dog.

.... spending 2.900 dinar on a stuffed dog. (That is $7.71 US)

.... seeing the baby sleep just like his daddy with his arm over his eyes.

.... being smacked in the head 40,000 times with a yellow balloon during lunch and not even caring about it.

.... taking 30 minutes to walk to the grocery store instead of five because we're looking at every person, bicycle, brick, ant and plant along the way.

.... making a noise and having the baby copy you.

.... having chest hairs pulled out because the baby is scared of oncoming traffic and hugs tight to you for safety.

.... making a grilled cheese sandwich, eating the crust and giving the good part to the baby.

.... teaching the baby the appropriate sounds for his new toy cars, and having him listen, copy and learn. and then eat the car.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Ticket Transfers and Remorse.

So, we're still in Virginia. We made a decision. I was going home. I changed my tickets, rearranged my schedule, got a rental car, and got everything arranged. Life should be good, right? We're going to go back to Nebraska and just be happy with our decision. I get a "vacation" (and a great haircut.. Thanks Monique!!), and a chance to visit my most recent home.

I should have been relieved. Only I wasn't. I had something similar to buyers remorse. Starting with the minute that we should have been landing and running into my husband's arms, my life became torture. Moments began being filled with thoughts of:"We should be eating dinner with Daddy right now. We should be going here or doing this with Daddy." Even Daddy was doing it. Daddy said he laid down on the couch and took a nap. His thought went along the lines of "I shouldn't be able to do this.. There should be someone going "bap bap bap" with his little hand on my head making this impossible." We continued to weigh possibilities.. Maybe he could fly home for the week he had planned to take off from work. Too expensive. But 8 more weeks apart might just break the Mommy in this family... so, this morning after getting no answer on the telephone, I drove to the base and found out about the flight status. Were there seats at all for this week? Is it even worth considering? They have plenty of seats (unless you are a category higher than me and want to go anywhere that is on the way. Then go next week. Because there are no seats for you. Please don't come to the airport and get on ahead of me, and boot me from this plane. If that happens, I'm really going to lose it!). So, tomorrow I'm spending my day doing laundry, packing stuff up.. yet again.. So that we can endure the 24 hour trip overseas. I already spent today re-changing our flight information. Now I just hope we can get on the plane home when it comes time to leave.

Perhaps it is a huge bout of PMS, perhaps it is just the fact that my husband has been living separate from us for nearly 18 months. I need to see him. To spend time with him. To be with him. Even if it means enduring another two days of traveling hell, I'm bound and determined to get to spend some time with him. We're coming baby!!

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Travel Story... from H - E - well, you know where!, and Thank God for Good FRIENDS!!

I must premise this post with the fact, that I used to enjoy traveling. I used to like getting on a plane and setting out on an "adventure" to a new place. That sense of "adventure" was smushed when I had a baby. That smushed sense of adventure just got buried.

First of all.. Southwest changed their policy about flying with children, and I didn't know about it. If you don't check in online, you get on the plane AFTER the group A people, and before everyone else. The elderly, disabled and minors traveling without adults still get on the plane first, but people with kids -- forget it. Southwest basically said SCREW YOU to all of us. Why is that a problem? 1) You CANNOT check in online if you have a lap child. 2) Everyone checks in online(putting you in the much coveted A group). I flew on two legs, and there were probably a total of 25 people that got on the plane after me. Not a big deal, except people who don't like kids can't necessarily choose to sit FAR away from me, and I have to stand in that long, slow line while everyone puts all of their stuff away. While carrying two bags. and the squirming 25 pound monster who wants to grab everyone, poke everything and steal stuff, and whine, and well the list goes on forever. It's not very convenient. That didn't end the travel from HE--wherever...

We finally got into Norfolk, I called the hotel and had them come get me. They said 20 minutes. Fine, no big deal. An airport porter loaded my stuff onto a dolly and helped me to the area where the shuttles pick up. Almost two hours later (after a depressing phone call from a friend), the shuttle still hadn't arrived. I had to call the 1800 number to the hotel reservation line (because stupid me forgot to pack the Hotel's number) to get the number. I coulcn't very well walk back into the airport. I had 2 large suitcases, 2 backpacks, a carseat, and a kid in a stroller. (Remember, we're going to be in Bahrain for a month.) The hotel said they'd pay for a cab, so I set about tracking one down. Because I was at the shuttle pick up place NONE of the cabs would stop. So, luckily, the porter noticed this, and came over. He again, LOADED my luggage and helped me get all of my stuff to the Cab Stand. While I was loading the baby into the car seat, I felt it. Yes. It was the GREAT POOP EXPLOSION 2007. Only I didn't know it yet. It was very noticable by the time we got to the room. He was cranky and I found out he had VERY good reason to be when I took off his outfit and poop and raisins went flying everywhere. Yes, Poop and RAISINS. We will not be eating raisins on airplanes anymore.

We had a great dinner and some wine, we went to bed. Oh, but the crib that I got must have had a mattress of needles, because the baby wouldn't sleep in it. The second he touched the matress, he woke up and acted as if I was depositing him in a box of rabid rattlesnakes. I finally gave in and let him sleep with me.

Begin day 2 of travel from hell (you knew that's what I meant anyway).
We got everything ready and went down to the front desk at the hotel WHERE I HAD A RESERVATION for the shuttle to take me to base at 10:30. He wasn't there, so I explained about my experience from the day before. They radioed the shuttle leaving someone else stranded, instead of me. I got to the terminal to find out that there were only 7 seat available. Now, I was flying the equivalent of stand-by, only basically anyone who showed up got on ahead of us. I had the same chance of getting on that plane as I would winning the lottery AND getting struck by lightning in the same day. When I tried to call my husband to discuss the whole situation, I realized that my phone was dead. Not dead like, you might be able to get a number out of your phonebook but you might not be able to make a call, dead as in turns on, then off.

I am currently at a friends house weighing our decision for me to just fly home (baby getting his own seat, of course). I am feeling a bit guilty because even though my husband said he wasn't disappointed, I'm sure he is, at least a little. I would be. At least now I'll have more time to spend with friends and family at home. There will be less stress about the Thanksgiving trip, and getting everything ready to be moved in December.

Thank you Wendy for the ride today. YOU ARE AWESOME!!!!
Thank you Katie, for offering, even though I didn't get in touch with you.. (and, duh you are NOT affiliated with 7 in the previous post!! Silly Lady!!!)
Thank you Frank and Melanie for offering us your home.
Thank you baby for finally taking a nap, even if it is in my arms.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

I've been WHAT?

Okay. So, I guess I've been tagged to tell you 8 things you don't already know about me. First I have to figure out who YOU are... Mostly YOU are people I already know. I know where you are, but I don't know who all of you are, exactly. I'm supposed to tag 8 other people, but like those emails I never send out, I will never tag anyone. I will, however, play the game and tell you 8 things you don't already know about me.

1. I hate waterchestnuts. They make a funny noise when I chew them. I don't mind celery, apples, or any other crunchy little fruits and veggies, but waterchestnuts, they creep me out. The sound of them crunching in my mouth is like fingernails on a chalkboard. They also don't taste that great. I do partake of some things that sound funny or squish in a wrong way, but they are things that TASTE GOOD. Like, scallops for instance. They are squishy, and revolting feeling in my mouth. But they taste good. So I eat them. But waterchestnuts, not so much.

2. I also HATE it when people RAKE the freakin SIDEWALK. The sound of those wiry tines scratching against cement makes the little hairs on the back of my neck not only stand up, but try to run away. Why not just use a broom? Other sounds that really creep me out: When people bite on their forks and SCRRRRRAAAAAAAAPPPPPE their teeth against the tines as they pull the food off... I have shivers thinking about it. (side note: I will ensure that you will suffer a most painful death if I am eating with you and you do this ON PURPOSE because you now know it creeps me out. YOU KNOW I AM TALKING TO YOU HUSBAND! AND CRAZY INTERNET FRIENDS I AM EATING LUNCH WITH SOON!) Sounds that creep me out.. that's what we were talking about right?? Right. The sound of drumming, without any other music makes my blood boil. There was a time in my life when I worked in a cubicle and the person who sat next to me liked to listen to Japanese drums. I actually had to tattle on him to my boss about the drum CD, because the rage inside me grew as the drums went faster and faster and faster and faster and faster. By the time I was irritated enough to ask him to turn the volume down, or put on headphones, I was so irate, that I literally had to go tattle on him. Because that's what adults do. There are lots of sounds that drive me nuts, but those are all I can think of right now.

3. I smoked as a kid. I started smoking at around 15, when I was in high-school. While I was 15 and smoking, I also joined up with the Local Health Department in a raid against STORES THAT SOLD TOBACCO TO MINORS. Yeah, talk about shooting yourself in the foot! I smoked pretty irregularly until I graduated, when I became a human chimney. Especially after I moved out. I smoked Camel Special Lights. Because that word.. "special" made me feel good. Other cigarettes I thoroughly enjoyed: SHEPARD's HOTEL. MMMM.. Once, my friend Gretchen(or was it Vanessa??) and I bought imported cigarettes. From India. Who needs pot when you can smoke imported cigarettes from India? Legally. I quit smoking in the beginning of 2001. Mostly. Smoking was one of the reasons my now husband didn't ask me out sooner. He thought I still smoked when he met me. I didn't. When my husband went on his first 6 month deployment, I smoked again. Not much. I probably bought.... oh, 4 packs of cigarettes in 6 months. But I felt the same way then as I did when I was 15 trying to scam those stores into selling me the cigarettes.

4. My son is named for his grandfathers. His first name is my Dad's name. His middle name is my Husband's Father's name. Husband at one point talked about naming our son the following names: Goku, Tanks, Trunks, and Kai for a boy. All of those names are from -- I'm about to cry as I type this -- Dra -- I don't think I can do it--- gon --- No, I can't. --- Dragonball Z. Okay, I did it. I actually considered Kai. Many other name considerations came from anime and (cough) Marvel or DC Comic Book characters. My husband won out... sortof.... but really, he's named after family.

5. I am addicted to the internet. This is no joke. I go through WITHDRAWAL when I don't have my fix of glowing monitors and stories about other people's lives. I think sometimes that this internet addiction is the cause of my "I can't sleep... ever" problem. Some of my BEST FRIENDS are people I've never met. (My gosh I sound like a freak!) Don't worry. The blogs I read are not the people I consider friends (but I might if I knew them)... I'm talking about a super duper secret room on the internet where a whole bunch of mommies who had babies around October of 2006 chat together. We have been talking about everything (yes husband, EVERYTHING, things you would KILL me if you knew I had told other people) for almost 2 years now. I have met, in real-life, one of them, but I'm getting ready to meet some more in November.

6. When I was in high school I used to panic every time my.. uh.. Aunt Flo?... was late and think I was pregnant. I didn't have sex until much later, way after high school. So, I am a freak. Speaking of the word "FREAK" that brings me to number 7.

7. I know that you talked to my husband when we were dating. I know you asked him why he was interested in me, as though you were trying to dissuade him from dating me. I know you thought he was nuts for wanting a FREAK like me. It still bothers me, and I can't let it go.

8. After giving birth to my son I was so overwhelmed by pumping and nursing and feeding and pumping and feeding and changing and burping and changing and feeding and nursing.. that for the first few weeks of his life... I wasn't sure that I really loved him as much as a mother is supposed to. (I know I did.. I just wasn't sure I loved him ENOUGH.)

9. I am giving you number 9, because number 7 is only directed at a couple of people, and that plain isn't fair.... Hmmm.. This one is going to be tricky. I pretty much will just tell people whatever they want to know about me.... I am 5'3" but I have freakishly large feet. Size 8. That's not freakishly large, unless, of course you're a shrimp, and you're only 63 inches tall. My husband is a FULL 14 inches taller than me.

So, there.. 8 things you don't know about me, unless number 7 pertains to you, and then there's 9. Does this mean I'm done now? Has my "tag curse" been lifted??

Now, can I please be lazy about my posts?? I'm getting ready to try NaBloPoMo.. and I've only got a few weeks to prepare.. I am going to post EVERY DAY IN NOVEMBER PEOPLE!!!!!

Saturday, October 13, 2007

It's on the WAY, I SWEAR!

I recently had this conversation with my husband, via email.

From Husband to Me:
Subject: we are so going to this!!!

From Me to Husband:
Subject: RE: we are so going to this!!!
And when, my dear, will we be in Toronto Canada?????

From Husband to Me:
Subject: RE: we are so going to this!!!
In December when we drive through!

Apparently, we are going to take our truck WITH A FIFTH WHEEL to Toronot Canada. On our way to Monterey CA. Nice. Just in case you haven't figured this out... We currently live near Omaha Nebraska (Look in the middle of the US). This is most definitely totally completely and 100% ON THE WAY to California. Yeah. Sure. It's only out of the way by, OH A THOUSAND MILES. ONE. WAY.

View Larger Map

I've always known my husband had a crazy sense of humor, but I think he's totally lost it if he thinks that driving around though NEW ENGLAND AND CANADA IN DECEMBER IN YARDS AND YARDS AND YARDS OF SNOW with a fifth wheel is fun.

He's totally lost it. Ladies and Gentleman... That is what being away from your wife for 18 months can do. You completely lose all sense and reason. But then, who didn't know that already?

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Return of the Pre-flight anxiety.

I am getting ready to fly to the east coast with my baby. On. My. Lap. Problem is, he's more of a toddler than a baby, and he normally won't allow me to hold him for more than oh, 4 seconds at a time regularly. What possessed me to believe that he will sit still on my lap on an airplane for three hours? To be fair, the first flight to chicago is only an hour or so.. It's the second flight that's three hours. I am having heart palpitations just thinking about it. I am feeling nauseous. This can't be good.

We'll get to the east coast, spend the night, then we'll get on ANOTHER plane. For 24 hours. Or More. He's going to hate me. And hate planes. This plane ride will be better for me in that he'll have his own seat. If he doesn't get his own seat, we're not going. (Sorry husband!)

Being the good Mommy that I am, bought a tray for his carseat so that when he's on the plane he'll be able to eat and have something to drink without sharing my airplane tray. We tried that last time, but the airplane trays end up hitting his cute little feet and won't come down all the way. Hopefully he'll be happier this flight because of the tray. Heck, I might even buy some crayons for him to eat color with. I have tried every place I can think of to ship diapers to our final destination... But no one will ship them there... So, I guess I'm going to have to bring an extra large bag for the baby with a 30 day supply of diapers. At least a 30 day supply isn't nearly as many as it used to be!

He's no longer nursing, so if he starts to fuss it won't be as easy as "whip out the boob" to placate him... I'll have to be... creative... what do you do with a fussy 1 year old on a plane when boobies don't work anymore? I could do dum-dum pops like last time.. Any other ideas?

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

I FOUND IT!!!!!!!

Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. Body Builder, Athlete.. Of course, he's very fit. Not much body fat, eh? But did you know that a BMI table would consider him OBESE:

Thank you!

For example, Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime had a BMI of about 30.2, and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson has a BMI of 32.5. Their high BMI is a result of a high muscle mass and not due to being fat. This puts them much healthier compared to someone who has a BMI of say 26, but with a lot less lean muscle than them.

JUST as I suspected!!! The Navy's calculation of Body Fat/ie BMI is WAY off when it comes to people who are seriously FIT and have a lot of lean muscle mass... My husband would be one of those people!!!

More on military standards...

I have been informed that the tables I have a link to are old. I haven't found anything newer, but here's a better, more thorough website about the Navy Standards.

My husband is 6'5" and weighs around 250. I am 5'3" and weigh around 125. By Navy standards, in order to stay within regulations, my husband needs to drop to 216, losing 34 pounds. I, however, am allowed to GAIN 28 pounds. There is something a teensy bit wrong with their computations of body composition here. That is according to the height/weight chart. If we use their backup plan, my husband is still considered 40% body fat. Yeah. Right. They are full of shit. How do they compute that? They have a magic table. Yes, they measure the neck, and abdomen. Subtract the neck from the abdomen. Then they go to the height of the person, and going down will find the computed measurement. That number from the table is what the person's body fat is.

Want to know who else is "overweight?"

[picture of President Bush removed... 2/6/08]

Yup. Sure is! Does he LOOK overweight? I think not. He's one of the fittest presidents we've had! (This has nothing to do with my view of the bush. I don't really know how I feel about him at the moment...)

Someone who is NOT overweight according to Navy Standards...
[picture of chubby man in the military removed, 2/6/08] (notice his fat neck... that will compensate for any "spare tire" that is there..)

This guy probably wouldn't fit the standards:
[picture of Dwayne Johnson, The ROCK, removed 2/6/08]
I bet he's probably OBESE according to Navy standards!! I'd like to find out!

So, I guess what I'm saying is that it's a bunch of crap. I'm pretty sure "The Rock" does not have anywhere close to 22 percent body fat. I don't care that the military has standards. After all, if you aren't fit it isn't safe for you OR your peers... BUT at least allow the guys to go get calipered or dunked and get a REAL body fat measurement if the highly scientific military methods seem a bit off. I don't think that's too much to ask.

Oh, and if you happen to have or know "The Rock's" height/weight and his neck/abdomen dimensions, I would greatly appreciate knowing them.. Then I can find out what the Navy would consider his body fat to be.

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

From Baby to Boy...

It's amazing how fast that happens. Over the weekend we had an early celebration of his first birthday. It was as if the child actually turned one overnight that night. He amazes me every day. These past few days he has decided to prove to me what a big boy he is. First, when he ate cake, and thought it would be fun to demand a kiss:

Saturday he proved it by playing firefigher. We didn't want him playing with the regulator, so he wasn't happy about having his creative energy stifled here. Babies don't aspire to being firefighters and aren't interested in the big red trucks with fun sirens. Little boys are, though.

Little boys really like Halloween. They love spending time at the pumpkin patch teasing the Billy Goats at the petting zoo, getting muddy in the puddles, picking up rocks and inspecting pumpkins. That is what my baby little boy did today.

No one told me how hard it would be to watch my baby:

become this:

A little boy. (A boy who tried to kiss the girl behind him in this photo, no-less. This was his "victory walk." He followed it up with a hug to my legs, resting his head in my lap to show his sensitive side.) A little, flirty, curious, sometimes naughty, little boy. I know it's been less than a year, but it seems like days. So, please, can we slow down time, just a bit? I don't want to wake up tomorrow and realize that I am sending this little boy off to college just yet.

Monday, October 08, 2007

Take a Stand Baby!

So, apparently my husband, who has lost about well, I don't know, quite a bit of weight since I met him, has gained body fat. At least that's what his body fat test that the military administers has determined. He used to wear a 42 inch waist pant. Now, he barely fills out a 38. He has to lose 30 pounds or 4 inches around his waist to meet standards. 5 years ago, he met standards in his 42 inch waist. For those who would like to say standards have changed, No. Not so much. For those of you who would like to say a 38 inch waist is still a Fat Bastard. Please send me your address so that.. wait, that could be mistaken as a threat. Nevermind. My husband is NOT fat. In my opinion, he never has been.. BUT he is now a very muscular (almost scary) hunk of man. How in the world the military has determined that this:

That's my man!

is too fat to be in the military, I'll never guess... Especially when I know there are some VERY ROUND people that pass just fine. How is this you say? The military uses a very scientific method of computing body fat. They measure your height. Then they measure your weight. Divide. Yay. The taller you are, the more fucked you are (excuse my language parents!). The taller you are the skinnier and sicklier you have to be. If, however you are 5'8" you can be nice and "thick" without any body fat issues whatsoever. In this photo, my husband probably is weighing in around 240 to 250. He is 6'5" and is no skinny wimpy twig. (yuck, I wouldn't have married him if he was!) If you fail the height/weight test, they do what is called a "rope and choke." They measure your neck and your waist. Then divide. That highly scientific method is the back up for the height/weight test. They currently do not accept caliper or other body fat computation methods. So, in otherwords, my husband (who in this picture has 40% body fat) needs to lose 30 pounds or 4 inches. How can he achieve that? Very simple. Give up food. All food. Yup. Perhaps liquids would also be a good thing to get rid of? He simply can't exercise more the guy works out every free second he has. I know, becasue he buys all his TV shows through itunes so that he can watch while he rides the bike, works on the elliptical trainer, etc. What can you do? Write your congressman and tell them that the way they compute body fat is antiquated. They need to adjust the height/weight or rope/choke standards for those people who are very tall.

Does the picture look like someone who needs to join a mandatory weight loss program? What about someone who should be reprimanded for his weight? I think not.

See this for more information about the standards in the military regarding weight, etc.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Projectile V.... Well, maybe you should read the disclaimer

**Disclaimer** this post contains graphic descriptions of vomit. If you have a weak stomach, perhaps you should pass up this post.

I guess making it to 11 months, five days fourteen hours thirty-one minutes before having a real, honest-to-goodness projectile vomit is pretty amazing. I don't know what caused it, but this evening directly after dinner the baby chucked more white chunky sticky fluid than I have ever seen in my entire life. All over me. All over the couch. All over him. All over the dog. All over the living room floor. All. Over. Everywhere. Then, trying to transfer said baby into the bathtub (luckily I had already started his evening bath) left a nice trail of chunky spew. The dog (Kleenex) also left a nice chunk trail all the way out the door into the backyard. Which meant that the mess was also transferred to the dining room and the hallway leading to the bathroom.

We had just finished dinner (we ate in the Living Room for the first time in months.. of course!). I pulled him out of the high chair, and was letting him rest on my shoulder. He sat up and then it came. and came. and came. and came. and dripped. and came. Surprisingly, I didn't join in on all of the fun. I just sat there in shock. When the fountain finally ceased spouting, I dashed into the bathroom. Mom got the lucky job of cleaning up the living room while I stripped my clothes off. Dad watched the baby in the tub while I got myself clean enough to actually clean the baby without following his example. I finally got the baby cleaned, then I had to wash the dog. Oh the mess. He's in bed now. I suppose I'll be up all night waiting for him to turn into a human fountain again, listening for the sounds of him choking. Great. Another sleepless night. What a wonderful thing being a mother is. I'm sure he's fine and somehow he overate, or something just didn't go right. Who knows. That's the mystery. He has no fever, no symptoms of anything else whatsoever. So, I'll watch him and hope that we don't need to cancel his birthday party this weekend. That would NOT be cool. I'd really just postpone until November, but it still wouldn't be fun. I ordered a cake and a balloon bouquet to attach to his high chair and everything.

The good news in all of this? I got two, count them TWO showers in one day!! Normally I'm lucky to get one shower.. and today.. I got TWO...

*Oh, and no matter WHAT my husband says.. The few teeny tiny spit up incidents we had (three total I believe) when he was home were no where near the caliber of this vomit explosion. I am eternally grateful that he wasn't here to witness, and that my mother was around because 1) If Dad had been here, I would have had two messes to clean up. Dad would have had to run outside or for another bathroom to contain his manly spew. 2) My mother helped clean up cleaned up the mess that wasn't attached to the dog, the baby or myself. She spent her evening scrubbing carpet and couch and dining room floor. Thanks Mom!

Thursday, October 04, 2007

Flowers wilt...

...but Chocolate is ooooh sooooo goooood. He was going to send me something healthier, but decided against it. It doesn't bode well to send a "health food" basket to a woman who's worried about her weight. It just reinforces that perhaps she should be worried about it. Who knew my husband was smart enough to figure that out?

I calculated the fat and calories contained in this basket. There is so much chocolate, it's disgusting:

Item# Servings in packageCalories Per ServingFat Per ServingTotal CaloriesTotal Fat
White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle Popsicle12401524015
Sausalito Cookies 81408112064
Dark Chocolate Rochet11601016010
Ghiradhelli Squares3.52201377045.5
Lindor White Chocolate Truffles42301992076
Lindor Dark Chocolate Truffles42101984076
Ferrot Rochet12201522015
Dark Chocolate Popsicle12501525015
Dark Chocolate Candy Bar4.719910.8935.350.76
Russel Stover Candy Bar22101342026
Dark Chocolate Candy Bar4.719910.8935.350.76
Lindor Truffle Bar2.52401860045
Russel Stover Ganache Bar3.52001270042
Totals:41 servingsAve Cals: 209Ave Fat: 14g8111531g

That's a grand total of 8111 calories and 531 grams of fat. Yummy, yummy yummy yummy fat. At least it's yummy now.. I'm not sure how "yummy" I will think it is when it's glued to my hips, thighs, butt and stomach!

*ps. I have NO freakin' clue what the heck is up with my table. I didn't specify for it to be that tall, but whatever. I'm not an HTML writer after all.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007


Since I’ve accomplished my mission of weaning the baby, something terrible has happened. I have been deflated. The part of me that was necessary for feeding the baby has disappeared. I wouldn’t care so much if it didn’t make the part of me necessary for carrying a fetus seem, well, so large all of a sudden. When I was a bit more *ahem* endowed, my stomach didn’t seem so out of proportion. I wasn’t thoroughly thrilled with the extra inches, but they were okay. After all, I have a beautiful toddler to show for them. However, that was in comparison to the larger version of me. I’m not quite so pleased with the new ratio of breast to stomach I have going on. In fact, I think I look a lot like this:

That isn’t so bad, until you realize that the person on the cover of this magazine is pregnant. I am not, nor do I plan to be pregnant again in the very near future. So it is a bit depressing that I could stand next to someone who is, and have people trying to guess who is further along. Once again I’m in limbo.. “Is she pregnant, or is she just carrying a few extra pounds?” I look just like I did about 20 months ago. Only this time, it won’t be cute if someone asks me when I’m due. I’m also not nearly as excited about my post-baby bump as I was about my pre-baby bump. I am carrying a few extra pounds.

I also realize that I am one of the last people that should complain about my weight, the way I look, etc. There are probably tons of people out there would like to look like I do, especially when you consider the amount of work I put into maintaining my girlish figure. The amount of work, I believe would be zero. Maybe it’s negative. I don’t know. When I looked up the definition for negative work my eyes glassed over and my brain shut off. Literally. I just had to jump start it with a peanut butter cup. It was a miniature, so the calories don’t count. Back to the topic. Why am I self conscious about my weight? I don’t know. Let’s think about the whole debacle with Britney Spears at the whatever awards. People said she looked fat. When I watched the replays (over and over and over and over and over and over again), I kept thinking to myself: 1) that girl can dance better than I can all hopped up on drugs and 2) she is NOT fat! (leave her alone! Ha ha ha).

There is something wrong with me. No, there is something wrong with our society. It used to be that a girl with just a bit of meat was considered healthy, and desirable. Because, after all, who wants to date a sack of skin and bones? A girl who is healthy is more likely to be fertile, etc. (same argument as why breasts are “sexy.”) So, what I want to know is when did we lose that ideal? It hasn’t been that long. Marilyn Monroe was certainly no size 0! The models we see these days are bags of bones with some hair, glittery clothes and $3000 shoes. When did that become sexy?

So, I’m deflated and feeling a bit self conscious. If you meet me on the street and happen to ask me when I’m due, please expect a swift kick to the behind and a punch to the nose,. I might even let my baby pull your hair, rip off your glasses and pinch you until you bruise. He’s good at those things. Does all of this mean I’m going to go on a real diet? No. Am I going to start working out? (You mean carrying around an extra 25 squirming pounds most of the day isn’t exercise?) Probably not. I’d better just get used to my inflated belly and my deflated chest.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Mission Accomplished.

The baby is 100% weaned. While I was relieved at first to be done with that part of motherhood, I am starting to be a bit sad about it. Last night I cleaned the RV while my mom babysat. There were no interruptions with "Mary, I'm sorry.. I tried everything else.. Could he want to nurse?" Someone else could handle everything. It is very nice to know that I could enjoy an evening out without worries that he's here at home screaming and fussing because he can't have his favorite bedtime snack. The thing I miss the most about nursing? Several times per day I was guaranteed that the baby would let me hold him, kiss him and just stare at him. He would latch on, his eyes would roll back in his head as if to say "Oh man, that is the best milk EVER!" Then he would tug on his hair (or mine) until he fell asleep. Every once in a while he would get a big smile on his face. He loved the boob. For a few days bedtime was terrible. Squirming, whining, then tears. He didn't want to be rocked unless it came along with a snack. Now, we're set. We say our prayers, Squeeze the "Daddy Bear" to find out who loves us, turn on the lullaby CD, and I rock him for two lullabies. Then, he goes to sleep on his own in his bed. He sleeps through the night. Around 7:30 he wakes up and cries a bit to let me know he's awake.

New things:
  • He says "getchoo getchoo getchoo" and hides behind furniture when he wants one of us to get him and tickle him.
  • He grabs his blanket and his bear when he gets up in the morning and brings them with him.
  • If he's tired, he'll bring you his bear/blanket as if to say "take me to bed."
  • He "clears" his tray when he's done eating using a sign I taught him.
  • He knows generally where his milk is and how to ask for it. (screams at the door to the kitchen).
  • Steals things off of store shelves. (not really steal, but removes and deposits on the floor.)

Things he no longer does:

  • Cries for hours at bedtime
  • Blows raspberry's after he sneezes
  • He no longer walks. He runs.
  • Allows me to leave his shoes on. He pulls the velcro off in the car.
  • He no longer is tricked by having something hidden from him

I guess, he is generally growing up. Even though we're still a few weeks off from his first birthday, it's a bit depressing. His birthday party is this weekend (we're out of the country closer to his birthday), and I don't know that I'm really looking forward to it. I'm not ready for this mileston. I'm not ready to be able to feed my baby whole milk, peanut products, and allow him to just walk around. But then, life isn't about being ready for those things, because when you're a mom, you never are. Life is about living through those things, cherishing them and moving on. ::sigh::