Ironing Logic

Ironing is one of my least favorite activities. It ranks right up there with dusting and vacuuming. However, unlike dusting and vacuuming, there are ways to minimize ironing.

As soon as the dryer buzzes, I take the clothes out one at a time. I hang up all the shirts, pants, dresses, etc. right away. Items like socks and skivvies go in a laundry basket for sorting. The rest of the clothes that need folding get laid flat in a nice, neat stack.

My Sweetie does all of the folding. He learned to fold a certain way in the Navy that I just can’t seem to master. Honestly, I’ve tried many times and even though he tells me the t-shirt looks fine, he unfolds it and re-folds it. I just don’t bother anymore. However, it really is a nice surprise to open my drawer and see all of my undergarments neatly folded.

But don’t get the impression that I’m super organized. Far from it! Often times I’m tired and go to bed before the dryer is finished. But that’s easily resolved by hitting the "Touch Up" button in the morning.

I’ve tried to instill all of these ironing-saving, laundry tips in the boys since they do all of their own laundry. (Go ahead and call me the meanest mother in the world.) But as evidenced by Mr. A ironing his t-shirt every morning to impress a yet-to-be-named girl, they don’t always listen to me.

The other morning I saw a knot of clean clothes on the sofa in the family room. On closer inspection, I realized that it was the load of laundry I left tumbling away in the dryer the night before. I felt the pile and it was still warm. I was confused.

It turns out Mr. A had gotten up early to put his load of wash in the dryer (and iron a t-shirt). The clothes in the dryer weren’t completely dry so he hit Touch Up. Then after the dryer buzzed he dumped the finished clothes on the sofa so he could hurry up and put his clothes in the dryer.

I called him over to the jumble of clothing and pointed out that I wouldn’t do that to his clothes. It was early and I was sleepy and a little bit crabby. I was about to go all “Mom” on him. Instead I asked his reasoning for his actions. My son was very brave despite the flash of red hair he must have seen. He sincerely told me,

"I planned on putting the clothes back in the dryer before you noticed."

I paused for a moment and thought. I couldn’t find any fault with his logic and therefore couldn’t get mad at him. I shrugged my shoulders and made my breakfast.

Neurotic-Redhead-Mom-Laundry-Fury foiled by Logic. Drat.

Landers, Frary & Clark, company design, (Artist), American
Universal Electric Iron, Before 1948
Chrome and plastic, h. 4 x l. 9 1/8 (h. 10.2 x l. 23.2 cm)
Gift of the manufacturer, Museum of Modern Art (New York, N.Y.)
SC125.1948

Zumba-ing

Last night I attended my very first Zumba exercise class. For those of you who are wondering, Zumba is aerobics mixed with Latin music and dance steps. It may sound like a poof of an exercise choice but let me tell you that it makes you sweat!

The class was at a local college campus close to where I work. I went with four co-workers… three of them are 25-yr-old women and Robert. Robert is a little bit older than me and let’s just say that he’s one of the girls.

I was afraid that I would be really old, out-of-shape, and/or embarrassed. I’m not the most coordinated person on dry land. Put me in the water and I’m graceful. But on terra firma… forget it. Luckily, the instructor was a lot of fun, the class atmosphere was very informal, and I took one dance class in P.E. in high school. During most of the class I felt dyslexic because I was either on the wrong foot or turning in the wrong the direction. But after several repeats I started to remember the steps I learned 25 years ago!

Zumba and Latin dancing in general require a lot of hip action… A “pop” in the hip movement and “flare” in the dance steps. Because of the hardware in my lower back I don’t get a lot of movement in my hips. I looked very stiff when I caught my reflection in the large wall mirror at the front of the room. Kinda like Forrest Gump learning how to dance. I felt a bit self-conscious but at the break Robert (who was behind me) told me that my booty shaking looked goooooooooooood.

Hmmm… Maybe there is a benefit to having a plumper booty. Hey, I’ll take a compliment wherever I can get it.

All five of us are now excited about Zumba. We plan to make it a weekly event. Zumba is fun, it gets the heart pumping, and it’s addictive. I found myself practicing some of the steps in the elevator earlier today.

Have you ever tried Zumba?
Do you like to get out and shake your booty?
What do you do when you're alone in the elevator?

My Sinking Diet

The PLRH Wellness Program hasn’t been holding water lately. I was very regimented with my diet and exercise plan for about seven weeks. In that time I still managed to gain weight. I was frustrated and discouraged.

The cause is the medication I’m taking to combat my depression. My doctor and I tried twice to ease back the dosage a little bit but it just didn’t work.

I will admit that I got a little too focused on my diet and it started to cause additional anxiety in my life. Well, that wasn’t doing me any good. So my psychologist suggested that I not track what I eat so closely. I had already established healthy eating habits and I shouldn’t over think things. OK, no problem.

My relaxed attitude towards my diet happened to coincide with the failed reduction of medication. In other words, imagine lots of tears and husband’s birthday cake. But it went beyond the birthday cake. There was a Coca-Cola here, a handful of M&Ms there, and maybe some bread & butter. You get the idea.

This week I climbed back on the wagon. But I’m in such a bigger hole now than I was three months ago. If things slide anymore, then I might have to buy all elastic waistband pants from Chico’s.

Last night as I changed into my pajamas, I notice that my backside felt plumper than I remembered. I groaned and shared this information (along with visual aid) to my Sweetie who was on the bed reading. He replied,

“I like your butt.”

Annoyed, I opened the bedroom door, saw my eldest son sitting in the family room, and said,

“I’m married to Sir Mix-a-Lot.”

I shut the door and instantly regretted what I just said because of this prior episode of PLRH Reality TV.

Moments later I heard music coming from the family room and the lyrics,

“I like big butts and I cannot lie…”

---

I don’t know which I should be more embarrassed about:

1. I have a big backside.
2. My husband seems to like my big fanny.
3. Or, my husband and son like to sing about it.

I’m so confused that I’m not even embarrassed.

Where'd I Park?

My eldest son is ridiculously smart. Yep, he's a certifiable genius. But it's nice to know that he's human like the rest of us when it comes to remembering the mundane, little things like where we parked the car.

Ever since he was a little kid, Mr. A could never remember where we left the car. He figured why should he bother. His theory was to just wait until all the other cars left the lot then ours would be the remaining car.

I thought his memory might improve when he started driving. Nope. Thank goodness they have assigned parking spaces at the high school. He still seems to have a hard time remembering where he parked. That's why I almost peed my pants from laughing so hard when I saw this commercial.

Is It Monday?

The calendar says it’s Friday but this morning sure felt like a Monday.

Mr. A was running late this morning. After my Sweetie leaves none of us can leave the house until Mr. A is ready because he is G-Man’s ride to school and I can’t get my car out of the garage until he moves his car.

We were already a few minutes behind schedule when I notice that Mr. A was walking around without a shirt. I told him to hurry up and he walked into the laundry room to iron a t-shirt. Iron? A t-shirt? There has got to be a girl involved in order for him to use an iron.

While we waited on my eldest I noticed that G-Man didn’t have his water bottle. In Florida it is very easy for an active kid to get dehydrated. In fact, it’s happened to G-Man a couple of times. Everyone in the family carries a Sigg. But for some reason this has been an issue with G-Man. Since the beginning of school, he has misplaced three different water bottles in various locations. I sent him off to school with my girly purple Sigg with a threat that he better bring it home.

By the time the ironing was finished, I was frustrated and telling the kids to hurry up. I was spouting as I threw my purse and tote bag in the car and got Molly in the car. I was still waving my arms and muttering to myself as the kids backed out of the driveway and I got in the car and turned the ignition.

Oh yea, I realized this morning that my driver’s license expired on my birthday and now I owe a late fee when I renew online. Great.

About two blocks from the house I started to relax from my frazzled state. That’s when I notice that the gas pedal felt a little funny. I looked down and saw that I forgot my shoes.

Seriously? How does this happen? Am I losing my mind?

Say It Isn't So

On this beautiful first day of Fall I saw a sure sign that the snowbird migration has begun... Behold the first Ontario license plate of the tourist season...

OK, so I didn't get a chance to zoom in with my phone. You'll just have to trust me that it's a Canuck plate.

Gleefully

A friend of mine loaned me the first season of Glee on DVD. This is the same friend who loaned me Eat, Pray, Love so she must obviously think that I need some light-hearted entertainment in my life. I had seen the pilot episode of Glee so I knew what the show was all about but I didn’t continue watching the series.

This past weekend I popped the DVD into the player and sat down to watch Glee. I knew I couldn’t get bumped because it was my birthday weekend and therefore my choice of program to watch. If the guys didn’t like it, they could go in the den and watch sports or military documentaries.

Well, I really like the show and apparently so do my husband and kids because they sat down and watched it with me. The performers are great and the music is fun. Sometimes the songs are very addictive and I find myself humming them the next day.

The last episode we watched Sunday night featured Beyoncé’s song Single Ladies. I can’t get the song out of my head. Monday night I mentioned that the song had been swirling around inside my head all day and my Sweetie and Mr. A emphatically agreed.

This morning I found myself still singing the same song. So I put my iPod in the docking station and turned on Ms. Beyoncé. Mr. A quickly came around the corner with a look of astonishment…

Mr. A: Did you download that?

PLRH: Yes, I couldn’t get it out of my head so I needed to listen to it out loud.

Mr. A: (eye roll)

PLRH: The difference between me and you & your father is that I can download Beyoncé without the chance of losing my man card.

Mr. A: This is true. But now Dad will get it on his iPod too. (chuckles)

So for your viewing pleasure and so you can get it stuck in your head too, here’s my favorite scene featuring the song Single Ladies…



Disclaimer: I wrote this post before I ever realized that tonight is the season premiere of Glee. As much as the guys seemed to have enjoyed watching Season 1, I have a feeling the season premiere of NCIS will win out over Glee.

Life with Boys: That's What She Said

Living in a house full of men requires a certain sense of humor. I really can't allow myself to get offended very easily. While vulgarity and derogatory remarks are not allowed in our house, I do put up with a certian number of fart jokes.

What is it about bodily odors, sounds, and functions that boys of all ages find so amusing?

In addition to the fart jokes, my guys like more cerebral humor which often involve innuendo. New to their repertoire is the phrase, "...in bed" following the reading of their cookie fortunes. The mom in me likes to think that these jokes go right over my youngest son's head even though he laughs along.

Another long-standing joke that Mr. A and his cousin have about beaten to death is the "...that's what she said" phrase. I thought it had been laid to rest until the other night. While fixing our plates for dinner, G-Man picked up a condiment container, almost dropped it, and said, "That's slippery!" Then under his breath he muttered, "That's what she said."

I stared at my youngest child unsure to laugh or scold him.

I suppose at 14 years old and a freshman in public high school he's about to catch on eventually. It could also be a lot worse. Thankfully, I don't have to hear "Your Mom" jokes. The boys agreed ages ago that those just didn't work between siblings.

Birthday Wrap-Up

My 41st birthday has been quite possibly my best birthday ever. I didn't have any anxiety or expectations so I was very mellow and low key all day. My entire weekend was very enjoyable.

Friday night we had dinner at my parents' house that included cake from the Pastry Goddess, goofiness, and presents. One of my presents from my Sweetie came from the Little Blue Box store and I couldn't have be more surprised!

Saturday was a relaxed day that involved a guilt-free nap. For dinner we went to Shakespeare's, our favorite English pub. I had been waiting all week to taste the fried wallies. Mmmm!

Then today, Sunday, I had a wonderful girls' lunch with Gropius and we saw Eat, Pray, Love. I wasn't a fan of the book but I enjoyed the movie. Having great company definitely made it worth while! Thanks Gropy!

For me, the funniest part of my birthday is my new ultimate brownie pan that a friend at work gave me. It makes neat, perfectly portioned brownies and each one has crispy edges. This is what I find so funny... Ever walk through an office building carrying a brand new brownie pan? By the time I got from my desk to the door I got four requests for brownies on Monday morning. I had such a wonderful weekend that I decided to oblige.

28 and Holding

Today is my birthday! Yeah me! Can you tell I'm excited? I always get excited about birthdays. I think they're so much fun.

I love my special day because... well... it's MY special day. Seriously, it's all mine. In the 41 years I've been on this planet I have never, ever met anyone with a September 17th birthday. I know plenty of people with September birthdays. Afterall, it is the most popular birth month. But not the 17th.

I do believe that today will be a wonderful day and I'm looking forward to an overall awesome birthday weekend. This year I don't have the angst about the changing number like I did last year. You've got to admit the turning 40 is kinda scary. Now I feel that I don't need to stress over my age for the next 5 or 6 years.

However, you might be wondering about the post title. For the longest time I claimed to be 28. Most women stick to 29 but I thought 28 was more plausible. I got away with it for the longest time too. A good ten years. Now I really don't try to pull that trick anymore because the math just doesn't work out. At this point, I would have been 11 years old when my eldest son was born. But just for fun I throw 28 out there every once in a while to see if anyone bites. Sometimes I get a nibble.

As for the photo, I tried to find a photo from my 28th birthday but couldn't. The photo above is from my 27th birthday. It was taken at an Outback Steakhouse. The boys and I were in town from Louisiana visiting my folks. At that time in life, I was an over-tired, Army wife with two kids and leaky boobs. Outback was such a luxury.

Wow, so much has changed since then. Maybe 41 isn't so bad afterall.

BFFs

Your good friend will bail you out of jail.

Your best friend will be sitting next to you saying, "Damn that was fun!"

Sewing... Badly

"Learn how to sew clothes" is an item on my Gumption List. My mother probably just rolled her eyes because she would have gladly taught me how to sew clothes when I was growing up but I wanted nothing to do with it. While mending clothes is a valuable skill to have, actually making clothes from scratch isn't all that economical anymore. Even my mother stopped making clothes ages ago when the outlet mall worked it's way into the American shopping scene.

Still I want to learn to sew clothes. Perhaps I've watched too many episodes of Project Runway and I'm envious of the designers who whip out dresses in less than 24 hours.

Sunday I walked through Hancock Fabrics looking for inspiration. The selection isn't quite what it is at Mood so this took a little bit of time. I found a super soft, micro-corduroy in a truffle color. I thought this would make a great skirt.

I searched through the pattern books and found a "Learn to Sew" pattern. Perfect. The instructions will walk me through the process and I'll even learn how to put in a zipper.

I got my fabric cut and by some fluke it came out to 95¢ /yard. I don't think I've ever bought fabric for 95¢ /yard. I picked up all my notions... thread, zipper, hook & eye, interfacing... then checked out. At this point, I would like to thank my mom for teaching be how to read the back of the pattern envelope to find all the notions. I did learn something during all those hours I spent in the fabric store with her as a child.

I got home, read the instructions, and cut my pattern pieces apart. That's when I ran into my first obstacle. When I selected the skirt pattern I based it on my dress size in THE REAL WORLD. I didn't even look at the waist measurments. Apparently, sewing pattern makers equate their Size 6 to a Size 0 in THE REAL WORLD. Doing the math I quickly realized that this pattern wasn't going to fit me. I would have chucked the whole thing right there if I hadn't paid $16 for the pattern.

I decided to add on to the pattern and hope for the best. That's when I came to my second obstacle. As I laid the pieces out on the fabric, I discovered that I didn't have enough material even if I was making a Size 6. I double checked the pattern envelope and concluded that there was a typo in the yardage requirements. I've had that happen to me one time making a quilt and all you can do is "Make it work."

My next design decision was to make the shorter skirt. The pattern makes three different length skirts and I originally planned to make the mid-length skirt. I rearranged the pattern pieces and remembered that I was using corduroy. I wanted to make sure that the nap was going the same direction on all four pieces. It took some fanagling but I channeled my inner Tim Gunn and made it work.

I whizzed through the cutting and was about to fire up the sewing machine when I realized that the cashier at the fabric store never rang up my thread. Obstacle number three. It was 5 pm on Sunday and I didn't have any matching thread.

My skirt project is on hold until I can get some thread. I'm not sure if is skirt is ever meant to be. I still don't know how my added measurements will affect the waistband. The instructions are also a challenge. They seem to be written by various authors. Almost as if the sections were cut & pasted together. One minute they treat you like an idiot and the next minute they assume that you've been sewing garments for years. I'm trying very hard to follow the instructions. But really, what are instructions except for someone elses's opinion?

I told my Sweetie if the skirt fits and comes out looking good enough that I'm willing to wear it out of the house, then we're opening a bottle of chanpagne. Then I'll make another skirt so I can get my money's worth out of the $16 pattern.

Day of Love

Everyone knows the date today. Some calendar companies refer to it as Patriot Day. An appropriate name. No matter how we refer to it, we’ll always remember where we were and what we were doing when we heard the news.

September 11th was an emotional day. It was an emotional day for me for the obvious reasons and also for some lesser known personal reasons. It was also a defining day. The day started with an act of hatred and fear but in the end it brought out the true colors of ourselves, our neighbors, and strangers near and far. Much to the surprise of the terrorists it brought out the best of humanity.

With only the unknown ahead of them, the passengers on the airplanes and the people in the World Trade Center sent out their final messages. They were messages of love not hate. That’s why on this day more than any other day in the year I take the time to let the people in my life know how much I love them.

Life With Boys: Fashion Advice

This morning I walked into the kitchen wearing trousers and a bra à la mode Madonna.

I looked at all three of my guys and asked:

PLRH: What do you think? Can I go to work dressed like this?

Sweetie: Sure!

Mr. A: Depends on where you work.

PLRH: Ah, so I probably don’t want to go to the Museum like this.

G-Man: Not unless you want to be an exhibit.

I got a laugh out of the exchange but I was really surprised. I expected the reaction to be more like:

“Ugh, Mom!!!!

Keeping Busy

I’ve been partially absent from the blogosphere the past couple of weeks. Not too much blog writing or blog reading. I want to get back in the swing of things because blogging is such a fun and creative outlet.

So what have I been doing instead of blogging? Let me tell you, I’ve been busy. Three major activities have occupied my time:

Sleep – I’ve been sleeping as much as I possibly can. You know, just in case the world is taken over by Freddie Krueger and I won’t be able to ever sleep again. Naps have been a big part of my schedule as well. I managed to fit two in on Labor Day.

Staying Awake – While at work I’ve been focusing all of my energy on staying awake so I can make it through the work day and hopefully not make any mistakes.

Snoozing – Summoning up the motivation to get out of bed every morning is a drawn out process and often involves a few taps of the snooze button. Each morning I somehow believe that 10 more minutes will make a difference in my energy level.

All kidding aside, I paused for a moment yesterday to marvel at and be thankful of how blessed I am with the men in my life. All through my depression and even more so now with the chronic fatigue my Sweetie has really picked up the slack and filled in at home. He has gone out of his way to do things that normally fall into my area of responsibility so I don’t have to take any additional time off from work.

Just to use yesterday as an example, my Sweetie took Mr. A to his physical for his Naval Academy application, took G-Man to the doctor because he has bronchitis, and had dinner cooked by the time I got home from work. He did all this and still managed to work his job by telecommuting. What did we do before the invention of the Blackberry?

The boys are also doing all that they can to help out. When I got home from work yesterday G-Man asked ME how I was feeling. I hugged him and chuckled at the irony as I handed him his Z-pack prescription. Mr. A has also taken a big load off me now that he has a car to drive full-time. He’s now in charge of getting himself and his brother out the door and to school in the morning. It’s only the first week but it’s going well.

If I think about the depression and the CFS too much I get a little overwhelmed. But if I look at my family around me, I know that they have the bubble and I’m safe. So safe I could even take a nap… or two.

Red

The color red evokes many strong reactions and emotions...

Hot, Fiery, Sexy, Bold, Exotic, Dangerous...

I wouldn't use any of those adjectives to describe myself. I don't wear red clothes and I don't use red to decorate our home. I love color and feel very attune to color. But I've never felt any connection to the color red.

Sound strange coming from a redhead?

My relationship with red has suddenly changed. Last weekend we bought a new-to-me car. After a lot of research, we knew exactly what we wanted. When the dealer called, my Sweetie took the test drive while I was at work. He called me to tell me it was a great deal and ran through all the features. As we were about to hang up I quickly asked, What color?

Salsa Red.

Red? I never imagined myself driving a red car. By the end of the day I still wasn't used to the idea. When I saw the car in person I was still apprehensive.

I couldn't believe myself. It's just a paint color. I'm the one that always tells the car salesman that color doesn't matter. It doesn't change how the car drives.

Now here I am the owner of a red car. Not tacky, hooker lipstick red. Not race car, orangey-red. Not mature and academic garnet. But a deep, luscious, candy-apple red. Salsa Red.

Guess what? I'm giddy. Apparently, car color does affect attitude. My Gumption Initiative just got kick-started.

Reading This Is Optional

I’m not looking for sympathy. I just really, really need to vent. I’m frustrated. I would love to go to the end of a spit of land and scream my head off but I don’t have the friggin’ energy. Hopefully, getting all of this off my chest will free up the few working synapses I have left in my brain so I can write blog posts on other, more interesting matters.

Since last December I have been battling the worse bout of depression I’ve ever experienced in my life. Everyday I fight tooth and nail. I fight against the suffocating, oily, black goo that is depression.

I’m taking medication for my depression and it helps but not without sacrifice. The medication causes weight gain. I’ve been very aware of my diet. For six weeks I tracked my diet religiously. I took in 1600-1700 calories per day and still managed to gain a pound a week. Every time I stepped on the scale I wanted to shout F***!!!!

I should only need to take the medication for a year. (Insert sarcasm sign) Let’s see, at a pound a week… Yep, that’s about 50 pounds. I may have titanium rods in my back but I don’t think that much extra weight would be a good thing.

It looks like my choices to get my weight gain under control might be 1) stop taking the meds 2) starve myself or 3) quit my job and start training for the Olympics.

However, for the past month I’ve been extremely run down. I chalked it up to the medication and my asthma. Yes, my asthma has been exacerbated and I usually feel overtired when I’m not moving air well. But asthma doesn’t make me lose concentration and forget my own name.

So now I have this vague sounding diagnosis of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I’m not going to run through all the symptoms because it will make me sound all that more pathetic. Let’s just say that I feel like I have a cold or the beginning of the flu EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. It makes it even that much harder to get out of bed each morning.

One of the treatments for CFS is moderate exercise. Who’s definition of moderate? I’ve been doing moderate exercise and I still managed to gain weight and develop CFS. Do I really go for option #3 above and start an intense swimming program? Right now I have such a hard time getting motivated. I don’t even have the energy to tie my shoes.

Then there are the “what if’s.” Once again, I won’t list every “what if” thought running through my mind when it comes to the CFS. Let’s just say there are a few. In any other situation I would be able to logically react to each scenario. But with depression already deeply rooted, the “what if’s” become another source of anxiety.

Fun stuff.

One more thing... Today is September 1st. Christmas is 3 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days away. If anyone mentions Christmas plans before Thanksgiving, I just might drive down to Mile Marker 0 in Key West, step into the Gulf of Mexico and start swimming.

For those of you who read through my entire rant, thank you. I actually feel better.