Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Number Twenty-Three

For the last year I have continually commented, both to myself and those of you unfortunate to hear it, about the pressing emotional need I have felt to lose weight. Two babies in two years has not been good for my physique.

*NOTE it is spelled LOSE not LOOSE. Loose would describe the way I want my pants to feel. Lose is similar to LOSER in that I'd like to be a big LOSER. (no comments from the peanut gallery on that one)*

Over the past six weeks I have made a continual effort to lose weight without any regard to this nagging urge. Why you might ask am I trudging my butt out every 4-5 days for at least 30 minutes of exercise? COMPETITION!

That's right. Right now our little family is competing with several other 'teams' in the town's challenge to get fit together!
(I can even hear the Mayor's hyped up speech, the cheers from the crowd, and the shaking of pom-poms)

My Mom, in all the wisdom she's gained from 20/20, Dateline, Primetime, etc, told me that most people do not lose weight unless there is some sort of fear driving it. The particular show she watched had people losing weight to prevent having their dimpled cheeks (think about it) shown on national TV. 4 of 5 Doctor's recommend Nutraslim ~ oh shoot, where was I?

I meant 4 of the 5 participants did lose the weight- and the 5th, she came close. And well she lucked out, or should I say WE lucked out b/c they did not show her pretty little belly on TV.

Don't get me wrong. If I had the fear of Barbara Walters burned into me by those glaring eyes of hers I'd lose the weight too. Not because of anything I would do though- I mean you all would be tracking me down, chasing after me, in hopes to prevent your eyes from melting out of your heads if you saw me on TV.

Rather than work off that fear though I am tuning into one more closely associated with me- fear of losing. Again I'd like to be a big loser but not to a bunch of poster touting, tee-shirt wearing, mostly government working townsfolk.

So when you see me marching up and down the streets of town, on the nightly news, or waving my SEWW fit banner around it's not for team spirit. NO! It's for winning! And when you see me in pictures with the Mayor it won't be because I'm skinny. It will be because we've won (or because I have damn cute kids). We're 23 out of 117- but that's not good enough!

I mean seriously- if it were really JUST about the weight wouldn't I have used that $ 16.48 monthly fee gym membership that I've been paying for?

Go team SEWW Fit! And I'll see you on National TV!

Monday, May 15, 2006

Fine Art 101

Art is often in the eye of the beholder. Some have likened Picasso's work to that of a 2-year old. I have a 2-year old and he does nothing like that. Others find harmony, talent, or even themselves in paintings that have nothing more than polka dots. One of my favorite art moments was when my friends and I went to the LACMA. One of the paintings captured my attention- I quite liked it. Two men were seperated by a bridge and seemed to be holding strings that built the bridge itself. I interpreted it as a simplistic view of how friendships are designed and endure.

As I showed my friends it wasn't until one of them noticed that the bridge was actually not made up of string- but out of semen coming from each man's penis. I had not been observant enough to see that each man was naked or that the 'string' was something a little more personal to each one. Needless to say my friends did not like the picture as much as I did.

Art has always been subjective. Those of you who know anything of art (and I know very little) have heard that most painters were not recognized in their time. One of my favorite reads, Girl With The Pearl Earring, told of Vermeer's life painting what he could for money soley for his large family to live on. Often painting subjects he would rather have not, rushing projects to meet client deadlines, or selling pieces of furniture for new paint supplies.

So I realize that the art that I am focused on today- one piece of art in my life lesson- is just as subjective. In fact I'd venture to say that those living in my house even have completely different perspectives. However I have decided that proscratination is a Fine Art. It is one that is studied- even if self-consiously, one that is finely honed, and one that is viewed differently depending on the artist, the subject, and the style used.

Granted as I sit typing this blog while my children eat dinner I too am honing my art. By the end of the night I may have just elevated myself to Fine Art 201. I could be eating dinner myself. Or washing the dishes that have accumulated since breakfast (hate having no dishwasher). There are DC plans to be made. School work to do. Playing with children who could always use the attention.

And yet here I sit.

What is it about procrastination that captures us all? It seems like such a stupid thing to do when it makes our life so much harder once we get moving towards whatever path we should have been on in the first place.

For example, if I were to wash the dishes, instead of writing this riveting blog, then when bedtime rolls around for the boys, rather than having to wash the dishes then after giving two baths, changing two diapers, and getting two bouncy-boys settled- I could sit down and write this blog. Or I could work on the ever growing list I create for myself.

What is hard for me is that procrastination is one of the traits that I hate most in other people- especially those peoplw who directly effect my life. Yet it seems that if I am qualified to teach classes on the Fine Art of it- why should I not expect differently in others.

If I think my life would be better if so-and-so did ______. Wouldn't he/she be just as thrilled if I did _____ instead of whatever else I might be doing? In fact, maybe if I just blame everything on the people who are doing _____ which isn't allowing me to do ____ then I won't be procratinating anymore.

Nope. No more procrastinating for me! Then I'd just be in the victim mentality.

So what do I do? Obviously in the last fifteen minutes that it has taken me to get this far in my blog I have not made the decision to get up and do something. Oh no. That would be admitting my art work IS worth more in this lifetime than after I am dead. And I'm hoping that my family and posterity live off of my future trust fund based off of this amazing talent I have.

Instead I turn to- my trusty friend- the internet. And guess what I learn? There are bad and GOOD types of procrastination. Specifically Paul Graham lables good procrastination as doing anything that is more important first than the task you might have originally planned to do. http://www.paulgraham.com/procrastination.html

Again I think subjectivity comes into play. Now instead of wondering whether or not I'm horrible for procrastinating I can just label whatever I am doing as GOOD and whatever everyone else is doing as BAD. Perfect.

Problem ---> Solution. That's my kind of day.

And on that note- with the boys both finished with dinner it seems fitting to...


Sunday, May 14, 2006

Dum Dums are not just another type of sucker...

Well today I've decided that Dum Dums are not just another type of sucker. In short- I am another type of sucker. Or for that matter Dum Dums and I are related. I've heard the saying that children in your arms are no longer under foot- in fact my Grandma has actually quoted that directly to me. Honestly I've never really understood it. Then again maybe I've never heard it because I usually have my children in my arms while they are screaming so I can't hear!

My realization of my dummy-hood comes on the celebration of my motherhood. Today is Mother's Day. This celebration is the holy, sacred day for Mother's. In fact, as I toured the local WalMart yesterday (yes it was a BAD day for shopping) doing the rounds buying gifts for all the women in my life I realized that the best Mother's Day gift* would be for Eric to do all of the Mother's Day shopping! That aside it did give me the chance to think about all of the wonderful women that I know in my life. One is my biological mother Grandma KK as she is referred to often. She is my rock. I call her more often than I call anyone else and trust her with things I do not trust myself with.

Others are not mothers to me by birth, and maybe not even related to me by blood. However these not-my-official moms provide a world of sanity, education, love, and friendship that I could not survive without. Some call me weekly even if I fail to dial their number. Some wait for me to call and then talk like we've never not spoken. Often times they watch my kids while I go to a movie, or listen to me sob about the latest drama I've concocted. Regardless it occurs to me that I am 1/2 of what I am because of all of my 'mothers'. And I thank each of you for that.

But as blessed as I may be in friendship and love- I am not so blessed with grade-A mothering skills. Don't get me wrong, I am a good mother. However my child, Will, decided tonight that he did not want to go to sleep. And after he had spent a total of 20 minutes in his bed screaming I of course, decide that it is ok if he comes out on the couch and cuddles while I watch my latest DVD of Scrubs. That just chirps the kid right on up. The canned laughter coming out of the tv was better than candy for him and he was soon bouncing off the walls. C'est la vie (boheme).

This example is just about the umpteenth example of dummy motherhooding that I've exhibited lately. The reality is, as I am rapidly learning, that there is no such thing as perfect motherhood. Those of you, formerly me, out there that think there is will be faced with some sad reality later. I've found that with motherhood the more I stop trying to control everything the more control I actually have. And that also means that I enjoy it more.

As I reflect on the past three Mother's Days that I've celebrated I have found something magical- I love being a mother. I applaud those of you out there that already know having children is not for you. I envy those of you who knew right at the onset that you would love motherhood. You even knew it before you had kids. Me, I hoped that I would love it. I babysat kids and grew close to them- became proud of their growth and progress just like they were mine. But they weren't mine and I got to go home. Becoming a mother has made me stronger, smarter, more patient (a long time coming, I know!), more trusting, and more aware of what love really is. I am so grateful for my children.

This does not mean that Mother's Day was exactly peachy. The notion that Moms would get a day off is a pipe-dream of someone who is not a Mother. Aside from the poop Walker did IN his high chair, not in his diaper in the highchair, more like OUT of his diaper IN the highchair. That was quickly followed up by Walker hitting Will on the head repeatedly with a play car causing Will to scream and cry, which then made Walker scream and cry. I had the Mo Tab in my room! The icing on the cake though was when Walker fell down the stairs. He did want to cuddle though.

And since most of you reading this are excited to hear about the boys- they are great. We have had an amazing week! We've made new friends with Lexi and Molly, not to mention all the animals at the Zoo (Will especially loves the Teddy Bears), started our Salt Lake City Gets Fit Together program, been to Goosey's house, and the best part of this week, participated in the Race for the Cure. That was a perfect way to start the emotions going for the weekend. You can read about that and see a couple of pictures at:


Speaking of pictures, this slideshow from Slate.com was amazing if you are interested.


Happy Mother's Day,
Shelly, aka Momma B

*this was not meant to distract from the fact that, in typical Eric fashion, my Mother's Day presentS were wonderful. Eric made me (through the wonder that is Apple) books detailing the births of each of my two boys. I highly recommend this type of a gift for anyone in your lives!*