Archive for the ‘mothers’ Category

Time bandits and promises

time_bandits.jpgFor a while now my parents and I stopped doing the big old gift exchange during the holidays. My father has always said, “Christmas is for kids.” It also doesn’t hurt that they bought me a washer and dryer this year. At that rate my father usually says, “You have Christmas all year anyway.”
So instead we usually do the large dinner and I decorate my own apartment — filling it to the brim with Christmas lights and garland. This year I took my Christmas tree over to their house. And I bought them both two presents. My mother seemed pleased but looked at me disapprovingly — begging to know how much I spent. To that I just said,
“You guys have done so much for me. Just let me do this for you.”
I made dad open his early. I was too eager. So on Christmas Eve I saw his eyes light up to the DVD of Time Bandits I bought him. We watched that movie so much, I grew up saying, “The little one?” If you have seen the movie you know what I’m talking about. There are these six little people and well, nevermind. Just know we quote this movie on a semi-regular.
My parents have the movie on one of those huge laser disk things. Not the sleek ones you see today. But the ones that looked like enormous 8-tracks. You had to inject the disks into this contraption and pull down a little lever. My parents still have a bunch of classics in those crazy things (The Muppet Movie, Star Wars, Richard Pryer’s Raw) but the old player doesn’t work anymore, of course. I spent years in my late teens, early 20s looking for Time Bandits on video cassette and could never find it. And then there it was, among all the other DVDs at Borders. Duh.
On to mom. One of the things I got her was a new cookbook. I bought her Nigella Lawson because I was sure she already had all the others — The Barefoot Contessa, Paula Deen, Tyler Florence …But I was wrong. She didn’t have any of them! Just Rachael Ray who I HATE! Anyway, I offered to exchange it but she wouldn’t have it. She was happy to see a different Food Network star in her hands. Which if you know my mother, you would know that she will just read the book but not use it. She likes to sit and read cookbooks. Her arthritis and feet are so bad now and combined with her extra weight, it is hard for her to stand at long periods of time. In fact this was one year that Christmas dinner was a complete chore and she elected my father and me to help. We didn’t start eating until nearly 3 p.m.! But every year she insists on cooking. And every year she complains more and more.

So I said that I was going to cook next year — at my apartment. I hate cooking in someone else’s kitchen. I told her she has a whole year to train in order to be able to go up my stairs. In return I promised a wonderful meal in a lovely Christmas setting. Dad of course will bring his famous cabbage and greens. As for the turkey, that’s going to be cooked at a local restaurant that does that kind of thing. No need in me taking on EVERYTHING quite yet. A turkey? By myself? Hell no.

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Day 72: Wipe down your equipment

wipe-down-your-equipment.jpgI’ve started counting calories…reluctantly.

The working out has been steady but I’ve been under the delusion that I’ve been eating the right portions of everything. Wrong. Of course wrong! I’ve been counting calories for a little more than a week and have already lost enough inches for the owner of this cafe across the street from my job to ask, “Have you lost weight?”

I didn’t just jump on this calorie thing. I did it kicking and screaming until my mother bought and gave me several books to help me along. And some notebooks to keep track. I’m staying at no more than 2,000 calories and I’ve done quite well. It doesn’t even annoy me that much anymore and I’ve lost a few of my hard and fast cravings: burgers, pizza…Sonic slushes. Wait. Now that I’ve typed that I need to find the calorie count for one because a slush suddenly sounds good…

Anyway, my mother has noted my progress. She is concerned for me because I’ve been so concerned. Because of medication and a thyroid disorder, she has trouble with her weight. In fact she is very good at managing food intake and now I’m in training. I’m only a pound away from dropping under the dreaded weight I am now which, no matter how disclosing I am here, I will never share. At least not until I am well below it.

Because of overdoing the reception on Saturday and dancing all night, I haven’t hit the gym. I am only just now nearly 100 percent from having all that nausea. I don’t think a hangover lasts that long and I’m now convinced I got food poisoning from the all of six bites of Chinese food I had that night after the club. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t been doing that kind of food and my body went into shock. Don’t know.

The last time I went to the gym my favorite treadmill was covered in snot and spit. No lie! It was like someone was so determined to finish their miles that they didn’t care they had an upper-respiratory infection or other funky health issue in the process. It was so sick I almost didn’t work out. But instead I grabbed on to the very dry elliptical machine and tried not to heave. I don’t know why I shared that except to give warning to all of you who work out and like to grab onto those heart-rate bars like I do. Never again.

Day 53: The moment of truth

5e2ad5283e968e3d32e7ff342cac848c.jpgHappy Gobble Gobble Day everyone.

I hope you have stayed thankful today. I have. I’m thankful I worked my brains out for over a week to get to this day and not be as worried about the food. I’m sitting here at the family’s house now, just pondering all that dressing. That’s the best part. Mom’s dressing. And I’m sore as hell all over from overdoing the routine so I can avoid the guilt of stuffing my face — so to speak.

I brought a little something too. Sweet Potato Thangs. Out here the lady who makes them also made a life-sized bride cake. We did a story on her and her family, both are absolutely delightful. And so are these “thangs,” which by the way I’m about to gobble on as soon as I’m done here. Come Day 54, trust and believe I’ll be hitting the gym before other day-off festivities begin. Namely the birthday celebration I’m concocting for one of my friends which can only mean more calories — only this time calories brought on by martinis.

I hope you are all having a pleasant day of merriment and that you won’t overdo it like I plan hope not to do.

Should we regulate breeding?

I hate that I listen to Tom Leykis. But he had a good point recently.
In light of idiot mothers like Britney Spears, should the government control who is allowed to breed? Ok, just hear me out because I know we are all the types who scream bloody murder when our rights seem to be threatened. Also realize we play “God” in many other circumstances like the death penalty, castrating sex offenders and deciding who can marry.

Forget Spears. Think about that prostitute who only JUST lost her kids. She snorted coke off one of her children’s stomach while breastfeeding. Had her kids in the backseat AWAKE while she blew her johns. Smoked crack in their presence. Yet, before that police officer finally busted her and her tiny tots were taken away, she was allowed to have two kids.

Leykis mentioned administering the IUD. I’m not sure about taking it that far because personally, I’d rather take the pill. But why do we allow these vermin to procreate? The only advantage to the practice of irresponsible fools birthin’ babies is, as was mentioned on the show, we still need to make sure we get our pizza delivered, our groceries sacked and our car oil changed. Kind of cruel, right?

I of course like having the right to choose. And most of my life, including presently, I’ve never wanted children. But that’s my choice to make. But I have to admit, if we all know that someone is truly a horrible mother — and I don’t mean the normal raising of voice or reasonable mistakes made — why do we allow them to have more and more? Why? So we can just end up taking them away, have them become wards of the state and then keep throwing our tax dollars at the result of someone careless enough to bring children into the world just to corrupt them? Sure, adoption is beautiful. But not all of these children find homes before they are 18.

Also I am aware that just because these kids are from such horrific conditions, they don’t always have to succumb to the same fate. Many go to college and do something better with their lives. And we may be better off with them in the world than without. However, certain folks just shouldn’t breed. What do we do to prevent the problem of pathetic parenting from escalating to such an alarming rate without some kind of sanctions — outrageous as it may be?

Nearly 30, still learning…

There is just something about spouting off stuff in the blog-o-sphere. You encounter wonderful people along the way and as you do, you can strike new friendships. There is just something electrifying about being in front of people who get to know you for the first time…

Why is this so refreshing???

Well, one thing I’ve learned recently: Never say too much to people close to you. Even if there is a huge history there. Why? Well, because they will always have enough ammunition to put you away (sometimes literally) with their actions or words and/or use your secrets against you for things that you never intended.

A major lesson: Don’t admit things you have always wanted to say, no matter for how long. People can possibly in turn misinterpret them and use them for their own amusement. My mother is someone who is really big on saying people are always jealous. She says three things (more or less in this fashion) on a daily basis:

1.) People play politics so learn the game.

2.) People are jealous of you when they see that your are progressing in your life.

3.) You need God in your life to have a sense of purpose.

I have a little trouble with the jealousy part: I’m not someone who constantly thinks people are jealous or envious of me. But my mother believes that people who ultimately do the most harm to you are people who are not fully happy with their lives and lash out at people who go after the things that (hopefully) ultimately will make them succeed or keep them content.

To me that is narcissism to believe people give that much of a damn for you, even though at times I catch myself repeating her words just because I want to have an answer to why people can be so blatantly cruel. So, to a point, I’m guilty of this “narcissism” on occasion. However if I believed the things my mother believed on a daily basis, my head would inflate. But I do have to ask, is it such a bad thing to be puffed up about yourself? I mean afterall it is truly YOU who you have to rely on in the end when people, such as doting parents, pass away.

All of that said, my mother needs to add a fourth to her list, though I know it’s an addition she agrees with whole-heartedly: Never say too much to who you think you can “trust.”

Doing no. 1 prevents that. And after nearly 30 years now of living, I only now fully understand what she meant.

Realizing no. 2 prevents heartache in the end.

Grasping no. 3, well…I’m working on that…

Oh Saint Sacrifice, tell me about Atlas again…

 Everyone sacrifices for Photo by Steve Pinkersomething. I’ve been told time and time again by those wiser, those older, those close to me that it is part of obtaining or the result of someone’s love.  And when you do so, you can’t say one person’s sacrifice is more trying than the other. I know of only one person in my life who has sacrificed so much for me and who I care about. My father carries the weight of the world on  his shoulders, so to speak. As did the mythological Atlas. And everyday he does, he doesn’t remind you how much he has given up or what he’s been through while he holds on tight, making sure the troubling Earth doesn’t plummet into the sea.

Though he carries this world well, I wish so much that I can stand under its weight right along with him and share in the pain. My father not only raised me, put me through a decent education and tried/tries to guide me down the right path, but he has also had to do so while caring for my mother–his wife–who is mentally ill.

I know of so many who sacrifice. I too have done my share.

But my father is someone I can say without the slightest reservation that even though he carries the weight of the world, he doesn’t believe it revolves around his weary shoulders.