How I Spent My Summer Vacation (2009 Edition)

Hello? Hello? Do I hear an echo? Is anyone out there?!?

Well, I can't say I would blame you if you have cited me for reckless blog neglect and thrown me and my blog address to the wayside. But I have a reason (read: not an excuse!); I promise.

"How I Spent My Summer Vacation" by

special arrangement with the State Police.

Okay, so at least I didn't get arrested.

Anyone remember this beauty of a post? You know, it's the one where I got into a fight with the corner of a wall in my house on the very first day of summer vacation. If you've been reading my blog that long, I have a feeling that you'll remember. Does a purplish-black pinky toe ring any bells?!?

So, I am an overachiever for those of you who don't know. I have calmed down in my old age, but I used to be pretty bad. Evidently, I needed to surpass my own record from last June.

Last Friday was my first official day off from work for the summer. Woo-Hoo, right?!? Not so fast.

I woke up in the middle of the night with 87 little knives in my throat. Okay, maybe they weren't actual knives. But if you would have told me that then, I may have gotten a knife out to show you how it felt. Anyway, I couldn't swallow, and unless you really think about it, most of us probably don't realize how often we must swallow to do anything -- including sleeping. It hurt to drink water if that helps you understand. The only thing I could do without making it worse was cry.

So, after a trip to see a doctor first thing in the morning, it turned out that I had strep. Now, I have had strep before, but it never felt like this. In fact, the doctor I saw said he would have bet me a case of beer that it was not strep because of all of the blistering (Kristin speak = little knives) all over my throat (don't worry; no visual aides for this one). No problem...a quick visit to the pharmacy to get my medication, and I figured I'd be good as new in no time.

Or not.

Two days later, the little knives had set up camp and were toasting marshmallows in my throat with no intent to leave. Eric called the doctor since I had no voice nor senses left, and the doc wanted me to go back to the ER and get an IV of stronger (!!!) pain medication (I dare not tell you what he had already prescribed!) and perhaps get what he thought was a throat abscess drained (no visual for that, either; you're welcome). Upon hearing that, my blankets all of the sudden felt way better and I didn't want to trade them for any hospital bed. He did say that the abscess could drain on its own with continued use of antibiotics, so I hoped for option number two. And I am happy to say that the little knives have finally left and traveled...to my gallbladder.

Well, not exactly. I was actually dealing with the gallbladder pain before the throat pain, but I just found out yesterday from my surgeon that he definitely advises in my case that I have the gallbladder removed. I have gallstones (no visuals here, either), and the pain has been constant for over ten days (minus the days I was on the pain meds for my throat -- at least it helped something!). I was worried after reading so much about it that the weight loss could be the culprit, but I have done it sensibly, not rapidly at all. And I have never been a fried/fatty/spicy food fan. I am a carb girl. But actually, the doctor said that -- in his experience -- gallstones are very typical a few years after pregnancy if the patient is close to...well...that number looming ahead at my next birthday.

So, now I have to add a surgery to my summer plans. Think strep, a throat abscess, and gallbladder surgery trump a broken toe?!? Please say yes. I told you I'm an overachiever! I guess I'd better work on changing that for next summer.

The Please [Don't] Touch [My Kid] Museum

I admit it. I have had very few incidences so far in my little boys' lives where I had to go into Mama Bear Mode. You mommies all know what I'm talking about -- you see your child in a threatening situation, and you do whatever it takes to protect him or her. I had been pretty lucky, and Mama Bear had been hibernating.

Until recently.

We received a wonderful gift of four tickets to the Please Touch Museum in Philadelphia from one of Eric's lovely aunts, and we were all very excited to go. The museum is designed specifically for little kids and is an amazing combination of play, experimentation, and education. The boys loved each exhibit better than the last, and they were truly in kid heaven.

Statue of Liberty Torch made out of toys
(above)

Drs. Peanut and Pumpkin, at your service

Playing, exploring, learning...

Peanut using a pulley to raise his plane creation

to the ceiling in order to watch it fly

Pumpkin's favorite part hands down: the pretend grocery store. Watching my little man with such determination in his eyes as soon as we got him his own cart was both unbelievably sweet and hilarious at the same time. He was in the zone!


Both boys really enjoyed the water area. We saved this part for last. The kids could experiment with the water toys, and they had all types of contraptions the kids could maneuver to experiment with water energy. Peanut was a pro in no time!

I had to pull out all of the mommy tricks I know to get Pumpkin to leave the special three and under play area. He loved this tree slide and the lilypads that made frog noises when he jumped on them to hop across the pretend pond.



Looks like the best day ever, right? I mean, nothing could put a damper on this day!

Oh. Except maybe this:



So, both boys were completely excited to play in the McDonald's area. Most of the kids were lined up along the back wall, busy using various assortments of play food to make all types of hamburgers and Happy Meals. Then, this sweet little girl walked up to the counter and just stood there, looking around. So, compassionate mommy that I am, I asked Peanut to be the cashier and ring up her order. Why can't I learn to just leave well enough alone?!?

Peanut happily obliged, and he skipped over to take the little girl's order. He was announcing each item into the microphone as he pressed the buttons on the register to announce her total. It was so cute that I had to take a picture. The above shot is now known as Exhibit A.

See the bigger brunette boy to the left of Peanut who was easily at least a year older? Yeah, the one in the green jacket. Well, he may or may not be the kid I am referring to in this story. If that was the same kid, I would know his name since I did hear it; however, since I am certainly not saying that was the kid, we will just call him "B.B." (for "Bully Boy").

B.B. was playing nicely beside Peanut for a few minutes until he decided that he had to have the microphone. Unfortunately, Peanut was still wrapping up the little girl's order, and he told B.B., "Hey! It's still my turn." But B.B. wasn't really interested in the whole taking turns concept. No, instead, he put all of his weight into pulling that microphone away from my son while -- compassionate mommy that I am -- I tried to intervene from my booth a few feet away and tell Peanut to allow Bully Boy to have a turn for a minute.

Too late.

Bully Boy -- and I am not using that name lightly -- decided he had a better solution.

After he pulled the microphone completely away from Peanut, he then focused all of his force on my son (who, by the way, morphed into my firstborn helpless infant in my brain), and Bully Boy pushed Peanut to the floor. Please congratulate me right now for resisting my motherly urge to demonstrate what happens to bullies who dare to touch my children. It was not easy to suppress the Mama Bear in me who wanted so desperately to give him my own Quarter Pounder. Anyway, Peanut was wailing at this point, and when I flew over to him, he said, "Mommy, he's so mean!" to which B.B. responded, "And you're so dumb!"

No, I am actually not writing this post from a prison cell, so please offer me congratulations yet again. First you dare to harm my child, and now you insult his intelligence?!? This kid had a guardian angel looking over him, for sure. I quickly swept up Peanut in my arms and consoled him in the booth. I felt guilty doing it, but I told Peanut that unfortunately there are a few mean people in the world, and that I was sorry that he had to meet one.

What? You are wondering where B.B.'s parent was in this equation? Yeah, me, too. A few minutes after "the incident," a mousy man brought B.B. over "to apologize."

Yeah, I put that in quotes. Because this is the masterpiece of an apology he offered my son:
"Sorry, piggy eye."

Yes, I did have to remind myself to breathe in and out repeatedly.

But B.B. had some audacity calling Peanut "dumb," because when he went back over to his dad, his father obviously sensed my disapproval and asked what he said in his apology. And then B.B. told his dad exactly what he said. Good job, Genius.

So, Mousy Dad begrudgingly brought B.B. back over to us. Again. At this point, I had seen enough of this kid's face to last a lifetime, and his presence was making Peanut's state of mind worse with every encounter. He finally mumbled something that sounded like "sar-RAY" with an attitude that somehow pleased his father enough. Thank goodness; they were finally gone.

It really took a while, but Peanut eventually got over it.



Mama Bear, on the other hand? She had nightmares for weeks about people hurting her children. Retelling the experience still brings tears to my eyes. And I cannot with any sincerity guarantee that any future children with a penchant for bullying will get off so easily.

But for now, Mama Bear is going back into hibernation. And I hope she doesn't have to awaken that growl again for many, many winters to come.

Grrrr....

Flashback Friday: Left Foot, Right Foot...

...Feet, Feet, Feet!

Oh, how many

Feet you meet!

These are Pumpkin's piggies when he was about four months old. I had recently purchased a new digital camera and wanted to try out the zoom. I haven't used the zoom very much since!

One of Pumpkin's current favorite books is Dr. Seuss's The Foot Book, so I thought this was appropriate (in case you were wondering, he always laughs at "sick feet" and "fuzzy fur feet"). Now I am gonna go put my tired, achy, seriously-needin'-a-pedicure feet up on the couch and grade some more papers.

I heart kitties

Since I have been so neglectful of my blog lately, I thought I would entertain you with a delightful video my husband found. Maybe this will get your minds off the fact that I haven't added anything new or exciting here lately. Enjoy! :)

Happy Mother's Day!

My own mom sent me this poem, and I thought it was worth sharing with all of you moms who can so readily relate. Thanks, Mom! And may you all feel especially appreciated on this day set aside to honor the hardest yet most wonderful job known to [wo]mankind.

Before I Was a Mom

Before I was a Mom
I made and ate hot meals,
I had unstained clothing,
I brushed my hair every day,
I had quiet conversations on the phone,
I slept as late as I wanted and I slept all night long.

Before I was a Mom
I cleaned my house each day,
I never tripped over toys or forgot lullabies,
I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous,
I had never been puked on,
pooped on,
spit on,
chewed on,
peed on,
or pinched by tiny fingers.

Before I was a Mom
I never thought about immunizations,
I never held a screaming child so the doctors could give shots,
I never looked into teary eyes and cried,
I never felt my heart break into pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt,
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.

Before I was a Mom
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put him down,
I never sat up late hours of the night watching a baby sleep,
I never got up in the middle of the night to make sure everything was okay,
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.

Before I was a Mom
I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts,
I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside of my body,
I didn't know that having something so small could make me feel so important,
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment,
or the satisfaction of being a mom.

Before I was a Mom
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much,
I never knew that I could love someone so much,
I never knew I would love being a Mom,
I didn't know the bond between a Mother and her child,
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much.

~ Author Unknown

Flashback Friday: Pumpkin and Great Nana

This was Pumpkin and my maternal grandmother, Nana, at her 93rd birthday party when Pumpkin was only four months old. Sadly, she passed away the following year, right before Mother's Day. She will always be the quintessential grandmother to me; the smell of her home always made me smile, and I have sweet memories of playing restaurant in her basement, spending nights at Nana's by myself, and eating Pepperidge Farm Ginger Man cookies with her at the kitchen table that overlooked her bird bath and the beautiful garden on her hill. She was the most gentle and most God-loving woman I have ever had the honor to know. I hope some day that I will have the privilege of being the kind of grandmother she was to me. I still miss you, Nana.

Birthday Party Highlights

Please sing this in your head as you read: It's the most...hor-ri-ble time...of the year....

I have two words for you: research papers. Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!! Run away while you can before I try to accost you with my red pen!

I really do enjoy my job, but I wish my job did not include grading over one hundred eleventh grade research papers. It takes forever. I have often thought of the old teacher joke of throwing them down the stairs; the ones that fall to the bottom get Fs and the ones that land on the highest steps are awarded As. Unfortunately, I have a conscience. Drat!

Anyway, here are some pictures from the boys' birthday party last month. They had a wonderful day with very generous friends and family.

Mommy and Peanut on our actual birthday

At the party play place:

Even Eric and I had a great time because we didn't have to clean anything up afterwards. (And I even ignored the pizza and cake who were trying to call my name as well. Yay, me!)

The heat will get you, my pretty...and your little dog, too

Wonder why I haven't been adding a new post lately?!? Oh, don't worry, I still have plenty to say. It's just that I am so darn tired from making like the Wicked Witch of the West.

I'm melting...I'm melting!

It has been in the mid-90s the past four days, and guess whose school doesn't have the "air conditioning" ready to go yet? (Sidenote: "air conditioning" is in quotes because even when it is working, it is a bit of a leap to call it by that name.) Oh, and while you're at it, guess whose school closes all of the windows over the weekends so that the classrooms are people ovens on Monday? I had a plastic pencil cup on my windowsill, and it is a mutant now. None of the pencils will even look its way. It's embarrassing, really.

Anyway, I'm a miserable person in the heat. I am usually cold when it's 70 degrees, so when I am really hot, you know it's bad. My dad tells me I used to always complain when I was little in the summer that I was "BOY-ya-ling!" I am also exhausted from being so yucky and unable to accomplish much in all that thick air. I actually wore my hair up today because I go into survival mode when it is this hot. That's another way you know it's bad: I never wear my hair up. Oh, and my students all just love stepping in my room and feel the need to tell me so each period. Not. And as you can imagine, they are really motivated to get their work done in such a pleasant environment when they are all sweatballs and half of them didn't put on deodorant in the morning.

And after all this...tomorrow, they're predicting rain and a high of 59. True story.

P & P is Rated G

I'm glad to learn through this easy little link that my blog is suitable for all ages. The only word it found that was questionable was "steal." I wrote about the tooth fairy not stealing Peanut's tooth, getting a children's book for a steal, and someone stealing the summer days away from me. I don't think any of that is too objectionable, unlike my husband's film blog, which is apparently way more risque' than my innocent mommy blog, because this was his rating:

I purposely tried this now, because after the next post I have planned, I may no longer qualify for a "G" rating. You'll just have to stay tuned!

If you have a blog, comment on this post and let me know what yours is rated (and you don't have to join anything; just click the "no thanks" link at the bottom right to see the rating). And if you have some favorite blogs, try their web addresses in the "rate it!" window as well. (By the way, MckMama readers...are you surprised that her adorable blog is also rated R?!?) You can try any blog your heart desires. The best part is seeing the objectionable words revealed. I will refrain from listing all of my husband's objectionable words here, even though some are laughable. I would guess if I listed them here, I would receive a much stronger rating. And I like bein' a "G"!

Hmmm... ;)

Flashback Friday: Uncle Bruce

This is one of my very favorite snapshots of Peanut as a baby. He was eight months old, and his Great Uncle Bruce is holding him. Uncle Bruce is my father-in-law's brother, and the two of them are a lot alike in that both men are terribly generous, caring, and family-centered. My husband has vivid and wonderful memories of his uncle from his childhood. My favorite memories of him center around the day Eric and I announced our engagement to his parents and immediate relatives at a large family reunion. Uncle Bruce enthusiastically welcomed me into the family with a huge bear hug and an excited announcement over the loud speaker that made me humbled to be included in such a loving group of future relatives. Sadly, Uncle Bruce lost his long battle with cancer late Wednesday evening. We will miss him dearly, though we know he is again embracing his parents and other loved ones in his eternal family reunion in heaven.

Flashback Friday: Applesauce

Kristin at age one

It's hard to believe that this little girl eventually had weight issues, huh?!?

I want to thank everyone for their kind words and support regarding my weight loss post. As I said, I had talked myself out of writing it numerous times, but I had a feeling that my readers were just that awesome and everyone would be positive. And I was right! So, thank you again. I will keep you posted on my progress (although I must admit that it is getting harder the more I lose!). I do have a long way to go, but at least I can say with all sincerity that I have never eaten straight out of an applesauce jar. Well, at least not recently, anyway! :)

My best birthday present ever...

Dear Peanut,

Our first glimpse of you

Was so tiny and small

You were our baby Peanut

After Daddy and I saw

Your hand and your foot

And your sweet round head
And my heart skipped a beat

When it felt yours instead

You did not arrive quietly

Quite dramatic at birth

But the moment we heard you

You multiplied our worth

Your crying continued
And then so did ours

As we looked to the sky

And wished on the stars

And as fast as they came

Those hard days passed

We marveled at your giggles

Hoped this babyhood would last

But you took your first step

And you said your first word

And we sang "Happy Birthday"

As my teary eyes blurred

I am still that same Mommy

When your big day is here

Even though you keep changing
I just can't change my tears

So many milestones

As I add up the sum

Of the joys you have brought me

And the obstacles overcome

Almost done kindergarten

You've learned many new things

Like how to make friends

And how to spread your wings

But don't fly too fast

From your mommy's embrace

You get smarter every day

And I can't halt the pace

So on your sixth birthday

If you see Mommy cry

You don't need to be worried

You don't need to ask why

I'm holding on to my memories

And trusting all that's in store

Because with each day that passes

I can only love you more.

Meet me halfway

I talked myself out of writing this post a million times. Okay, maybe not a million. A zillion is probably more accurate.

You see, as much fun as it is to be self-deprecating on my blog and tell you about all of those crazy mama moments in my house, it is still just that -- my blog. And who wants to show everything -- their warts and all -- on her own blog?!?

So, there is something many of you may not know about me. Everyone who knows me in real life knows. But many of my readers don't, because either we have never actually met or you haven't seen me in a while. Sure, you have seen pictures of me, but I have complete control over what I show you and how you see me. And quite frankly, I like it that way. That is part of the fun of having a blog and sharing everything you want to share and nothing you don't.

But I don't want to keep this a secret anymore.

To many, I have committed a mortal sin. Some would view it as a societal crime. And if you met me, I wouldn't be able to hide it. Unlike alcoholism, drug addiction, or a rap sheet from here to Timbuktu, I can't hide my horrible deed from others. And that is what made me write this post.

I had to have my very own eyes opened for me at least three times before I really, truly saw it myself.

The first time...I was in my classroom teaching with my door shut. In my peripheral vision, I saw someone in the glass door whom I didn't recognize. That person did not go away, despite my glares. After several double-takes, I realized that the "person" I saw was my own reflection.

The second time...I was asked to sing on stage in our auditorium at a concert as a surprise to my students. One of my friends videotaped my performance and was nice enough to give me a copy afterwards. The piece had gone surprisingly well, and I was eager to see and hear it to see if it matched the wonderful memory in my mind. Instead, I had to turn off the television before I sang a note because I wasn't able to watch through my tears of disgust.

The third time...I was at our high school's graduation. I was one of the teachers who would walk in with the seniors to "Pomp and Circumstance" and sit at the end of one of the aisles along with some other colleagues to represent the faculty. All of us wore graduation gowns (you know, the tent-like black robes) with our respective college hoods in back. I had dutifully worn mine every year, so before I left for the ceremony, I made sure it was pressed and hung it in my car. A few moments before the ceremony, I was helping others with their corsages and decided I should pin my own on as well. Soon after, I desperately fought the urge to run back to my car and drive the forty minutes home and instead find out if they -- possibly??? -- had another gown I could wear.

The moral to all three of these stories? I finally admitted to myself that I had a major problem. One that I couldn't control anymore. And believe me, it's not easy to convince a control freak that she is out of control. But I had to face facts.

I was extremely fat.

Now, you precious blog readers, do not misinterpret. I don't mean I was darn-it-I-still-have-to-lose-that-baby-weight fat. I also don't mean I was wow-I-must-have-gone-up-a-jeans-size fat. I mean I was capital F-A-T fat.

It's not that I didn't know what was happening. I have mirrors. I wear clothes. I knew the size I had to buy and the three stores in the mall that carried them. But what I felt like on the inside was never ever what I looked like on the outside. I really tried to avoid having my picture taken and I refused to see what the unforgiving lens showed me so blatantly when the occasional photo opportunity came along. I posed behind people and things and even cut myself out of other pictures.

All the while, I thought this was the ultimate, absolute worst monstrosity I could possibly have allowed myself to become. After all, when you want to really insult a woman, you only have to use one word: the "f-word." (No, not that f-word! The three-letter-one that's even worse than that.) In fact, in my opinion, one of the only acts of hatred that you can still admit in our society without being politically incorrect is a prejudice towards overweight people. Want a good laugh? Type "fat kid" into YouTube's search engine and see all of the "must see" videos. "Fat kid nearly dies on a rollercoaster! Hilarious!" Or think about conservative pundit Laura Ingraham's recently publicized insults towards Meghan McCain for asserting her opinion; Ingraham chose not to (as McCain says best) "intellectually debate our ideological differences" but instead use "heartless, substance-less attacks about weight" as a retort. In other words, she responded by calling McCain "fat." And how many people can't wait to call all of their friends and report that a fellow classmate has put on a bunch of pounds? I am sure that the classmate-who-put-on-a-bunch-of-pounds phone calls centered around yours truly after I had the courage to show my larger-than-life self at my twentieth high school reunion last year. I really forced myself to go to see so many people I cared deeply about, but I was relieved that there wasn't a prized doughnut for the Girl Who Gained the Most Weight Since 1988.

So why am I sharing this with you now?!? Why pour out my chubby heart to people who don't even have to know? Because I like being honest. And in all honesty, I am not a good liar. And because...well, I am now halfway.

Those last three eye-opening times made a definite impact. They caused me to get back in control. And just a few weeks ago, I cried in a store dressing room. But not for the same reason I cried at my performance video or because I could no longer zip my graduation gown. I cried because I fit into a size I hadn't seen since before getting pregnant with Peanut.

Since the summer, I have lost 48 pounds and four sizes. Whew. It feels good to write that.

For most people, that would be that. But I told you, I was capital F-A-T fat. For me, this is just over halfway to my goal. But I see the light. In fact, I feel the light, or rather, I feel lighter. I feel happier. I can see my progress, and the mirror no longer has to lie to me. I can look at the number on my pants now and not want to cut out the tag. And people are starting to see me and not the person I was using to cover up me.

So now you know the real me, [fat] warts and all. And you know what? I'm no longer ashamed to show you.

Before (obviously on the left) and After...so far (on the right)

P.S. Thank you, Weight Watchers!

Three Is a Magic Number

Dear Pumpkin,

You are my snuggle bug
Love to hug

Car lovin'
Sometimes roughin'

Sing song man
Fan of fans

Alphabet reading
Lollipop pleading

Hands flailin'
Veggie Talin'

Don't like waiting
Story creating

Fresh milk addicted
Bath night conflicted

Occasional toy flingin'
Lemon car singin'

Happy when wakes
Lover of cakes

Shaky shaking
Funny face making

Tiggle Wiggles
Give great giggles

I'll soon be missin'
Sloppy wet kissin'

From my baby sweet pea
Because Pumpkin is three!

Flashback Friday: Prior to Pumpkin

It has been exactly three years since this picture was taken. We took Peanut to get his three-year-old portraits taken, and we decided last minute to try this shot with my extremely pregnant belly. (You can tell that's my pregnant belly, right?!? I added some shading as to not shock anyone.) I was actually so pregnant that I had Pumpkin the following day. The women at the photo studio probably thought I was nuts, but I knew I'd better get the portraits done of Peanut then or they might never get done with a newborn in the house. I have such mixed feelings looking at this now; I am nostalgic, I am emotional, and I am wistful. But mostly, I am blessed.