Wanderlust

Tipping the Scales

The deadline I set for myself back in the spring for major weight loss is fast approaching so I thought I should update you on the progress. Initially, in the first month after Owen was born, I lost about thirty pounds in the blink of an eye. In the subsequent two months, I was able to drop about 5-8 more without much effort. But after that, the scale refused to budge and hovered around the 150 mark for weeks on end. I kicked it into high gear- walking, doing Tae Bo again, and trying to control my diet a little more carefully (not something I'm especially good at). The pounds came off in excruciating slow increments. There are a few reasons for this. One is that, because I hadn't done intensive exercise in awhile, I was adding muscle at a pretty quick rate and muscle weighs significantly more than fat. The other is that, while breastfeeding, it is not advisable to lose more than a pound or two a week because it will release toxins into your bloodstream that could end up in your milk as well as effect your overall milk supply. The body needs to maintain a certain amount of "surplus" so to speak, to continue to be able to produce enough to feed another human being. "Surplus" in this case refers directly to my thighs and hips.

But now the results are in and after many afternoons cursing Billy Blanks under my breath, I am glad to say that I am within three pounds of my goal weight, which is the magic number I weighed the first time I went to the doctor 8 weeks pregnant. Within the next six months, before I stop breastfeeding and my metabolism slows to a crawl, I plan to lose another 6-8 pounds. And then, after Owen's first birthday when I am finally released from breastfeeding for good behavior, I will be able to lose the last five, which I am certain reside in my enormous, milk heavy boobs. For now, I can button my old jeans and wear some of my old shirts and that's good enough for me.

Some tricks for weight loss I found useful are:

1: Do the cul-de-sacs: Always walk that extra loop, park in the farthest parking space. Every little bit counts. By walking all the cul-de sacs in my neighborhood in addition to my usual route, I add nearly half a mile to my morning walk.

2: Portion control: I'm terrible at this so I used a few shortcuts. Before dinner I would serve myself the normal amount, and then I would cut everything in half, put one half in a tupperware in the fridge for lunch the next day, and eat what was left. Economical because you make two meals out of one, saves time making lunch the following day, and is an easy way to exercise will power. Also, use smaller plates and cut the carbohydrates from your evening meal, focusing on lean meats and veggies (no rice, potoatoes, pastas- empty calories).

3: Don't drink your calories: Cut the juice, sodas and cappucinnos. They won't fill you up and they cost more calorie wise than they're worth.

4: Deserve Dessert: I'm a desert fanatic and so it feels like I'm depriving myself to forego something sweet at the end of the evening meal. So instead, I'd keep a jar of hard candies on the table and allow myself to have one or two to suck on after the meal. Sweet taste without the punishment.

5: Think, think, think: Everytime I found myself reaching into the cupboard for a snack, I'd ask myself if I was really hungry. Usually I was just restless or tired or feeling stressed and I'd talk myself into a nap or doing something productive instead. Although food is a quick fix, it feels alot better to give yourself what you ACTUALLY need instead.

I'll keep inching towards my goal and I'll have another update for you come Christmas.

Three Years Old

Hard to believe Miles turned three today. If you think about it in dog years, he's old enough to drive and drink. My little boy done growed up!

Miles seems somewhat morose these days, probably due to the fact that the most excitement he gets is when Owen spits up near enough to his head that he doesn't actually have to move to lick it up. Timber has been out of commission with an injured leg since early July, so I've been keeping the dog fights to barroom brawl level instead of Gettysburg revisited. Miles lives for his daily walk, that half hour every morning when he chokes himself to death at the end of a leash.

Miles celebrated low key with some frosty paws this evening followed by bed sleeping privileges, a treat he is rarely allowed since he has become the loudest snorer in the family in his old age.

Happy Birthday, Miles!

They're here!

New pictures of Owen have made their way to the gallery. You can see them here. I haven't had a chance to revamp the albums yet but I'll let you know when I do. Unfortunately, we didn't take too many pictures this month but never fear. I'm sure we'll have lots to share after our Colorado trip. Enjoy for now!

Memoirs on Mommihood Part XV

EAT THIS

I'm not sure why I can't stand spoonfeeding another human being, but it ranks right up there with chewing wool and nails on a chalkboard for me. Everytime the patient journey from bowl to mouth begins with the dip of the spoon, I begin to get the irresistable urge to gnaw my own limbs off. Perhaps it is because I am by nature an impatient person and there is nothing like feeding someone an entire bowl of runny oatmeal with a spoon the size of a dime to make you want to run around the house, painting walls in your own feces.

Owen does not make this aggitating task any easier with his constant grunting. And when I describe the noise he makes as constant, you should think of a vacuum cleaner or the endless stream of nonsense that comes out of Dick Cheney's mouth. A perfectly and absolutely annoying accompaniment to every mouthful. I have no earthly idea why he makes this noise and he never made it previously to his introduction to the spoon. Now he even grunts during his breastfeeding sessions, like a little buddha doing his meditation chants.

There are lots of things about motherhood I should find more dehabilitating than this. The heady intoxication of sleep deprivation, the neverending stream of unsolicited parenting advice, not to mention the diapers, the massive piles of laundry and having to siphon boogers out of someone else's nose. But none of those things set me on the razor's edge quite like feeding time. I feel like I'm loading one of those stupid little Playdough Fun Factory toys- you know the ones where you put in the playdough on the top and push the handle down and out squeezes purple spaghetti. For every mouthful I put in, at least half comes back out, only partially resembling its former self. I hate that shit. Give me an easy bake oven and be done with it.

For now, someone has to keep shoveling in the food, spoonful by patient spoonful. But the day when Owen picks up a piece of food and deposits it in his own mouth I'm throwing that stupid baby feeding spoon into the garbage disposal where it belongs.

Going Going... GONE!

For a while, we've been thinking about selling the Audi to get a more "family" car. Don't worry, we don't want more family right now. Just more car. The Audi has been great, but the back seat is really cramped with either an adult or Owen, never mind the car seat. It has heated, leather seats and is really fancy with all the bells and whistles you can image (in fact too fancy for me, unless it was a Audi S4). We wanted to get something that is newer (the Audi is a '97), can support a family of five (two adults, two dogs and one baby), makes us look super cool (therefore NO MINIVANS), and a car we can keep until it dies or we do. The Audi never really fit into that, and was a car to quickly replace poor Bessie. We want to buy something we'll really want to keep for the next 10 years. The Audi was good but it has served it's purpose. So we put it in the paper.

On Monday a guy came over and within 3 hours, he paid cash for the Audi. Unbelievable. He was the first person to actually come take a look after a couple of days of dead end phone calls. It is now gone. Sweet I thought, let's get a new car!

We had decided some time ago on what car we wanted. A 2007 Mazda 3 Hatchback. Zoom, Zoom. We basically want the base model with a standard transmission. We looked into it about a month ago and we just needed to sell the Audi and buy the Mazda. Simple right?

Previous to this, I'd been in contact with a salesman at a dealership and tried to figure out how we were going to sell the Audi and buy a car right after that so that we don't go without a car too long. He told me it's no problem and we should get together Wednesday to find one and maybe I would put some money down to secure it. He said it is just a matter of finding what we want.

I called on Wednesday to tell him to find us a car now because I sold the Audi. He called back and said that it is really, really difficult to find one. That is because a boat in the Pacific took some water, and tipped into the ocean. And not just any boat. A boat that just happened to have (drumroll, please).... 4800... new... Mazdas on it. All of them gone. (Now at $20,000 a car, that is $96 Million of total loss).

Maybe we should get a used one you say? Well since this apparently happened July 30th, the used market for Mazda 3's are hot and a used car is like $1,000 to maybe $2,000 less than a new. And that is if we can find one with the things we are looking for. Manual transmissions are especially difficult to find around here, I'm guessing because Utah drivers can barely function behind the wheel while talking on the cell phone, eating and yelling at their five kids crammed into the back seat. It's just too much to ask to expect them to shift at the same time.

Maybe we should stick with one car? Kaz is not working and a stay at home mother. The truck, which is the perfect truck for us and we plan to keep as long as possible, gets 13 mpg. That's a whole lotta gas money at 80 miles a day to work and back. And if gas prices keep climbing, Owen can kiss his college tuition goodbye.

So if we want a new Mazda, we are going to have to order one like everyone else, and wait up to 4 months (if we are lucky) to get it. Hmmmm.. what to do? (besides bending over and taking it in the ass, which it seems we are already doing).

Well, needless to say, we are working on a solution. I think we've got something worked out, but I will wait until we make a final decision before revealing the answer. I think you'll be surprised. And no, we are not joining the circus.

So funny it almost made me chortle

So George and I were looking through the website traffic the other day and noticed lots of people looking at a particular demolition derby picture. Turns out this dude on MySpace was using it in his profile pics. So George and I thought it would be funny to replace it with a more appropriate image. Check it out and tell us what you think. The best part- the guy hasn't even caught on yet. Three days and counting!
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=17144137

On why we shouldn't be allowed to raise children...

Several nights ago George was playing with Owen on the couch. They were engaging in a favorite game where Owen gets thrown back on the couch and laughs with abandon. Instead of just tossing him, George would put his hand against Owen's forehead and repeat:

"In the name of the father, the son and the holy ghost I command you to leave this child! Out devils!" And then he would throw Owen backwards onto the couch cushion to an accompaniment of giggles.

"Don't do that."
"Why?"
"I just think there's something wrong about playing televangelist with our son."

Letters to the O

Seven Months

Much to my dismay, your sixth month birthday found us both weathering through a summer cold. You maintained your congenial good temper throughout and really only seemed bothered for a day or two during the whole episode. Right about the same time, you seem to have discovered coughing and thought it was a hilarious sound that you since duplicate for strangers, who, to your delight, show such concern over your hyperbole.

In fact, this month your father and I have realized that somehow, despite the fact that we both would love nothing better than to hole up in a log cabin in the woods for the rest of our days, you feed like a bloodsucking leech on human adoration and interaction. You live to smile. You can be counted upon, no matter what the situation, to be angelically pleasant in public and your charm has resulted in hundreds of compliments form strangers. "What a happy baby!" or "Look at that smile!" You are, of course, particularily fond of women and reward them with your full body squirm and a delighted giggle, in addition to your wide, open smile.

Heaven forbid they try to hold you, however. This is a right awarded only to Mom and you are quick to sound a pealing shriek of alarm and quickly scan the room for the face you know so well. You've begun to say "mama," althought it doesn't seem as if you've realized this word relates directly to that woman with the milk. And when "mama" leaves the room, the temper tantrums that result are glorious crescendos of fevered tears and thrashing legs. You have become fascinated with every detail of "mama," clutching at my necklaces and hair and holding them in your ferocious grip. You have also, unfortunately, realized that those lovely milk orbs are underneath my shirt and frequently pull the front of my shirt out to peer down as if to say- "Hullo down there! How are you?"

Your journey of discovery hasn't ended there. You started the month sitting for long counts of a hundred or more. You can now be trusted to sit independently for fifteen minutes to half an hour without falling over into a little heap of baby. This has opened a whole new world of play for you and you've spent many hours sitting under your play gym or in your playpen, engrossed in toys. You've discovered how to put things inside each other, bang them, and how to press buttons to illict sounds from your magical toys. Our walks have become much more interesting to you now that you can sit up and actively scan your world, your garbbled calls a constant accompaniment to our steps through the neighborhood. Just last week your reached beyond your stroller to touch Miles's panting, black head bobbing next to you as we walked. He licked your hand in appreciation and I felt a little teary eyed despite myself.

Your appetite seems insatiable and you gobble up veggies and cereal three times daily. Most foods seem to meet with your approval except perhaps broccolli and potatoes. I was shocked when you actually enjoyed asparagus. Freak. You've even begun to try and help me feed you, guiding the spoon to your own mouth. I try to encourage this despite my horror of watching you plaster oatmeal inside your nostrils. Just in the past two weeks, two tiny teeth have broken ground in your lower gum, causing much crankiness and sleeplessness for us both. I'm terrified for the day when the matching ones appear in your upper mouth because I'm certain my nipples are in imminent danger.

Bathtime is your new favorite thing to do in the evenings and you've begun to splash and attempt in earnest to drink the bathwater. In fact, you delight in being naked, mostly because you've discovered your penis. You reach down every time I change you just to give it a few tugs. "Okay, still there. Good."

While you've been standing and even taking steps for several months with assistance, I can see real progress in your balance. This month, I can stand you on a flat surface and actually let go for a few seconds before you crumble like a demolition tower. Your father and I have been trying to encourage you to crawl first however, by placing the love of your life (the TV remote) inches from your grasp and watching your kick and squirm on your tummy until your fingers can close around it.

Earlier this month on a Sunday morning, I left you on our bed with your Dad while I went to the bathroom. When I came back out, you were sitting in the curve of his body, running your baby palms over the tattoe on his arm and furrowing your brow. It was so tender and adorable that I waited across the room, not wanting to interrupt the moment. You, engrossed in the lines on his skin the same way you study my moles, intimate and somehow tender.

Knock, knock... it's Don Julio!

I have failed to find a health store brand of tortillas that doesn't seem less than appetizing, and so we've been buying Don Julio tortillas for several months now. While they contain offensive ingredients to some extent (partially hydrogenated oils and the like), we've yet to find a brand that doesn't and since they are a local company, very fresh and very yummy we purchase them about every other week. Recently, I was suprised to find a small tortilla in a package of larger ones and then earlier this week I bought a package that was entirely stuck together. When you tried to peel them away from each other they shredded into pieces. A bit miffed, I went online to the company's website and sent them a letter detailing my disappointment and the problems I'd encountered. I recieved an email back within a few hours, apologizing and offering to send me some replacement product. I sent back my address to the company that evening and went to bed looking forward to free tortillas.

The next day at 11 am, my doorbell rings. After shuffling the alarm system know as two energetic labradors into a bedroom, I hoisted Owen onto my hip and went to answer the door. And on my doorstep were two men dressed in suits with a pile of tortillas. Don Julio! It was both the plant manager and the director of marketing who had stopped by to deliver me tortillas baked that morning and to apologize in person. Talk about customer service! This is exactly why it pays to invest your time and money into local companies because when you've got a problem, they really give a shit.

I called George at work and he said he almost didn't believe me, but I've got the business cards and four packages of fresh tortillas to prove it.

Weekend Roundup

George and I fell into a comatose sleep at 9:30 Sunday night after our extraordinarily busy weekend. What's sad is that we are both still slightly fatigued and achy from what would have been normal weekend outings just a few years ago. Old age has apparently descended and our bodies are not giving in gracefully. It's also a hell of alot harder to lug a baby around with us, especially one that is upwards of sixteen pounds now. Thankfully he made up for his size by being absolutely angelic all weekend despite a sleep deficit and a flurry of constant activity and people.

Saturday morning, after our previously mentioned garage sale sweep, we took a long, leisurely stroll through the downtown farmer's market. I lost count of how many people stopped us on the street or in stores to oogle at Owen and exclaim over his happy smiles. He had only had enough time to cat nap that morning but was nevertheless full of his usual charm and social graces. We loitered around 25th street until about noon, and then traipsed back home with fresh corn, a loaf of fresh sourdough bread, an iced latte and a pair of earrings (for me, of course).

Saturday evening Ken, Holly, their friend Dave and Winston (Ken's dog), rolled into town. They had trailered their bikes and were going to a track day over at the new Larry Miller Speedway out in Tooele the following morning. We were psyched to see them and were anxious to see whether their dog Winston (an Aikita) and our dogs would get along. We carefully introduced them but it didn't go well and after several attempts that ended in snarls and nips, we gave up and regulated them to separate parts of the house. Boys will be boys. After a late dinner of Ken's favorite kabobs, coconut rice, fresh corn on the cob and brownies, we hit the hay early.

The next morning George, Owen and I joined the crew out at the speedway. We watched Ken and Dave race and tried to stay out of the scorching sun. Towards the afternoon there was a light breeze that gave some relief and we picked up lunch in town at a fabulous place with enormous sandwiches. We stayed a few more hours after that and then drove over to visit with our friends Ron and Lori, who had recently moved to Toelle. We arrived home Sunday evening, exhausted, ordered pizza and congratulated ourselves on making it through the weekend.

Toys on the cheap, real cheap

Some of you may think we don't like Utah, or don't appreciate it. Mostly it is just us letting off some steam from being inundated by certain behavior around here. But I can tell you one thing I love about Utah. Babies! Since Mormans have to bring as many souls to earth as humanly possible to experience the trials and tribulations of our earthly life, there are thousands of garage sales filled with kids stuff every Saturday. (There are no garage sales on Sundays because it is the Sabbath and we must keep it holy at all costs).

A couple of months ago, Kaz realized the unlimited bounty we could behest on our lost souls. So we started going to these garage sales to find stuff for Owen. We've probably spent about $75 on stuff that would have costed $400 new. I am not exaggerating.

Today was a huge harvest. We spent $12.50 and got everything in the picture. There was only two things we bought for ourselves. Can you guess them? Seriously, if you have to have babies, go to yard sales and find baby stuff. We look in the paper to find specific yard sales that have baby stuff and then try to get there as early as possible. If we don't get there early most places are picked over because when you have 6 kids, you go to yard sales too. Utah seems to be the yard sale capital of the world. Thank God for Utah! (Wait a minute. Did I just type that?)

Pictures, pictures and more pictures...

Here's another monthly dose of your favorite goofball (or at least mine). We took quite a few this month so there's more than usual that made the cut. We'll be condensing the albums after next month and a few of the pictures will get retired, so if there's any you're especially attached to (Grandma & Grandpa), print 'em out now. You can always email us and we can send you a version to print out as well. We recently went through and did a massive order of about fifty prints for Owen's baby book, so we've got 'em on file. Enjoy!