Day Out with Thomas

For 60 years, Thomas the Tank has been delighting children.  Mine is no exception.  He is SO enamored with the Island of Sodor and its steam-driven inhabitants that about a year ago his room became a stopping point for the entire "Can-do Crew." Two days of painting, stenciling, stickering, and sweating later, and his room was transformed into a Thomas and Friends wonderland.

About the same time last year, we wanted to take him to a program that travels around the country called "Day Out with Thomas." Sadly, timing was off, and we missed it.

Thankfully, Ziggy's seriously AWESOME Nana (aka Mom) happened along an advertisement for the program and learned it was coming back around this year.  Would we miss it again? Pass up the opportunity to foster the Island dreams of our special boy?

Nay.  Not if I could help it.  So, tickets were purchased, and we were set.    Two days before our journey in into Thomas heaven, a friend from my childhood posted a status on Facebook saying he would be driving Thomas!

When we were kids, Shaun lived three doors down from me.  To say he was obsessed with trains would be the largest understatement in history!  His entire upstairs had the most amazing model train set.  If I was ever looking for him and he wasn't at home, I knew I could find him at the tracks.  When we were in high school, this of course became something used to tease him, but he stood his ground, loved what he loved, and continued to foster this love.  He remains one of the few people I know who had big dreams as a child and LIVES those dreams as an adult. He was one of the first "brave ones," facing ridicule and enduring it to later prove that he would do what he wanted and be successful. 

So, a couple of FB messages later, and we had plans to ride Thomas and to see the locomotive that drives him (actually on the other end of the train: kills the mystery, I know).  It proved to be the BEST part of the day.  Ziggy got to pull the horn, sit in the engineer's seat, and dream locomotive dreams.  If you ask his favorite part of the day, it isn't the big slide, the ride on the train, seeing Thomas, or anything else we did today.  It is getting to see the "big train" with Shaun. He was so entranced that he asked to see pictures over and over again. 

In the end, the adults had just as much fun as Ziggy did.  He got to see a train close up and will go to sleep dreaming engineer dreams.  And I got to reconnect with a friend who inspires me to be who I am, no apologies, and might just inspire me to get moving on that book... 

The Birds and The Bees

Before you start to worry, this isn't THAT kind of post.  Ziggy isn't even four yet, so I am REALLY hoping I have some time before I have to navigate that discussion.

Lately, Ziggy has taken to imitating animals.  He goes so far to explain to me that I am the Mommy (insert genus/species here), Hubbs is the Daddy (ditto), and he is the little (last time).

I have learned that the type of animal he chooses is directly related to his mood.  If he is irritated (normally after I have told him to do something for the umpteenth time), he is a lion.  When he's sleepy and wants to cuddle, he is a puppy or a kitten.

Today?  We started out as parrots.  Why?  I have no clue.    I have yet to really be able to pinpoint what mood he was in.  He was happy.  We were headed out to the store, just me and him.  He was hungry, so a stop for nuggets and fries was in order (and a toy).  We ceased being parrots for a little while.

Our second stop was at our favorite warehouse sized store.  There were a lot of people in the store, which tends to lead to complete and total silence in my son.  Ziggy did not follow in my personality footsteps.  I like people (for the most part).  I tend to smile at strangers politely as I pass (although even I don't go so far as to speak to them in check out lanes).    My son?  Not so much. He generally elects to simply stare at those who choose to try to engage him in conversation.

Today, instead of silence, we morphed into bees.  The more people tried to draw him out, the louder the buzzing.  The higher the pitch?  The happier the bee apparently.  I ran into a coworker and her husband while in the store, and the little bee who had overtaken my son's body actually nodded at questions and smiled.  This is a rare occurrence in his world and means that he likes the person with whom he is speaking.  Like hubs, he has a great sense of people.

So, would other people find it weird?  Probably.  Do I care?  Absolutely not.  In this day and age, children grow up way too fast.  Imaginations are squashed in favor of realism.  We tell our children that they have to see the world in black and white and shades of gray instead of helping them remember that there exists a rainbow of colors.

And it is for this reason that my child is going to keep on buzzing, roaring, squawking, meowing, and yipping through his preschool years.  The promise I make to him is to allow him to be a carefree little boy as long as I can.  And to make sure that he always gets to see the rainbow.

Little Einsteins

Okay...I know this is technically yesterday's blog.  Blame it on a late night schedule.  But, I am taking up @bluebelleinbg's challenge and am going to try to fulfill the NaBloPoMo's mission to blog every day in September. Even if I am not really that interesting and am not sure I have that much to say.  So, we'll see how it goes.  In the interest of playing along with the theme, I am writing my first (and probably only) "art" themed blog. 

My son is very single-minded in purpose.  I cannot imagine that there are many toddlers who aren't.  He doesn't ease into a new interest.  He jumps in full force and head-on.  He sees something new and the family is subjected to it repeatedly for weeks.  Thankfully, the fervor does die down and while he doesn't forget, he does ease up.

This week's "new" thing?  Little Einsteins.  

I had never watched it before this week, so imagine my joy when, during the first episode, I learn that it is a show geared towards teaching children about music and art.  And not just the crappy music and fingerpainting.  Instead, classic art and classical music.  Andy Warhol.  Smetana.  Van Gogh beyond Starry Night.  Beethoven.  

And he LOVES it!  Since I have been singing since I was little and have been addicted to Van Gogh since I was a child, I am thrilled with his latest obsession.  We might be inundated with it for the next few weeks, but at least it's education beyond the normal shapes and colors. 

Fish

Salmon.

Cod.

Flounder.

Alaskan Whitefish.

Tuna.

For the last month, my daily intake of food has been comprised mainly of scaly and finned protein sources.  The meal plan does allow for a little variety:  throw some chicken and turkey in there for good measure.  All this and UNLIMITED green beans.

Trust that the language that followed that uppercase (and underlined) assertion from my doctor is best left offline.

I am determined to win the battle against obesity this time.  I am 30+, and I both want another child and to be around for the one I have.  Additionally, I want to be healthy enough to enjoy my life with my family.
And, as a side note, that dress IS going to fit WITHOUT any alterations. 

I have been (mostly) faithful to the meal plan. Any time that I am tempted to stray, I remind myself of the goals and what happened the last time I even THOUGHT about eating something that wasn't on the plan.   A mixture of guilt and physical illness ensued, reminding me that cheeseburgers are overrated.

While there may come a time when the repercussions of going off meal plan might be worth it, I have decided to save that decadence for the proposed cruise for our 10th anniversary.  The goal: 100 pounds to be lost before we take the trip.  The timeframe:  8 months.

Is it possible?  We'll see.  Am I determined?  Oh, yeah!  And so far, 14.4 pounds gone.

Only 85.6 pounds to go.  It seems daunting, but I cannot and will not fail.  It's just not an option this time.

So: here's the official ticker.  This is countdown to 100 pounds.  Cheesy?  Maybe, but I am tired of hiding and can use all the help I can get!

Temptation and Trepidation

On Friday, I hit one week on the meal plan.   It was a bit of a struggle in the first few days, but by day four I thought I was starting to hit my stride. I had a check-in with Dr. B and learned that I am down nine pounds!!  And then I came home from work.

Being from Kenya, my husband has many yummy treats in his culinary repertoire.  The unfortunate thing about said yummy treats is that not one of them is on the meal plan.   They all involve flour, bread, and frying.  When I arrived home, having had to ditch my salmon from lunch (another story) and hungry, I spied the plate on the counter.  Crispy, chewy, meaty, fried, yummy Sambusa goodness.  Think eggroll with all the veggies removed and replaced with curry spiced meat and not much else.  They are, in a word, amazing.

I would love to say that I was able to look at the Sambusa and rise above the temptation.  I would love to say that I saw them, admired them, and left them on the counter.

Yeah, right.  I ate one.

Even typing that, I feel as guilty as I did the night I ate it.  I would love to be able to say that it tasted so wonderful that the stumble was worth it.  I am sure that it would have been yummy under normal circumstances; they always are.

And so, in grand tradition, I fretted over eating it, realized there was nothing I could do about it once it was eaten, and then proceeded to figure out how to get back on the wagon.

Step one was to get over the guilt and move on. Step two was to plan a trip to our local Farmers' Market the next morning to get back on track.

It is very important to note that while I went to a rural high school, I know ZERO about farming, vegetables, all of it.  I thought I would go, check it out, and it would be fine.  It was seriously overwhelming to one such as me.

Thank goodness for @bluebelleinbg.  My own personal food guru, she is my go-to gal when it comes to needing foodie help (among other things).  Even though she is what seems like forever away, technology is the great equalizer.   In the midst of my eternal vegetable confusion, she was the solid.  One quick text professing my impending meltdown, and she came to my vegetehell rescue.

A few messages that served to instill confidence and thirty minutes later, I left with wonderfully fresh, local veggies to incorporate into the meal plan to inject some life into it.

And so, I am back on the wagon with a vengeance.  I also have plans to venture to the Farmer's market next week to pick up some more fresh veggies.

And lastly, I am letting go of the guilt.  After all, this is a work in progress, not an instant fix.  It's going to take time, I am going to make mistakes, and I am going to give myself a break when I do.  After all, it's important to make sure that when I fall I get back up.  What would be the point of just lying there while the wagon runs me over?

Don't Call It a Diet

Ahhh...the "meal plan."  

Minimal. Spartan.

Sadistic.

I have been wanting to shrink for the purposes of health for quite some time.  I have been struggling as of late, due in part to a seriously backwards work and life schedule.  I get home late, hungry, eat, and then go to bed.  Not the best for keeping the weight down.

Now, I have additional motivation.  As matron of honor for my BFF Heidi's wedding in October,  I was charged with choosing the dress.  Here it is:

It is one of the very few dresses that actually has any sort of strap; all of the others being spaghetti or strapless altogether.   The downside?  Well, that's fairly obvious.  If it doesn't have sleeves, then I am in trouble.  The other problem is that it was ordered over 12 weeks ago, before this schedule began to take its toll on my eating habits (and conversely, my waistline).

So yesterday, I went for my yearly checkup with a new doctor.  In the past, doctors have skirted around the weight issue.  I would assume in an effort to be as politically correct and not lose patients.  To date, this method has not really served to motivate. All it has done is given me the ability to think: "Why should I worry? The doctor didn't seem that concerned about it?"

Enter Dr. B.

Of all the adjectives that could be used to describe Dr. B, neither warm nor fuzzy even enter my mind.  She is brash and tells it just like it is.  She told me we need to stop BS'ing ourselves and realize that losing weight means less food, more movement.  She managed to do this over the course of a conversation that took 40 minutes, never once making me feel berated or belittled. She never once made it seem like I was wasting her time or rushing me along.   She counted herself among those who try to delude themselves (even though she is probably a very respectable size 10).

While her method might not be what I am used to, it certainly is refreshing.  In that same conversation, she also asserted she would do whatever she could to support me.  I just needed to understand that at the end of the day, it was MY responsibility, not hers, to do something about the weight.  For all her stern words, they were tempered with an earnest desire to help me help myself.

And in comes the "meal plan."  Apparently, calling it that as opposed to a "diet" is supposed to make me feel better about the very few items I am allowed to consume.  Essentially, it's some egg whites, all the green veggies I can eat (UNLIMITED green beans, apparently), and lean meat, chicken, and fish.  I do get a soy protein shake each day, and as a treat, one whole (small) piece of fruit. And, thankfully, I can have two cans of diet soda per day, so long as I drink enough water to fill a kiddie pool each day as well.

But, it is for the greater good.  I will have weekly check ins, just to see how I am doing and get a pep talk if I need it.  It will go something like this: "if you fall off the wagon, just hop back on when it slows down.  All that matters is you don't let it run you over" (words that have already been provided by Dr. B).

So, here we are, day 2 of the "meal plan."  I'm hungry.  That's all I can say.  If I can make it through the first couple of weeks, I have been assured that it will get easier.  I am going to operate on faith on this one.

Because I sure won't be operating on food.

Five

Today, Aidan turns five.  He is hopping, skipping, and jumping.  He knows his colors, the alphabet, and can recite his address.  He is getting ready to start kindergarten.

All of which he is doing in Heaven.

Five years ago today, I said goodbye to my son.  I said goodbye to all of those dreams of watching him grow, of walking him to class on his first day of school, of blinking back tears as I wondered at how he had managed to grow up so quickly.

I still remember waking up on July 25, 2005 and wishing that it wasn't real.  I remember thinking that God wouldn't hand me a dream just to snatch it away.  I was so...angry.  I wanted to lash out.  I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.  And at the end, I wanted to crawl up in a hole and disappear.

But I couldn't.  As much as I wanted time to stand still, it wouldn't.  As much as I wanted life to stop, it didn't.

Life and time are funny that way.  No matter how much you think you need time to stand still, however briefly, it doesn't.  And now, five years later, I look back with amazement.  I am amazed that I survived, when I didn't think I would.  I am amazed that I write this without a resurgence of resentment towards the Almighty.  And I am amazed that God would give me a second chance when I spent a great deal of time lashing out at Him for taking away my first.

And I am amazed that I can breathe.

The pain is still there.  I know it will always be there.  I will never fully recover from losing Aidan.  Five years later, I cannot look at his first pictures.  They are stored away; a box of memories that I will one day be able to open.

When Z is old enough, I will share that box of memories of his big brother with him.   I will tell him how sad I was to lose Aidan, but that it was in that loss that I found the strength to move forward.  In that loss, I found compassion and understanding, and in the end, hope.  

So today, five years later, I think back on my son and realize that he IS hopping, skipping, and jumping.  He knows his colors, the alphabet, and can recite his address.  He is getting ready to start kindergarten.

He is just doing it in Heaven.