Not Your Mommy's Blog – Page 5 – Cute tagline here. Tomorrow.

Times They Are A-Changin’

So my hubby was a band director and didn’t remember desiring any other career since the beginning of things.

Except that this career kinda sucked for hubby. He spent 11 years hopping around to five different school districts – doing a good job and trying hard to be happy. But his hobby was always “computer stuff”.

Flashback: He built me my first (second, third) computer out of parts, in college. He was “Doctor Finale”, having mastered that music notation software back then, too. He could have charged classmates for all the help he game them, using that program.

About a year ago he started teaching himself different coding languages and working on web development projects. He began working for an app development company. He started going to JavaScript meet-ups. (No, I don’t know what those are either, but he met some very cool people who helped him out immensely, so whatever.) He started volunteering for Code for Philly, a non-profit organization that seeks to “make Philadelphia a better place to live, work, and play, through technology”. He was trying to learn all he could to start a new career- and then he got one!

Hubby resigned from his teaching job – after the spring concert – in May. June 1st he started a completely different job. He interviewed for a won an paid internship 50onRed, a tech advertising company. He’s been there 7 days and he’s never been happier, work-wise – and not just because of the endless stream of free food and relaxed atmosphere. He really enjoys the work.

He also just gave up teacher tenure. And summer. And the promise of steady employment. And being home by 4:30 every day. And me being able to schedule any appointment kid-free before 7 PM. And…

We are adjusting pretty well to the later schedule. He doesn’t have to be in at work (in Philadelphia) until 10:00 AM. Still doing the Daddy thing quite nicely, he gets the girls breakfasted and ready, drops them off at school, and heads to the train station. He is home around 7:00-7:30 (3 hours later than before). The girls are getting to stay up late by the old standards; they think this is a party.

However, it was the boy always made dinner in our house. What? He enjoyed making dinner. And he enjoyed that I perched on our bar stool, drank wine, and talked to him while he enjoyed making dinner. It was enjoyable. Now, I have to enjoy making dinner. Oh dear.

Another, “however”: I am going to be home and single-parenting it, without hubby. all. day. all. summer. long.

I am not a good stay-at-home mom. I don’t stay at home well, period. And I am one of those weird wives who actually loves and craves her husband’s company. Or, any adult’s company. I am going to miss him! I will be the only adult in the house with these two little kooks and the deranged puppy. Help! Send reinforcements. Tell them to bring their bathing suits, and wine.

In an effort to not succumb to Netflix & takeout poisoning, I’ve decreed that the following will happen, this summer:

A) We will maintain some kind of a schedule. Mainly so I can point to it and say “It’s not ‘bother Mommy’ time right now, it’s ‘Art Time’, or what have you.

How to Make a Summer Schedule for Kids Plus activities for summer — Like this Pinteresting thing, but less regimented. “11-12, Quiet Time in Room” hahahahahahaaaaaa *wipes tears away* That’s rich.

I am also going to make an attempt to do stuff with these kids, and report it here (dare I say daily? Ha). We live in a fabulous area of the country to raise children. There’s a ton to do here, between the city and the shore. I do have some grad work to do (classes until July), but after that, we’re gonna pound the Capri Suns and live it up – grade-schooler style. Woooooo! Call me if you wanna go somewhere or float around a pool.

B) I suck at cooking. I ruin grilled cheese. I have minor anxiety attacks about timing eggs and toast. And we have a healthy, loving relationship with Mexican food. Therefore I very randomly purchased Mexican Everyday by Rick Bayless (on my phone, in the car, after hearing him on the radio, because…impulsive). I decided I needed to grow some cojones and cook my way through his book. And his second book. And then I want an order of enchiladas on the side, just because.

So I’ll be able to mix my classic Mommy Blog ‘here’s what we did today’ ramblings with the close-up foodie pics of a cooking blog, and really strive for internet blandness. (Sorry. Stay tuned.)

You know you want more pictures like this in your life anyway. Look at this. Whatever this is, I’m making it. Challenge accepted.

Don’t Tell My Husband

I definitely don’t do half of the housework. And it’s not that I do more.
I think the Holderness family dad is hot. He can sing and does Crossfit. And is not cheesy at all.
I never take off my wedding ring, but I seldom wear my engagement ring because I don’t have much of an emotional attachment to it. I’m not into diamonds. Plus, it’ll scratch a kid in passing.
I have liked/commented on posts while unknowingly logged into his Facebook account. I have realized it, and done nothing.
There have been many times ~~this month~~ that I actually did hear one of the kids crying at night.
Even though I say, “Oh wow” and “Uh-huh” pretty convincingly, I don’t understand half of what he tells me about his web development projects. I’m grateful he takes the time to explain though.
He is probably not the best dancer out on the floor. But he doesn’t care, and that’s way more fun.
I act like I don’t want them having that much screen time, but I think it’s awesome that he plays Mario and Zelda games with the girls. Sometimes I’m jealous of this special thing has with them.
Next time he goes to the eye doctor I’m going along for “guidance”, because nerd glasses are awesome and I’d like him to embrace them.

The only reason I haven’t gotten a (little) tattoo yet is because he says he doesn’t like them. But I am slowly working on him.
If he’s not happy, I’m not happy. Right now he is in the process of changing careers. He could do way crazier things with his life and buy way more expensive gadgets than he tries to buy, if that’s what he really wanted. Shhhhhh.
I am so darn proud of him, especially lately. I do tell him this.

WOW I Must Be LUCKY!

This list is called: Reasons It Totally Doesn’t SUCK that I’m Stuck Wearing the #$&%! Defibrillator Vest for Another Two Months:

Interesting tan lines, come June.
I get to explain to more people that no, the fat chick wearing a heart monitor actually didn’t have a heart attack. So pass the (unsalted) fries.
I’m lucky to have caught this issue in the first place, back in February. I could have been walking around with my heart working at about 30% power for God knows how long. That’s how people die of this. (Rarely, in my age bracket, relax!)
36 square inches of metal and plastic panel on my back in the warmer weather will totally help with sweatin’ off the pounds, baby.
Top shape for an Ejection Fraction, the measurement of how much blood pumps out of your heart, is 70. I got an E. F. of 35 on my ‘big test’ last week. That’s like getting a 50% on an exam. Still an F, but hey, it’s a higher F this time, right?
I could position annoying students close to my walking path through the classroom, and conveniently hit them on the head with the box.
An E. F. above 35 would have meant I do not need a defibrillator. An E. F. below 35 would have gotten a tiny one implanted in me. (Not fun, but ultimately less intrusive in your life and more reliable than “ole vesty”, at saving lives.) What number did I get? Exactly 35. There was basically one possible number that could have kept me in this holding pattern, and that’s what my heart scored. I’ll be in Atlantic City playing roulette now…
Cause…foxy.
I was supposed to wait two months, get tested to see if we were doing the implant or not, but either way I’d be done with this $%&# thing in mid-April. I was counting down to that. Now, who knows? In two months, I may still need the implant, I may need to wait some more (unlikely), or I may be significantly better – hey, who doesn’t love a little plot twist?
Bump the Velcro flap of box’s case against something, it opens, heavy metal box falls out, hits toe, BOOM, you’re a physical comedy genius.
When the sensors malfunction and the siren goes off, scaring students and/or strangers, and they freak out – that just reminds me that people care. Especially that one nice lady in the store who I had to talk out of calling 911! How sweet was that?
Why don’t I just keep it till October and the pads will make a nice “Hunchback of Notre Dame” costume?!
Omigod srsly, so hot. (This is not a picture of me and I really hope you didn’t think it was.)

Yes, this list is a sarcastic pile of self-pity. While I realize improvement of any kind is a blessing and absolutely not something to complain about… **Really? Exactly 35? Two more months. And some extra tests. Two. More. Months. Right up through the end of the school year.**

Everything happens for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. Everything happens for a reason…

Advice, Gosh Darn It

Last week at an indoor water park, I lost the ~~giant black mumu~~ very stylish cover-up that I had just purchased. I put the cover-up down on a railing, went to do something with my younger kid, came back, and it was GONE. *horror*. My flip flops were still there. This was not acceptable. I was now essentially walking around naked, as far as the self-conscious chick in my head was concerned. I will find you, and I will kill you, mumu thief. I can act like I’m all cool and comfortable, but no matter what witty banter (ha) is coming out of my mouth at a pool-related gathering, my brain is going “Don’t look at my thighs. Don’t look at my arms. AHHHHH stop looking at meeeeeee!” *die*

My husband tells me that I have the worst self-esteem he’s ever seen. And not just about body image. The funny part is that most people think I’m pretty confident. (No, friend. No. It’s all in how you fake it.) Wait that sounded wrong…

Crap. Do you still like me?

**********

I would advise my girls to love and value themselves, no matter what.

Cheeeeeezzzzy. But really: If you’ve got that down, you’ve got a lot. And you wouldn’t have to go out the next day and replace a giant black mumu.

Kids are not born comparing their bodies to perfection and finding them ugly. While I would like my kids to pull up their pants because nobody wants to see their impression of a plumber, I don’t want them thinking their body shouldn’t be seen in the daylight. I want them to enjoy the pool. I shouldn’t feel that way either. Girls, you’re all kinds of beautiful.

It goes beyond body image, too. If a kid that my daughter approaches at the playground walks away from her, I want her to know that it’s not because there’s something wrong with her; he just didn’t want to play right then. He probably just doesn’t want to play Mario-meets-My Little Pony-meets-Monster High. And neither do I. Girls, you are good to be around and people like you.

If somebody doesn’t text them back or return their call or pick up their Facetime chat (or God knows what technology is being used by the time I consent to buying them a phone) I want them to understand that it probably isn’t because they’re not important enough to that person. That person is probably busy right now, and wrapped up in their own stuff, unrelated to how much they like them. Girls, you’re enough, and you’re valued.

I want to advise them to take a defeat as a challenge to work harder and a rejection as a sign, not that they weren’t worthy, but that there is something better out there. It’s not that you’re ugly, fat, dumb, boring, unimportant, un-valued, or whatever else that negative biotch in your head tells you. Girls, if you wake up every day being able to tell yourself that the world is a better place because you’re in it, then you won’t need anybody’s attention or affirmation, and that is freedom. Girls, I’ll let you know when Mommy gets there. It’s something we’re all working on.

There is a lot of “BAD” that can happen to a kid, as he or she grows. But a kid who has a healthy amount of self-worth will hopefully duck and weave when those poor choices come at them swinging. Personally I think I did ok, if I say so myself, and I was (am) a secret self-doubter, always.

So if I had to pick one piece of advice to give my children, that would be it.

Yes, this is basically Stuart Smalley. What? That was a very good era for SNL…

If you could give your kids one piece of advice, what would it be? No really, I’m curious, and I bet it’s pretty cool advice. Some smart people read this blog…

Let Her Sleep

No, really.

Ask my kids who they want taking care of whatever (insignificant little) problem they have at 2 AM. It’s not Mommy. Cause Mommy is a total biotch if you wake her up.

Hi, I’m Meg, and I am a complete harpee without sleep. A year ago I was fine, and now I’m happily returning to the club of people who don’t count sleep as one of their demons. Happily, my broken record phrase has become: “I feel so much better now.” But for a while there, it was definitely a ‘thing’ with me.

Since talking to a half dozen doctors regularly about the heart thing, I got pieces put together, regarding sleep. Or rather, lackthereof. Namely, that I hadn’t been getting much good quality shut-eye, in the last couple of months. And it was affecting me big-time, back then.

With the CHF, I gradually felt worse and didn’t realize it, and I just plain lacked the energy to do my life. In what was, unbeknownst to me, a related situation, I also started having trouble sleeping. I couldn’t tell you when it started exactly, but I would wake up after a few hours, wide awake, heart going like I’d be up doing something for a while (Duh). I could fall asleep fine but not stay there, waking up ten times a night (double duh.) At 4 AM I felt as wide awake as if it were 8 AM. I tried taking one Benadryl. I tried taking 2. I tried a hormone supplement called melatonin to get a better night’s rest, as it got worse. (Seriously, why didn’t I ask a doctor about this?)

Lack of sleep has a way of magnifying negative feelings and experiences in some of us sleep addicts. More and more often, I was short with my kids, impatient with my students, and I am embarrassed to say that once when the line at Taco Bell moved too slowly, I told the clerk at the window about it as if it were solely hear fault. I would get to the point of hearing the crazy lady yelling at her children about socks on the floor and my inner sane person would know that those floor socks didn’t warrant this level of anger… But I held a grudge about the errant footwear, or anything else that has the misfortune to tick me off. Other fun side effects included looking older, at least to myself. I consulted my sister in-law and the nice ladies at Sephora about how to cover my giant, pathetic under-eye circles. I started taking Tylenol PM sometimes and felt like an extra from “The Walking Dead” in the mornings. I drank more coffee. All unrelated, I thought, to the heart thing. I didn’t even know about the heart thing, at that point. Ah, hindsight… But seriously, I was not cool at times.

For instance: Just last week had a pretty nice conversation with someone who had ticked me off, professionally, last spring. We were talking about the performance in which I was ticked as Hell at him for messing with my music teacher game. I apologized for the level of my tickage. He said, “Yeah, I could see why you were mad, but man, you were, like, REALLY mad!” Yes. I was. Poor guy. And also, I was tired. Not a good enough excuse. *covering face in shame*

I had a cool conversation with a doctor that alleviated some of that shame though. Pulmonologists have a lot of heart training too, it seems. Systems are related to each other a lot. Among his questions this week: Had I had any have trouble sleeping that was not a life-long thing, before the heart problem was identified? (Yes.) Did I spend enough hours in bed but not feel rested (Yes.) Did I experience any psychological issues like mood changes/sadness/not feeling like me? (Um…crap.) Pulmonologist guy ordered a sleep study to check for “non-obstructive sleep apnea”. This is not the kind where you snore – this is where you just slowly stop breathing several times a night, seemingly for no reason, and over 50% of patients with my type of cardiomyopathy have it. Gee, that’s not terrifying at ALL. The good news is that it tends to clear up as the heart has an easier time doing its thing, because of improvement or medication. This would be why I feel like a million bucks, comparatively. Because now, I actually sleep.

It would make perfect sense, Pulmonolgist guys said. I couldn’t sleep because my heart didn’t work. I felt like sad, angry, tired crap because my heart didn’t work, and I couldn’t sleep. I can’t tell you the relief this theory brought me – I had wondered if I was slowly becoming unhinged, or had early M-word hormone issues, or something.

He’s right. It would explain why I literally feel like I woke up from something, this spring. And boy, is it a beautiful morning.

The heart affects everything, I am learning.

So that sleep study is coming, too. Yay, more tests. But tests help you put the pieces together and see the big picture.

This was my “before”, by the way:

Now Hear This: Sia’s “Big Girls Cry” – With No Shame

Sia sings – belts, rather – with impressive range and unapologetic emotion. 12 year old dancer Maddie Zeigler commits so fully and physically to the lyrics’ narrative that, watching, you quickly forget her age and 3 + minutes later realize you’ve been mesmerized by a middle schooler. I came across the new video for Sia’s “Big Girls Cry” on, of all things, NPR.com If you haven’t seen this artist’s previous two videos with Zeigler dancing, they’re very much worth watching right now. “Chandelier” consists of Zeigler moving expertly and shockingly all over a barren house, and “Elastic Heart” features Zeigler and Shia LeBeouf in a beautiful, unsettling, choreographed cage fight. They’re not exactly SFW, or for kids who ask questions. Enjoy their talent and the visual metaphors here:

Chandelier

Elastic Heart

Although the video is harder to watch, “Big Girls Cry” is my favorite of these releases yet. Evocative and simple, this single-take show exhibits the both singer and the dancer perfectly. It’s mostly facial and hand gestures. (Oh yeah, and a little strangling a kid, sort of. I know. Sorry.) Sia unabashedly sings:

I may cry ruining my make up/ Wash away all the things you’ve taken/ And I don’t care if I don’t look pretty/ Big girls cry when their hearts are breaking.

This singer/dancer/choreography/lyric combo is a beautiful match. The refrain wouldn’t stir anything inside you, were it sung by a half-voiced sopranino. (Ellie Goulding, back away.) If Zeigler didn’t commit so fully, this would be a weird kid making faces in the bathroom mirror. (Not that that isn’t fun, too.) This video is instead many things, including – according to YouTube comments: “sad”, “creepy as hell” and “perfect”.

Being very much over the ethereal voices of breathy female singers, I’m all about this artist’s voice. Zeigler, comfortable in her skin and gifted well past her 12 years, doesn’t seem to care if she looks pretty, either.

The Right to (Avoid) Gym Class

In my area of New Jersey, Related Arts, or “specials”, classes are Art, Gym, Music, Library, and Computers. Spanish is often offered to the upper elementary grades. If you kid’s school does not have specialized teachers instructing in these subjects at least weekly, he or she is getting jipped. You should go make some noise at school board meetings.

I am one of those Music specialists at an elementary school, and I love it. However, as a kid I was not in love with gym class. So much so that… Ok, MOM AND DAD DON’T READ THIS NEXT PART… I may have exaggerated the severity of some “stress headaches” way back in fourth grade, so I could get out of the “Tumbling and Apparatus” unit in PE class. To be fair, my body was clearly not meant to tumble. Or apparate. Wait, that’s a thing from Harry Potter…

Ok, Storytime: Once upon a time in Gym class, Meg got the guts to run full-speed across the room and leap onto a ~~springy little death trap~~ early-90’s mini trampoline. It lacked the kind of safety pads that prevent your foot from going through the springs and snapping your leg, but who cared?

Deadly thing. — Trampoline. Looks like instrument of torture and/or lawsuit waiting to happen.

Then, as instructed, Meg attempted to bound from this coiled-spring atrocity onto a piece of gymnastic equipment called The Swedish Box. Yes, that’s its name. It was as tall as Meg’s head.

Deadly. — Swedish Box. Looks like something you’d stuff dead bodies into anyway, so why not?

The top section of this box had been left slightly off kilter by the previous child jumper, and the ~~distracted 9 year old~~ diligent spotter who was left in charge of checking it did not notice this problem. When Meg landed on the box with knees and hands, the top section fell off and forward. With a nasty whack to the head, Meg fell too. INSIDE the giant box. Her friend would say later that it looked like the Swedish Box unhinged its jaw like a snake and ate her. This incident, which could get a gym teacher sued today, would excuse Meg from the rest of that period of gym class only, and leave her with a nice “the only time I ever lost consciousness” story for her future blog. Meg lived happily ever, except for continuing to hate and fear gym class until the day when it started to involve changing clothes in front of other people. Then she resorted to scheduling Band lessons for that class period instead. The end.

P. E. has changed significantly since we were children. Now, injury lawyers are roaming the planet more freely. My 2^ndgrader miraculously loves gym class. We have no idea how this happened, but it is her favorite “special”. This is probably because Gym is actually fun now. I’ve had the pleasure of working with a couple great P. E. teachers and I’m kind of mad they weren’t around when I was 9. I would not have faked headaches, for one thing.

My 2^nd grader also has my metabolism and probably my body type, God help her. Thankfully, as a suburban, middle-class, American child, she has tons of options for extra sports and play. She has taken 18 months of gymnastics at a ridiculously expensive private gym. The big kid’s school has a weekly jogging and fitness club for all students, where they’re instructed about stretching, healthy snacks, and strategies for distance jogging. Naturally, we signed her up for that. Plus, we just bit the bullet and signed both kids up for *shudder* Intramural Soccer. (You can lead a woman to the field, but you cannot make her be a Soccer Mom.)

Amazingly enough, news this week surfaced that little girls in Saudi Arabia got the right to Physical Fitness education in their public schools this month. You can read the article here. According to the NPR story, women and sports barely mix in that country. The Saudis just started sending women to the Olympics in 2012. Staunch opponents of this very basic program claim that health and fitness education leads to societal ills like adultery and even prostitution. Wrap your head around that; People think that teaching a girl how to take care of her body will cause prostitution. Right, but ignorance about one’s health and poor body image are greeeeeaaaaat for helping a girl make smart, moral choices.

We are so lucky here. I may have attempted to dodge the President’s Physical Fitness Test at every turn. (The V-Sit Reach is the only one I can do well.) The big kid may whine about running laps when it’s hotter outside. My internal anti-scheduling alarm may already be going off at the thought of a total of 2 games and 2 practices a week…but my girls have the choice to be active and educated about the way their bodies work and the cool things they can do. It’s part of the public schooling, every week. This is good.

So welcome to gym class, little Suadi girls! If they teach you how to vault, make sure you trust your spotter.

$%@# my students say about cardiomyopathy

So I’ve had the surprisingly enjoyable task of explaining the whole “Where Was Mrs. D” thing to my students. I basically told them 5 things:

1. I was really sick and I didn’t know it. Always tell your parents and go to the doctor when you feel like you can’t breathe right.

2. My heart doesn’t pump very well right now. (My phrase for this is “wussy heart syndrome”. They eat that up.) It might get better and it might not, but either way there’s no reason to think I won’t be ok. I am tough.

3. I have to take medicines that will hopefully help my heart get stronger. But, they make me very tired sometimes, and dizzy. If anyone ever faints, we do NOT touch them. We find the nearest adult to help. This is not likely to happen to me at all, so relax.

4. I have to wear a special undershirt that has little circle things in it to check how my heart beats, day and night. It’s connected by a wire to this box I’m wearing like a purse. If my heart stops pumping right (“wusses out”), the special shirt will zap me with electricity so my heart will work again. The black box might ‘ding’ sometimes when the shirt isn’t working right. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong.

5. This is not something that is likely to happen to you, or anybody else you love.

This has been a nice time to sit down and just talk to my 500+ kiddos. Their concern has been real and their questions and responses have been a little too real.

But hey, if you can’t laugh at cardiomyopathy, what can you laugh at, right?

So these are questions and responses I have gotten from my 5 – 11 year old students when I explain the above list to them. I started writing them down to share, because I love these little nutjobs. My responses are italicized.

“Will your heart tell you when it’s fixed?” No, they will take pictures again, but that would be cool.

“Do they let you keep the pictures?” I doubt it but if it’s good I’ll frame it.

“My grandpop had a heart attack because he ate too much red food. Did you do that?” You mean did I eat too much red meat? No, I – “No! Meat is brown.”

“Did it hurt when you died?” Um…No. I’m good.

“Will it hurt if it zaps you?” No. I would have probably fainted by then. “But it will zap us if we’re touching you?” Possibly, but you’re not going to touch me or anyone who has fainted, you just get an adult. “Will it reach out and like lightening, and zap us?” NO. You’re picturing Return of the Jedi.

“Can you use the box to save somebody else’s life? Like the school’s one? [Defibrillator]” Yes, I’m going to be the new super hero, Defibrillator Woman. Zap zap. Just kidding. But cool question.

“What are you gonna do if you can’t go swimming in the summer!?!?!?!” I will most likely be done wearing this, one way or another, by summer. Hopefully. Otherwise, I will cry.

“Um…it [the box] blinked red. Are you OK?” That just means it’s on. I’m good.

“What would happen if ALL the adults in the school fainted at the same time?” I’d say we would leave (extremely unlikely, quiet student) in charge.

“So, like, you can’t take it off? Are you not gonna shower?! For months?!!” Um… I take it off to shower. EW.

“What happens if you faint in the shower with the shirt thing off?” Well this is getting personal. It’s not likely that I’ll faint at all. But I guess then it would turn into taking a bath.

“What happens if you faint when you’re going to the bathroom?” Well that would be bad, but wouldn’t I have worse problems, at the time?

“What happens if you drop it [the monitor box] in the toilet?” Thanks, now I’m going to worry about that, too.

BUT the winner is:

“Did you know that the hospital is where they take babies out of your tush?” Yes. Yes I did.