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Another Big Bite

Another Big Bite

Category Archives: My Two Cents

A Little Self-Help, Blogger-Style: A Long-Winded Mantra

26 Tuesday Feb 2013

Posted by anotherbigbite in Being a Grownup, My Two Cents, The "Joy" of Parenting, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

health, healthy-living, mental-health, resloutions

Yeah, yeah.  I know it is close to the end of February, but I’m about to totally rock out the New Year’s resolutions.  We’ve moved to a new city, a new state, a new house…  Maybe “New City’s resolutions” is a more appropriate description.

The great thing about living in a mountain region (conversely, the not-so-great thing about living in Ohio) is that people are more cognizant about staying active and not letting the deep-fat fryer take over their lives.  We let ourselves go once we got to the Mid-West…  Becoming parents had a bunch to do with it, too.  We started to turn things around last year around this time; Nathan was getting ready to go to Jump School and I had the go-ahead to start working out again after my C-Section with Alice.  We started to eat healthier, got out and DID stuff (active stuff) and started to slim down.  I’m not sure where we stumbled out of that routine, but it might have been when we went on our road trip around the East Coast.  McDonald’s begets more McDonald’s, maybe?

Either way, I am getting to be way doughier than I would like to admit.  Also, I want to be able to rock out the “Cool Mom” street cred while Finn and Alice are in school – I don’t want to be a soccer mom that sits on the sidelines every Saturday.  I want us all to be out playing soccer together.  Scratch that – I suck at soccer – maybe rock climbing?  I refuse to succumb to Mini-Van parenting.  I want to be involved.  I want us to all be involved.  This is more than just exercising, I’ll have you know.  This must be the point in a parent’s life where they realize that if they want their children to model certain behaviors, they, too must model said behaviors themselves.  I want my kids to be responsible; fiscally, socially and responsible for their own happiness.  I also want them to be active, creative and well-traveled.  And worldly. And respectful to their mama, damn it.

So, starting now, I have a little bit of work ahead of me.

If you’d rather not hear about my Stuart Smalley-esk little affirmations; no hard feelings, just skip ahead.  ‘Cause this is about to get real, ladies and gents.

Feed The Pig: Right now we are so close to getting things straightened out with our finances that I can just TASTE it.  Once all of our house-buying/moving debt is wiped out (and it cannot come soon enough), I am vowing to be more productive with our cash.  We are going to plunk more into savings.  I still want to have all sorts of nice things, but I know that we are wasteful when it comes to our spending habits.  We buy way too much.  We are scaling back.  We are going to be more precise with our spending.  I think this one will be easiest for me.  It is simple; I just have to stop buying so much shit.  Target – you are my new enemy.  Diapers and toiletries ONLY.  I will not cruise the home decorating aisle…  Often.

Part of this starts here at the house, too.  The bonus side to scaling down your house is that you have to scale down your stuff.  We have donated trunkfuls of stuff to Goodwill and still have more to unpack and sift through in the basement.  I’m going to make an effort to whittle down my closet, too.  Ugh.

Bottom Line:  Buy less; buy smarter.  Save more.  Get rid of superfluous stuff.

Get My Ass In Gear:  It might surprise some of those who didn’t know me in high school, but this now-flabby mom butt used to be hella tight and cute.  One might have described it as one of my finer ass-ets, ahem?  Way back when, when I was rockin’ a mean pair of overalls and six-inch, stacked-heel, patent leather mary janes (not at the same time), my butt was cute.  My thighs were big, but super toned.  I didn’t have this strange patch of squish at the small of my back.  I know I’m never gonna get my cheerleading-high-school bod back, especially those cute, perky chimichangas, but I need to get closer than I am now.  Sure, I am back to my pre-baby weight, but I don’t look like I am.

189571_1014842333012_1759_n

What am I gonna do about it?

First of all, not hit the gym.  Or work out.  Let’s face it, I would be totally setting myself up for failure.  I am going to be getting out more, though.  As in OUTdoors.  I’m giving myself a pass until the weather clears up…  Me, pushing the double BOB stroller through snow drifts?  Nope.

I’m going to eat less.  And eat more veggies.  I’m only nursing Alice before bedtime at this point, so I’m not worried about my milk supply or her getting adequate nutrition.  No more sweets around the house.  No more baking.  The more sugar I eat, the more I want to eat MORE.  Also…

No more Less Diet Coke.

Gasp!

Nathan and I have been contemplating getting a juicer, and I’m just going to go to town with that sucka.  We also just started our seeds for our garden, so I’m hoping there is going to be a somewhat successful harvest to shoot through that juicer.  I’m not convinced that growing our own veggies will cost less, but I am convinced that I will be more apt to eat them if I spend a bunch of time taking care of them.  Here’s to hoping.

Bottom Line:  Be as active as I used to be.  Eat less.  Eat more good stuff.

Try to Be Hot Again:  Look, I’m not saying that I was a total babe, but I used to be pretty cute.  I had time to do my hair, floss, choose from a plethora of moisturizers and utilize said moisturizers, and pluck my eyebrows.  Shaving my legs?  Yeah, wasn’t ever really great on staying on top of that.  I didn’t set much of a standard for that EVER; and that is certainly not going to change now, peeps.

Before anyone gets their knickers in a twist worrying about me “trying to be hot for my husband,” trust me – that truly is not an issue at all.  Not in the way that “my hubby thinks I am beautiful no matter what” bullshit, but let’s be real – once you suffer the indignities of pregnancy in front of your significant other, you are always hotter than those last three months you spent baking another human.  Truth be told, your stretch marks and pooch are way sexier than a giant flesh watermelon getting in the way of your bedroom activities.  Add the mental gymnastics used to get around the fact that you are trying to get busy with another human being wedged between the two of you, and well, you can only go up from there.  (Or, maybe that is your thing, in which case, carry on with your bad selves.)

I miss looking good, mostly because I like to wax nostalgic about what it was like to have the time to look good.  I am reminded of a time where I didn’t have another person using my toothbrush as sword.  And I think I carry myself a little better when I take a few extra minutes to coiffe.  I’m not gonna go balls-to-the-wall with this – my daily uniform of sweatpants and embarrasingly dweebish t-shirts won’t change, but I could find the time to use a blowdryer now and again.  Right now, that is an hour task.  Because I have mermaid-boob hair.

See?

Yes, I am wearing a shirt and not two seashells to coverup my boobs.  It just so happens to be a nude camisole.  Like I would post a pic of my topless self online?  Please.

Yes, I am wearing a shirt and not two seashells to cover up my boobs. It just so happens to be a nude camisole. Like I would post a pic of my topless self online? Please.

Since I will be editing down my wardrobe, I am aiming to keep only clothes that fit well and are currently an acceptable style.  Three or four outfits and I’m a happy gal.  I still will never get rid of my t-shirts proclaiming my love for Disney World, my preference for one Twilight character over another or emblazoned with a certain bespectacled teenage wizard.  I just won’t wear them OUT anymore.  (Even if it is only to Walmart.)

Bottom Line:  Haircut.  Blowdry once and a while.  Mascara.  MOISTURIZE.  No Team Jacob shirts in public.  

Okay, unless we are going to a movie on opening weekend, Gwen.  That doesn't count.

Okay, unless we are going to a movie on opening weekend, Gwen. That doesn’t count.

Super Mom:  Okay, maybe not SUPER Mom…  Just BETTER Mom.  Mostly, I need to improve my patience with the kids.  I’m not 100% sure how to accomplish this, but I’ve been reading a fair smattering of parenting articles, and all I can do is take it one day at a time.  And not allow myself to feel like a shitty parent because I lost my cool and spanked Finn for SPITTING ON ME.  (I still feel justified in that one.)

Bottom Line:  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Woosaahh.

See the World:  Even if it is only this part of the world, Nathan and I have gone over again and again and again that we want the kids to be well-traveled.  All the places I have seen, all the things I have done – they make me who I am.  I can’t imagine how much of a sheltered douche bag I was before I got out and traveled…  Now, I suppose I still count myself among the douche bags, but seeing how our contemporaries in other parts of the country do their thang has made me a better person. (I think, anyway.)  I want my kids to have a healthy respect for people of all walks of life; I know that carting them across the country in a trailer week after week won’t do that. I am hoping that it will set a foundation for them to go out and make their own opinions about the way the world works and not just recycle the crap they hear on Fox News.

321827_2561093988337_6603515_o

Bottom Line:  Keep doing what we’re doing.  Get on the road as much as possible.

Keep the Creative Flow Flowing: My “three adjectives that describe you” fluctuated through my young years, but always included this staple: creative.  Also in the mix was weird, shy, obnoxious, preppy, dorky and left-handed.  Clearly most still apply.

Now I am a creative as a noun and not just an adjective.  I have been spending a good hunk of the last few years doing graphic design when the little people are napping, and I want to take it more seriously.  I want to get it out there, but haven’t yet, for fear that it isn’t quite up to par with what real graphic designers do.  I’m not sure at what point one becomes a real graphic designer, but I’m pretty sure getting paid is part of the equation.  Although Alice is only a year old, Finn’s impending jaunt to kindergarten isn’t taking its time plowing over his preschool years.  Once Alice is sitting on the giant ABC rug learning the Pledge of Allegiance, I better have a backup plan.

Mainly, I don’t want to live my life pinning cool stuff on Pinterest and never doing anything.  Lately I have been letting the “make it” part of me slide.  Time to dust off the old Singer and make some new dresses for Alice.  I’m going to keep fighting the good fight with my camera’s manual mode.  I need to make that damn mushroom stool for Alice’s new room.

Bottom Line:  Be a better designer.  Make something.  Anything.

Okay.  I’m done.  That is enough resolutions for now.  All I have to do is get my family on board.  I’m having a Jerry McGuire moment, now that I have finished my manifesto…

“Okay, whose with me?  Who is comin’ with me?” (Shake bag of goldfish crackers for effect.)

Oh, please, god; do not let Renee Zelweger be the only one to stand up.

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The Great American Staycation

21 Thursday Feb 2013

Posted by anotherbigbite in My Two Cents, The "Joy" of Parenting

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

colorado springs, family outing, finn, Garden of the Gods, hiking, nature, outdoors

1 finn skipping

When we first moved to Colorado Springs, it was under the guise that it was “the most amazing place, like, ever!”  I would tell people where we were moving, and instead of the reaction that I got when I broke the news that we were moving to Ohio (“Oh.  That’s uh, great, I guess……  WKRP in Cincinnati!!”), everyone would gush about how awesome it was.  I signed on the dotted line, site unseen.  Literally.

“There isn’t ever a cloud in the sky.  I’m wearing shorts right now.  Shit, Lisa, you are gonna LOVE it here,” Nathan would assure me as I was buried under two feet of snow in Iowa.

When the wagon train rolled into town, however, there were no mountains to be seen.  It was eight degrees out.  Everything was dead.  And Panda Express was my first meal in The Springs.  Not whatcha call a stellar first impression.

“I thought you could see Pikes Peak from everywhere…”  I mused to Nathan.

“You can.  It is right… There.”  He would point off into a white, mountainless abyss. I have crappy eyesight, but he was pointing to NOTHING.  “Behind all those clouds.”  Oh.  The non-native clouds I brought here from Iowa.

The first week we were here, we were slumming it in temporary housing – a hotel room with a kitchen table – and it was fah. reeze. ing.  Yes, you could see Pikes Peak from everywhere, but you better not look at it; take your eyes off your path in front of you and you’re bound to slip and fall on your ass.

Fast forward a few days, and we were practically on vacation.  Every weekend.  It was sixty-five degrees…  Sunny…  My neighbors were sunbathing.  In January.

1 lisa nathan

1 path

Verdict?  Ohmygod.  I LUUURVE it here.

Yes.  I am sporting an unfortunate combination of socks, sandals and unflattering skinny jeans.  Stay-at-home Mom POWER!!

Yes. I am sporting an unfortunate combination of wool socks, sandals and unflattering skinny jeans. Stay-at-home Mom to the RESCUE!!

1 top

We were hella high up...  I may look calm and collected, but I have an effing death grip on those two kids.

We were hella high up… I may look calm and collected, but I have an effing death grip on those two kids.

1 nae stroller

Finn does, too.  We have spent many an afternoon at Garden of the Gods.  Finny loves to “go piking,” he’s got his own little Camelbak that he totes around action figures, a Hot Wheel and water.  I live fifteen minutes from all this?  I have stopped dead in my tracks half a dozen times and exclaimed to Nathan; “Can you believe we LIVE here?!”

If you ever have the opportunity to live here, its, like, the most amazing place ever!  For real.

 

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A Load of Bull

11 Friday Jan 2013

Posted by anotherbigbite in Bitchfest, My Two Cents, On the Road Again, The Good Ole Days

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Albert the Bull, ancestry, danish, Denmark, Elk Horn, heritage, Iowa, Travel

photo 1 (11)

I’m just glad that I’m not walking across Iowa after a jaunt across the Atlantic, homeless, newly widowed and with two kids in tow.  This was the fate of my great-, great-, great-grandmother, Annie Kristina – or Stina for short – in 1890.

Finn with Danish Flag

There is a lot to learn about one’s heritage – and lessons to be learned.  Today is the day we close on our Ohio house.  Apparently not all parties got the memo, since instead of a deed to sign; we got an addendum to our contract to extend the date of closing to January 15th.

But, it could always be worse.  I have been saying that from the beginning; it is almost like I’ve cursed us, since it usually does get worse.   I am thanking my lucky stars that I’m not in the same boat as my aforementioned ancestors.  After immigrating to Iowa from Denmark, Stina (and her kiddos) returned to join back up with her husband and their newly-inherited farm in their homeland.  Upon her return, she discovered the hubbs had died.  Without any money, she packed her kids back up, sailed across an ocean, dragged them back to Iowa and WALKED from the southern part of the state back to her house in Iowa.

As I said, things can always be worse.

photo 1 (9)

This part of Iowa is home to a slew of Danes.  Elk Horn, Iowa is a tiny little Danish village; complete with a windmill carted from Denmark, a Viking homestead and a killer schmorgazborg.  It isn’t even kitschy/touristy – it’s the real thing.  You know, folks speaking Danish and all.

photo 4 (5)

We took in the sights in downtown Elk Horn and also visited the Danish Immigrant Museum.  We also stopped by Audubon – home to the world famous (apparently) Albert the Bull.  I’ll have you know; he is a model of virility…  He is the world’s biggest bull, and I’m guessing he also has the world’s biggest pair of testicles.  They almost touch the ground.

photo 2 (8)

His balls are bigger than my child for Pete’s sake. And Finn is tall for his age, I’ll have you know.

Seriously?  Is that necessary?

By the way, I am silently cursing myself for not taking a picture of them so y’all can revel in their so-called glory.  They are even painted flesh-colored.  Eeeww.

photo 3 (8)

I am ashamed to say these are the two pieces of information that will stick with me after a week of learning about my Danish heritage.  Giant balls.  Widows walking across Iowa.

photo 2 (7)

Nevertheless, here we are.   We are playing a modern-day version of Oregon Trail…  Slowly inching our way westward, hoping to discover the splendors of the American West.  I should don a calico bonnet, put my hair in a bun and channel Laura Ingalls…  I’ve come to a river… Should I caulk the wagon and float across?  Oops, I lost a head of oxen and now Finn has come down with Typhoid Fever.  LET’S GET READY TO HUNT!!

I’m hoping I’ll get to Colorado Springs with all our dry goods.  I’m thinking that there is a pretty good shot at Nathan being alive and well when I get there, though one never knows.  But if anyone expects this broad to walk across the state of Iowa if he isn’t, they have another thing coming.

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Tedium ad Nauseum

27 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by anotherbigbite in Bitchfest, Grossology, My Two Cents, The "Joy" of Parenting, TMI

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

selling a house, shaving a dog, stress, tedious tasks, toddlers

Ohmygod. I feel like I just ran a month-long marathon. Without any clothes on. While trying to recite the first 415 digits of pi.

Lemme explain… No, lemme sum up.

This whole house-selling business is for the birds. Nathan and I were so unbelievably stressed getting the house completely remodeled and buttoned up. It went on the market. For two weeks, we I kept the house spotlessly clean and had dozens of complete strangers clomping their boots into my house, using my bathroom and drinking my coffee – most of whom I never laid eyes on. They peeked into the most private areas of our lives, then left, leaving only their scent. Our stress levels were through the roof.

Then we got a buyer! Yippee! But with that came more stresses; working out the dollars and cents of things, having a home inspector nitpick through every inch of our house, discover that we were living with (just barely) elevated radon levels for the last two years, calling insurance companies and roofing contractors because our new roof wasn’t up to code and doing ridiculous yet easy repairs that the buyers requested. They find tightening the bolts on one of the toilets above their pay grade, I guess.

When the appraiser came, we got a pretty good feeling from him that everything would be alright. No news is good news in that arena, and it has been a week.

Getting Nathan moved out was another major hurdle, but that went off without a hitch. His first day at his new job was today – he didn’t sleep in or wear the wrong shirt or step on any toes. Good news.

And now that our radon levels have been mitigated, our roof vented, and our toilets tightened, I have finally mentally exhaled for the first time in about a month. I’ve taken a hiatus from major house cleaning. Yesterday, I actually found myself with nothing left to worry about and nothing to do but laundry. And feed the kids. And wipe butts. And repeat exactly why you shouldn’t touch the tip of a hot glue gun. And explain why the following is a fashion faux pas. In short, same as every regular day.

The faux pas I am referring to is wearing Halloween underwear at the end of November.

What did I do with my time? I did the most mundane, brainless tasks I could think of. I am officially on a mental health holiday.

For starters, I took one of Finny’s old shirts and removed the embroidered crest off the front so it would look more girly for Alice. For what seemed like (and probably was) hours, I snipped and pulled roughly a bazillion little pieces of thread from a tiny white shirt. There is something liberating about turning your brain on auto-pilot, giving the kid an iPad and slouching on the living room floor while performing a task that a gorilla with really great fine motor skills could do.

Later, I decided to shave the dog. This is one of my least favorite things to do EVER, mostly because it takes forever and Violet hates being shaved, so I hate putting her through such an ordeal that she shakes like a leaf for two days after. And then pees on your bed. Nice.

If you have ever wondered what it is like to shave my dog (c’mon, I know you would have been too embarrassed to ask), it is kind of like shaving a chicken… In the sense that Violet is such a chicken-y scaredy-dog but also it’s akin to shaving actual poultry. Or so I would think. Imagine giving a buffalo wing a buzz cut… That’s about the gist of it.

Admit it. You’re jealous.

Shaving the dog was something that needed to be done, and it is a mindless chore that makes the time pass in the blink of an eye – before you know it its midnight, you’re covered in wispy white hair and your beloved family pet is aching to urinate on your down comforter.

How many of you are DYING to have a sleepover at my house right now, by the way?

At the end of the day, my head was clear, my bones ached and I slept like a baby – which is to say I woke up twice but didn’t have a care in the world. Other than smelling the distinct odor of dog pee.

SIDE NOTE: Alice took her first steps yesterday! And thankfully Nathan only missed it by a few days. He did get to see it on Facetime, though.

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An Atheist’s Christmas Carol

20 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by anotherbigbite in Bitchfest, My Two Cents

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

christmas, christmas carols, home, meaning of christmas, religion, spirituality

I have to admit, I’m not really an atheist.  I’m also not really a super-duper Christian, either.  I’m not trying to get all wrapped up in the whole religion/politics/gun control debate, but let us settle at this crossroads:  I’ve got no problem with Jesus.  It’s the mega fan club that I’m not so sure of.  I also think that a person’s religious beliefs are kinda personal, and even though I admitted to wetting the bed as an adult in my last post (while pregnant – which is only a minor excuse), I’m not much in the mood to delve into a polarizing issue such as the merits of Jesus worshipping.  Deal?

Alice DID cry. We didn’t think it necessary to spring $12.00 for a picture of that, though.

The reason this is pertinent information:  I freaking LOVE Christmas.  And I LOVE Christmas carols.  I realized this afternoon that I have spent hours of the last week singing about Baby Jesus, Bethlehem and God.  Considering my aforementioned stance on Christianity, I realized that this is sorta odd of me.  But I liken it to really getting down to the smash hit of 2000; The Thong Song.  I don’t wear a thong, and though I may have “dumps like a truck,” (remind me to thank Cisco for that eloquent description of a woman’s ass), I don’t think my choice of undergarments prevent me from the freedom to shake my boot-tay to The Thong Song.  Though my musical preferences from twelve years ago leave much to be desired, apparently.

But back to Christmas.  I know, I’m going to piss someone off by “taking the Christ out of Christmas” or whatever, but if that’s going to ruin your day, there are a whole bunch of people blowing each other up in the Gaza Strip today, and I hope that gives you a little perspective.  To me, Christmas isn’t just about the birth of Jesus, it is about the spirit of goodwill.  Peace on Earth.  Family.  Generosity and thanks for what we’ve got.  Cookies, cookies and ohmygod more GLORIOUS COOKIES.

It is a time for me to spend with my family, and an excuse to be able to shower my little ones with gifts.  This Santa business also comes in handy when we have a three-year-old who needs to keep his naughty/nice priorities straight.  Whoever came up with that gem; I totally owe you one.

Christmas is a chance to do all the things you should be doing all year round; baking with those you love, partaking in one extra slice of pumpkin pie and going the extra mile when it comes to being generous to others who live without the staples of humanity; food, shelter, family and love.  And of course, cookies.  Almost forgot the cookies.  I am reminded that I am a selfish and self-centered individual at Christmas… I need to give more.  I need to be more thankful for the beautiful life that I have been blessed with.  I have two beautiful, healthy children.  A wonderful house.  A supportive family.  Two faithful (albeit neurotic) four-legged companions.  And a husband who is my perfect fit.  I’m lucky.  Really lucky.

Sometimes I need a little “Happy Birthday, Jesus” music to take stock in my life.  (Yes, I know, even though it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet.)  My family has been listening to the same exact Christmas carols since I was born.  My Uncle Mark digitized our cassette tapes years ago (which were recorded off of vinyl years before that), so now I get to pass them on to the next little generation of Christmas-carol-lovers.  And every time I hear the ping-y introduction to Frosty the Snowman, I am reminded of rolling around my Grandmother’s red, shag carpet with my brothers and playing My Little Ponies.  Hey, don’t judge about the carpet – it was the early 80’s and Grandma Toni had a very fashionable home at the time.

Christmas is also a time for tolerance.  That means that I can sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” with a horde of Bible-Thumpers and neither one of us really cares which of the other’s heartstrings it pulls at.

So…  God, Allah, The Darwin Fish or The Flying Spaghetti Monster or [insert your deity of choice here] Bless You and Yours.

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