Rubin focuses on love in February - how fitting (and cornily cute). She talks about the research that shows that marital bliss drops dramatically with babies and teenagers. Nothing new there although she adds some funny stories for us to chuckle about.
We are out of that stage since our boys are 9 and 7. We’re in the calm before the storm phase and living it up.
She talks about fighting right and all of the typical things you learn in communication and psych classes in college. Never say “you never” or “you always”. Blah, blah.
But, one thing that struck me as fascinating is that she came upon research that shows that time spent with women is the most reliable indicator of a person not being lonely. This holds true for both women and men. Time spent with men doesn’t make a difference.
I was so blown away by that nugget that I had to share with my husband.
His response after some clarifying questions?
“That’s awesome! So, you’re going to spend more time with your girlfriends, and I’m going to spend more time with your girlfriends! You get Fridays, I get Saturdays...”
Seriously! Men! I don’t know why I was so surprised. At least we had a good laugh before starting our day, and apparently, I get Fridays.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
"The Happiness Project"
Okay, it isn’t all that bad. It’s an easy read and the author is surprisingly candid with a great self-effacing humor. One of the first things she tackles is clutter. I hate clutter myself, although you wouldn’t know it if you dropped by my house for an unexpected visit.
She sites all sorts of research backing up her data. I love research! She quotes all kinds of people. I love quotes too!! Reducing clutter is under the overall umbrella of increasing energy. She has the typical “go to sleep earlier” and “exercise better”, but the clutter was the one I found most interesting. According to Rubin, one study that she found said that reducing clutter can cut down the average amount of housework by 40 percent. What? Sign me up for that!
I cleaned out my dresser drawers and closet. It took a couple of hours, but I ended up with a HUGE black trash bag full of clothes for Goodwill and an almost equally huge pile of clothes for a garage sale that I keep saying I’m going to have.
A few weeks ago, the boys and I went through their playroom and culled toys that were broken or deemed “too babyish”. We came up with a couple of trash bags and a couple of moving boxes worth of stuff. The moving boxes have been sitting up in the loft waiting for us to have a free Saturday (yeah, right!).
So, with Thanksgiving company looming around the corner, we are having a garage sale this weekend! Woo-hoo!
It probably won’t have everything in the sale that needs to go in it, but hey, it’s a start.
And, for the record, it did make me happier!
She sites all sorts of research backing up her data. I love research! She quotes all kinds of people. I love quotes too!! Reducing clutter is under the overall umbrella of increasing energy. She has the typical “go to sleep earlier” and “exercise better”, but the clutter was the one I found most interesting. According to Rubin, one study that she found said that reducing clutter can cut down the average amount of housework by 40 percent. What? Sign me up for that!
I cleaned out my dresser drawers and closet. It took a couple of hours, but I ended up with a HUGE black trash bag full of clothes for Goodwill and an almost equally huge pile of clothes for a garage sale that I keep saying I’m going to have.
A few weeks ago, the boys and I went through their playroom and culled toys that were broken or deemed “too babyish”. We came up with a couple of trash bags and a couple of moving boxes worth of stuff. The moving boxes have been sitting up in the loft waiting for us to have a free Saturday (yeah, right!).
So, with Thanksgiving company looming around the corner, we are having a garage sale this weekend! Woo-hoo!
It probably won’t have everything in the sale that needs to go in it, but hey, it’s a start.
And, for the record, it did make me happier!
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Book Club entry
This month we have to read “The Happiness Project.” As you can probably guess, I’m less than enthused.
I’ve never been big on self-help books. They always seem to take 300 pages and a month of my time when I could’ve summed up the whole damn book in a paragraph. I like brevity when I’m reading; especially when I’m reading a book where I want to get the solution.
But, here we are. My book club voted and the majority rules. I promised that no matter what, that I would read the book that the club chooses.
I’m sure that a happiness project sounds like something I should be happy about, but I’m not. I’m not bitter, I’m not sad, I’m already happy. Why do I need to read 296 pages about another lady blathering on about trying to be happier? Sounds like trying to walk through mud with flip-flops and getting sprayed up the back with that fecal-smelling mud.
I’m already happy. I’m thankful every single day for my life, my husband, my boys, my family, my friends, and all of the things we have. I’m not sure how much happier this is going to make me, but I’ll give it a shot. There’s always room for improvement, right?
The author has divided her book into 12 parts. She will focus on improving her life in 12 areas - one for each month. I don’t have 12 months, I have 2 1/2 weeks to read this book, so whatever.
So, to break up the monotony of reading this book, I’m going to share with my two readers. Lucky you.
I’ve never been big on self-help books. They always seem to take 300 pages and a month of my time when I could’ve summed up the whole damn book in a paragraph. I like brevity when I’m reading; especially when I’m reading a book where I want to get the solution.
But, here we are. My book club voted and the majority rules. I promised that no matter what, that I would read the book that the club chooses.
I’m sure that a happiness project sounds like something I should be happy about, but I’m not. I’m not bitter, I’m not sad, I’m already happy. Why do I need to read 296 pages about another lady blathering on about trying to be happier? Sounds like trying to walk through mud with flip-flops and getting sprayed up the back with that fecal-smelling mud.
I’m already happy. I’m thankful every single day for my life, my husband, my boys, my family, my friends, and all of the things we have. I’m not sure how much happier this is going to make me, but I’ll give it a shot. There’s always room for improvement, right?
The author has divided her book into 12 parts. She will focus on improving her life in 12 areas - one for each month. I don’t have 12 months, I have 2 1/2 weeks to read this book, so whatever.
So, to break up the monotony of reading this book, I’m going to share with my two readers. Lucky you.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Twas the Night Before TAKS
Twas the night before TAKS, when all through the house,
moms were grilling their children like a nuthouse.
The clothes were laid by their beds with care,
in hopes of avoiding the morning warfare.
The children were cowered, strung-out in their beds,
while visions of math problems scatter in their heads.
And, I, in a panic, downed my first nightcap
While dad settled down for his long nap.
When upstairs there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our bed to see what was the matter.
Away up the stairs, we flew like a flash,
Tore open his door, and fell down with a crash.
As the whelp on my cheek started to grow,
I knew I had reached a new low.
My son was sitting on his bed amid the clutter
of weeks of Flashbacks, fractions, and flashcards, with a stutter.
While I started to sputter,
my sweet little son had turned into a nutter
I brushed myself off and sat on his bed,
to see if I could ease his sweet head.
He muttered about fractions, perimeters, and patterns,
So I listened and tried to ease his concerns.
I told him TAKS really isn’t a big deal,
But if he fails, I’ll feed him to an eel.
moms were grilling their children like a nuthouse.
The clothes were laid by their beds with care,
in hopes of avoiding the morning warfare.
The children were cowered, strung-out in their beds,
while visions of math problems scatter in their heads.
And, I, in a panic, downed my first nightcap
While dad settled down for his long nap.
When upstairs there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our bed to see what was the matter.
Away up the stairs, we flew like a flash,
Tore open his door, and fell down with a crash.
As the whelp on my cheek started to grow,
I knew I had reached a new low.
My son was sitting on his bed amid the clutter
of weeks of Flashbacks, fractions, and flashcards, with a stutter.
While I started to sputter,
my sweet little son had turned into a nutter
I brushed myself off and sat on his bed,
to see if I could ease his sweet head.
He muttered about fractions, perimeters, and patterns,
So I listened and tried to ease his concerns.
I told him TAKS really isn’t a big deal,
But if he fails, I’ll feed him to an eel.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Diary of a Wimpy Mom, take 2 and don't call me in the morning
Here’s a little tip: Don’t go to Sonic to pick up food for your family before you have boot camp. It smells too good and your willpower will fade while you are ordering for everyone but you. And, really, don’t inhale a cheeseburger, tater tots, and a vanilla coke minutes before your friends pick you up for boot camp.
Realistically, I probably should’ve stayed at home, especially after that burger, but Blondie and I went on a weekend retreat and I ate like there was a famine coming.
While we were gone, I received texts from hubby. Not wonderful love notes letting me know how much my family missed and loved me. No, just texts letting me know that my family was dropping like flies from the flu. I had left Friday with only one child down, by Friday night, hubby was down; Saturday night, little T was down. I soooo didn’t want to be next and asked if maybe we should just quarantine them and I should stay at the resort. No one agreed with my solution, so I went home on Sunday.
By Monday’s boot camp, I was ready to go run off the germs and scrumptious desserts. So, off I went, breathing like a 90-year-old emphysema patient with a cigarette. I didn’t care that I couldn’t breathe, I had weight to lose and germs to run from.
So off I went, filled up on germs, fast food, and fluid in my lungs. I was shocked to find out that I couldn’t make it through boot camp. I even had an asthma attack while I was there trying to run my hiney off, or maybe that was just my cheeseburger stuck in my throat – who could be sure?
After Drill Sergeant starting off yelling for me to get on the hop, and me telling him that there was too much hopping going on (without my usual zeal), he began to realize that I wasn’t just being my normal pain in the ass self – I was being an extra large pain in the ass and a whiney one at that.
Brownie and I were doing the hop scotch thing and I told him that the cones were too high. He told me that cones couldn’t take drugs so that was impossible. I looked at him with daggers and repeated that I was short and that they were too high. They were high too, because while I was walking/stomping through the obstacle course of hop scotch, he pulled me aside and told me he was concerned. Meanwhile, Brownie hopped but didn’t scotch and went down in the mud on her pretty face. She was whining in the background trying to get our attention wanting to know if anyone was concerned about her. Obviously, we weren’t. Drill Sergeant knows who the princess is.
After the hop scotch debacle, Brownie and I went on to the arm press, leg lift thing that has had me in traction for the past two days (which is why I’m late in posting). Then we did some weird oblique things. But, the best thing was the spider, because I was the only one who could maneuver on the bars backwards and forwards. It was beautiful, because while Brownie and I were giving the obliques our half-hearted attempt, we got to see Blondie up there asking at the top of her little voice, “Why is this called spider?!” She was spread eagle on these bars that are like uneven bars with her butt up in the air. She totally looked like a spider – a stuck one.
Oh, and, Blondie was already not talking to us. Brownie and I had paired up the first week. So on Monday, Blondie’s partner from the first week jumped on her like Blondie had started playing for the other team – you know, like white on rice, like a flea on a tick - you get the picture. We tried asking her when we all paired up after instructions if she wanted to be with one of us, but she just gave us dirty looks and walked away with her lip curled up. I think she might have been upset.
I’m sure she’ll get over it and pick me up today if for no other reason than to watch Drill Sergeant torture me.
Realistically, I probably should’ve stayed at home, especially after that burger, but Blondie and I went on a weekend retreat and I ate like there was a famine coming.
While we were gone, I received texts from hubby. Not wonderful love notes letting me know how much my family missed and loved me. No, just texts letting me know that my family was dropping like flies from the flu. I had left Friday with only one child down, by Friday night, hubby was down; Saturday night, little T was down. I soooo didn’t want to be next and asked if maybe we should just quarantine them and I should stay at the resort. No one agreed with my solution, so I went home on Sunday.
By Monday’s boot camp, I was ready to go run off the germs and scrumptious desserts. So, off I went, breathing like a 90-year-old emphysema patient with a cigarette. I didn’t care that I couldn’t breathe, I had weight to lose and germs to run from.
So off I went, filled up on germs, fast food, and fluid in my lungs. I was shocked to find out that I couldn’t make it through boot camp. I even had an asthma attack while I was there trying to run my hiney off, or maybe that was just my cheeseburger stuck in my throat – who could be sure?
After Drill Sergeant starting off yelling for me to get on the hop, and me telling him that there was too much hopping going on (without my usual zeal), he began to realize that I wasn’t just being my normal pain in the ass self – I was being an extra large pain in the ass and a whiney one at that.
Brownie and I were doing the hop scotch thing and I told him that the cones were too high. He told me that cones couldn’t take drugs so that was impossible. I looked at him with daggers and repeated that I was short and that they were too high. They were high too, because while I was walking/stomping through the obstacle course of hop scotch, he pulled me aside and told me he was concerned. Meanwhile, Brownie hopped but didn’t scotch and went down in the mud on her pretty face. She was whining in the background trying to get our attention wanting to know if anyone was concerned about her. Obviously, we weren’t. Drill Sergeant knows who the princess is.
After the hop scotch debacle, Brownie and I went on to the arm press, leg lift thing that has had me in traction for the past two days (which is why I’m late in posting). Then we did some weird oblique things. But, the best thing was the spider, because I was the only one who could maneuver on the bars backwards and forwards. It was beautiful, because while Brownie and I were giving the obliques our half-hearted attempt, we got to see Blondie up there asking at the top of her little voice, “Why is this called spider?!” She was spread eagle on these bars that are like uneven bars with her butt up in the air. She totally looked like a spider – a stuck one.
Oh, and, Blondie was already not talking to us. Brownie and I had paired up the first week. So on Monday, Blondie’s partner from the first week jumped on her like Blondie had started playing for the other team – you know, like white on rice, like a flea on a tick - you get the picture. We tried asking her when we all paired up after instructions if she wanted to be with one of us, but she just gave us dirty looks and walked away with her lip curled up. I think she might have been upset.
I’m sure she’ll get over it and pick me up today if for no other reason than to watch Drill Sergeant torture me.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Diary of a Wimpy Mom – Yes, I’m back.
Obviously, I haven’t posted in awhile. Well, it’s because I totally wimped out on those girls. Brownie and Blondie stuck with it and, of course, that’s when all the good stuff happened! But, once school started, I didn’t care if I got as big as a tent, there wasn’t any way I was rolling my ass out of bed at 5 a.m. for anything – not even a $1 sale at Neiman Marcus! Okay, well maybe if it was in the shoe department. But, especially not to flip 18 wheeler tires through the mud. I mean it takes effort to look this good and that extra hour of beauty sleep takes me from an 8 to a 10 baby!
So, while I was getting my beauty rest and workin’ up to that 10, that’s when this guy decides to die in the parking lot in his car to be found by my girls and the rest of the people who want to be skinny. I mean how fun of a post would that have been right? How cool is that to find a dead guy, right? I mean why couldn’t he be considerate enough to die earlier when I could’ve found him?
Oh well, it turns out, he was just a REALLY heavy sleeper because all of the tapping that turned to banging that those boot campers did he just slept right through. He finally woke up when the cops got there, so it was all good.
And, as it turns out, when you ditch boot camp in favor of more sleeping in, other things start creeping up to a 10. Someone who has a small frame and is barely 5 feet tall, really shouldn’t be in the double digits, you know what I mean? So, here I am again – flipping tires in the mud.
But, it sure isn’t at 5:30 in the morning. Oh, no! I convinced Blondie and Brownie that they needed my witty comments to keep things lively and the only way to get it was to sign up for the evening class. They totally bought it – suckers!
So Brownie and I were up there in the drizzling rain in 40 degree temperatures ready to melt that fat away. Yes, Blondie wimped out on the first class – she said “I ain’t into all of that measuring crap. I don’t need to weigh in!”
I have to confess, I’m not sure anything melted because everything was frozen - even the mud seemed frozen. It was so friggin’ cold. I do think my butt froze up and fell off on that 1 mile test run though – so that’s a plus!
Of course, Drill Sergeant was SOOO excited to have us back. (Brownie and Blondie had actually bailed on him too during the last six week session.)
I don’t remember if I mentioned this before, but when we start a new session, we have to measure, weigh, and do a fitness test. So, Brownie was busy with her push-ups, and these aren’t girlie push-ups on your knees – oh, no, these are full-on push-ups with your legs straight and your nose touching the ground, but not your tummy. (I’ve tried that, but he said, “oh no Pebbles, I don’t think so.” He doesn’t know that my friends call me Princess, so he just calls me Pebbles.) So, she is going at these push-up things - up, down, up, down - just burnin’ up those muscles, and then she starts getting tired. But, she’s gotten me so into it that I’m cheering her on. So I say, “Hercules, Hercules! Keep it going girl, you can do it!” you know Eddie Murphy style, because I’m trying to encourage my girl to keep going. But all of the other boot campers start laughing so Drill Sergeant has to explain his peanut gallery to all of the newbies.
But, they didn’t realize that I was doing them a favor because after our fitness test (and you would think that we would’ve remembered this by now) we had to go and do it all over again and do the same number of reps when we were bustin’ a gut to do all of those sit-ups, push-ups and pull-ups during the test.
Oh, well! Some people never learn. I guess that’s why the wimpy mom is back in boot camp. I wonder if they have a remedial boot camp?
So, while I was getting my beauty rest and workin’ up to that 10, that’s when this guy decides to die in the parking lot in his car to be found by my girls and the rest of the people who want to be skinny. I mean how fun of a post would that have been right? How cool is that to find a dead guy, right? I mean why couldn’t he be considerate enough to die earlier when I could’ve found him?
Oh well, it turns out, he was just a REALLY heavy sleeper because all of the tapping that turned to banging that those boot campers did he just slept right through. He finally woke up when the cops got there, so it was all good.
And, as it turns out, when you ditch boot camp in favor of more sleeping in, other things start creeping up to a 10. Someone who has a small frame and is barely 5 feet tall, really shouldn’t be in the double digits, you know what I mean? So, here I am again – flipping tires in the mud.
But, it sure isn’t at 5:30 in the morning. Oh, no! I convinced Blondie and Brownie that they needed my witty comments to keep things lively and the only way to get it was to sign up for the evening class. They totally bought it – suckers!
So Brownie and I were up there in the drizzling rain in 40 degree temperatures ready to melt that fat away. Yes, Blondie wimped out on the first class – she said “I ain’t into all of that measuring crap. I don’t need to weigh in!”
I have to confess, I’m not sure anything melted because everything was frozen - even the mud seemed frozen. It was so friggin’ cold. I do think my butt froze up and fell off on that 1 mile test run though – so that’s a plus!
Of course, Drill Sergeant was SOOO excited to have us back. (Brownie and Blondie had actually bailed on him too during the last six week session.)
I don’t remember if I mentioned this before, but when we start a new session, we have to measure, weigh, and do a fitness test. So, Brownie was busy with her push-ups, and these aren’t girlie push-ups on your knees – oh, no, these are full-on push-ups with your legs straight and your nose touching the ground, but not your tummy. (I’ve tried that, but he said, “oh no Pebbles, I don’t think so.” He doesn’t know that my friends call me Princess, so he just calls me Pebbles.) So, she is going at these push-up things - up, down, up, down - just burnin’ up those muscles, and then she starts getting tired. But, she’s gotten me so into it that I’m cheering her on. So I say, “Hercules, Hercules! Keep it going girl, you can do it!” you know Eddie Murphy style, because I’m trying to encourage my girl to keep going. But all of the other boot campers start laughing so Drill Sergeant has to explain his peanut gallery to all of the newbies.
But, they didn’t realize that I was doing them a favor because after our fitness test (and you would think that we would’ve remembered this by now) we had to go and do it all over again and do the same number of reps when we were bustin’ a gut to do all of those sit-ups, push-ups and pull-ups during the test.
Oh, well! Some people never learn. I guess that’s why the wimpy mom is back in boot camp. I wonder if they have a remedial boot camp?
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