Torture and more torture

Now I don't know about you, but I don't particularly like torture...I think it is overrated. I prefer to be pain free most of the time. Who was it, anyway, that signed me up for 5:30 AM workouts with this personal trainer? Oh, wait...that was me.



Ok, so no one ever said that I had it all together. I wake at 4:30 every day anyway (except Saturdays - hence my 11:02 PM post) so what is the big deal, right? Well, let me tell you...



Tuesday morning, went and had a great, strong workout. As a matter of fact, Mark was pleasantly surprised (and me, too!) how fast he is packing the weights on. Great workout. Then, there was today...not so much the same thing. My first thought was "UGH, it is too early"...then I began to converse with myself...I said, "Self, what is the big deal...you are up anyway and by 6:30 it is all over. Tuesday is 8:30 am so what is the difference, really!". So my self convinced myself that it was no big deal. So, I walk in there, with the cobwebs still in my eyes. Now, if you ask me, there is something inherantly wrong with leaving the house in the dark and coming home when it is light out...seems bass ackwards to me. And, of course, Mark is ready to go. He says "let's get going" like he has anything to do with the lifting except to say to me "four more".... So now, my sense of humor isn't as sharp as it usually is and we get going...no small talk. Bike...good - hate that cardio. Next...



Lifting...yadda, yadda, yadda. Weak legs today. Weak chest today. Weak arms today. Ok, what was strong? Oh that's right...it was the coffee I sucked down before walking out the door. And Mark was sure to let me know that there was a "marked" difference today (like I didn't know that - perhaps that is why he gets paid the big bucks!). Back to cardio...hate that cardio. Seems Mark has decided that "interval" training is what I need. I wonder why he and I never seem to agree on what I need...



Nearly fell on my tukus doing standing lunges. Squats were no better. The long and short of it was that I walked out of there with my rubber band legs, drove home defeated and thinking Mark needs his coffee in the morning and went on my way. I was dragging all day...one surprise after another. I think I have finally settled in on the fact that Mark loves to torture, he thinks it is his job. Me...not so much. So, I sit here, cob webs in my eyes again because it is now 11:14 pm and I have just realized I need to go to bed and try again tomorrow...but tomorrow will be torture free!

The boy who cried wolf - or was that a girl?

Oh that's right...wrong book. I was talking about the boy who cried wolf. Well, you might as well call the incident Chicken Little - we ended up at the same point in the end.

My Rae has been sick for like three weeks - 2 doc visits, 2 antibiotics - to no avail. OK, Monday - phone rings. "Hello, Arrie, it is Ruth (admin from Rae's school)...Rae is in my office compaining of a headace and dizziness". "Is she throwing up?" I ask. "NO". "Well, Ruth, put Rae on the phone...Rae? Go back to class and suck it up. If you get a fever, throw up or pass out, call me". OK. An hour later...ring..."Hello, Arrie...Rae is back in my office". "Is she bleeding?" I asked. "No". "Is she throwing up or have a fever?" "No". "Please put Rae on the phone...Rae? I am not sure what part of suck it up you did not understand, but it is noon and I am NOT driving from Long Valley to Succasunna to get you just to drive back there in a couple of hours to pick up Adam again". OK. Now I should let you know that Ruth is just like me...a good sense of sarcastic humor and since she knows me personally from working there, she understands the issues. We live 15 minutes from school - including pick up it is 45 minutes round trip and I was in Mendham which tacks on 25 minutes to the trip. 2 o'clock...ring (you can see where this is going) "Hello, Ruth?" "Well, yes it IS Ruth". "Ruth, let me guess...Rae is in your office right?"..."put her on the phone"..."Mommy, I am really dizzy and have a terrible headache...pppplllleeeeaaaasssseee come to pick me up" at which point I am feeling like mother of the year for NOT picking her up earlier so I crumble under the pressure and get her. Just to sit in the parking lot for 45 more minutes waiting for my son to get out.

Tuesday. Noon. Ring..."Arrie?"..."Ruth?"..."put her on...Rae? Are you dying or are you in need of an ambulance?" "Well, mommy, no but I am dizzy and have another headache". "OK, I will pick you up". Driving to the school I thought that she might need an ambulance when I get done with her.

Now I am not ticked that my 12 year old can't sit through a day of school with a headache and am perplexed at what might be going on so I call the doctor. Make the first appointment which I can get which is on Wednesday. Go to the doc. Routine stuff - what is wrong...how do you feel...when does it happen...etc. Her blood pressure was really low but heart rate fine which tells the doc not an issue other than it can be causing the dizzyness and headache. Now I am sitting there thinking..."I don't have low blood pressure and my head is SCREAMING right now. As a matter of fact, my head hurts everyday at about noon when the phone rings". He checks her out and really finds nothing. He suggests she drink more water, eat smaller meals every couple of hours and mandates the use of salt. Sidenote: Why had a doctor never mandated ME to use salt - I LOVE salt...just wondering. Then he drops the bomb....the dreaded "b" word and no, he didn't say budget! He said "BLOODWORK" and my tender, quiet daughter comes unglued. Now, we have a history with her and bloodwork. We have had to literally strap her down and shove my hand over her mouth to fade out the shreiking and screaming just to have her state, in the end, that it wasn't so bad. So I brace myself...take a deep breath...pray and go for it.

Nurse comes in, puts the band on her arm, cleans the arm with alcohol and it starts. Wimpering..."mommy, I am scared....help me....pppllleeeaaassseee don't let them hurt me". Now, I am pretty soft right now, understanding and sympathetic..."it's ok baby, it will only hurt for a second...breathe...let's pray....ok, get your thoughts under control..." This went on for nearly 5 minutes to the point that I wasn't so sympathetic and she wasn't so quiet. The nurse literally said not a word and turned around and walked out. In walks the doctor. Now at this point I am raging inside. WHY won't she just shut up and do this...This is ridiculous...ok, doc time.

Honey, we need to do this or you have to go to a lab (which, is where we ended up the last time after we tied her down and listened to her scream like we were literally murdering her) at which point I say "I am NOT going to a lab again so you better get that arm out and let him get this blood". Now, at this point she is blubbering and wailing. The doc reminds her that it is a doctor office and they have other patients to see (and I am guessing he was implying that they might just be listening and get scared away) and we need to do this now. The short of it is that, once again, I was like "YOU HAVE TO DO THIS SO GET YOURSELF UNDER CONTROL (because I was totally under control???!!!) AND PUT YOUR ARM OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!". In the end, I sat on her again, covered her screaming mouth with my hand and forced the arm out until the doc had the blood he needed. She now starts..."mommy, I am so sorry....". "I forgive you Rae but don't talk to me about this because I am about to blow a gasket. I need to pray and talk to daddy". We drove home in silence. Her singing like nothing happened and me praying like the dickens.

Now, what does all this have to do with the boy who cried wolf? Well, now you can see what it has to do with chicken little...but the wolf?

Eric and I talk and we both decide that this is just a pattern of uncontrolled thoughts, ridiculous intolerence for discomfort (the infamous "it hurts, it hurts" and it is a paper cut and 2 days later she is still not writing because "it still hurts") and overall disobedience. So, he comes up with a plan...and this was it.

Today, we drove to the library. She sat there and read the boy who cried wolf and had to give me the relation to what had happened. I thought about an essay but that would be yet another headache for me. I opt out. Now, Eric's other plan is to randomly ask her what happened, to relate things in a reasonable manner and if not, essay time.

She just went to bed defeated. Not happy that I am blogging about her...not happy that essays are on the horizon...and probably not happy that I am still not happy. So, my girl is the boy who cried wolf, she is chicken little and me....well I guess that makes me the Old Maid!

Until next time...

More Nothings...

Well, I have been in absentia of late. Not like me to have nothing to say (or write for that matter). I just got plain old lazy. That, and I am taking the Love Dare from the movie Firefighter...any watchers? It was an amazing movie and hit home with all it dealt with. So, the good Lord moved me to start the dare. Ok, so I am only on day 2 of 40 and have been away from blogging for a couple of weeks - cut me some slack.

I wasn't sure I would do both, so I decided to keep a journal for the Love Dare and cut down on the blogging. And just as true to my nature as I could be, I stopped all together. So, what have I been doing?

Not much...oh, I did start working out with a personal trainer again. His name is Mark and he and I work just fine together. I am sarcastic, and he is sarcastic right back. Only his humor is a bit literal and dry but I find him pretty humorous most of the time. My first workout was Friday at 5:30 am...that's right...AM!!! I showed up, hazy eyed and all and suffice it to say, I was NOT in much of a mood to work out. We got right to it. First was the loathed cardio "warm up" as he calls it...I call it a burn out...more like a sweat fest. We went right from there to stretch (the best part of the workout because he does all the work for you) and then hit the weights. I was shocked to see how much strength I lost in 6 months away. In the middle of the workout, he decides to get philosophical with me..."Arrie, so what is your goal?" "My goal I thought...you have GOT to be kidding me. It is 5:45 - yes time really drags when you watch the clock - and I still cannot see and you want to know what my goal is!"...hhhmmm..."OK, Mark...my goal is to NOT do that ridiculous cardio and to NEVER do abs...EVER". Now, he thought that was not a reasonable goal and I thought nothing is reasonable at 5 something in the morning. Ok, real goals...he wants real goals. So I thought some more. "OK, Mark, you want my real goals? To fit in my pants again without having to use a hanger to zip them up in the morning...oh, that and bring the girls back uptown...seems they didn't know the bus was supposed to stop at midtown and went right downtown". He found that odd...I find that reality. So, we decided that my goals are a bit different from his goals, but he DID write down that I want to fit in my pants again.

He is merciless and he tells me that is what I pay him to be. I thought I paid him to be nice to me and get me in shape at the same time. I was lifting with my legs and I started crying (well, not really crying, but whining and moaning) because my legs HURT. So I told him so. My legs flat out hurt. He got a concerned look on his face..."Hurting? or just burning" Well, in my book they are synonamous...burning=hurting...and I told him so. He told me "three more!" I cried some more and he said "Four more - want to keep going?" No Sir!

So, that summed up my workout...minutes creeped by like hours and I mean HOURS! But, at 6:30 I was done and headed home. Funny thing, those muscles...people say they have memory...when you take time off, they get back in shape pretty quickly. Someone needs to tell my muscles that because I think mine got confused. Mine thought their memory was to hang onto the hurt for 5 days. Today is much better. Just in time for tomorrow morning workout.

I think I will bring him coffee tomorrow...no coffee for personal trainer first thing in the morning equates to an unhappy Arrie!

I am moving!!

Well, the picture should say it all! That car might as well be Victoria's and those men might as well be me! Eric took Rae to school this morning because Adam is sick. I guess I should back up one second to last night.

Eric came home and announced that we had no salt, Mr. B had no salt and not a store in NJ had salt! I call a few and finally in a last ditch effort, I call Wal-Mart...and yes, they have 6 bags and a few are opened but not bad...I relay that to Eric and he decides 6 bags was not enough (I thought 6 is better than the 0 we currently have, but he knows best)...OK, we can all do the math...1/2 mile long driveway, ice storm on top of snow and no salt=problem for Arrie.

My Cambodian friend, Victoria (actually, Chorvie) came over. About 1 minute after she left the phone rang and it was her...in a total panic. Now, if you could only imagine a Cambodian (a little high strung) upset and trying to "splane" what happened on my "dry wave" you would see the humor in it all. I got that she was stuck and needed me to go up there. I asked her if she could back down the driveway at which point I hear something like shreiking that sounded like "Are you kid me! I stuck and I can not go back...I can not even go for...I panic..." at which point I get the message...Vic is having a stroke and paralyzed with fear and I will just go get her. I couldn't bear the thought of walking up 1/2 mile mountain to get to her so I risked taking the van. We know right where that went. From my stick point, I walked. When I got to her, she was panting, about to have a full blown panic attack. She "splanes" to me..."I try to get up the drywave and slit and fall down here, slide dare to uh, uh, uh (that is her trying to find an American word) uh, moo da car to not slide and I just couldn't take it-I had to call you for help". I moved her over and got in. The tires began screaming, I start rocking the car back and forth, back and forth...Drive-reverse; Drive-reverse. Ok, not working. I back the car half way down the driveway to where the van got stuck and look over at Vic and she is sweating...literally sweating. I asked her if she was ok (in retrospect I am not sure why I asked her because it started again - that shreiking...the panic stricken shreik of a Cambodian) "No! I not ok. I praying, I scare, Dis car go back and slit here and dare-you just go back around the corner, back up scare me. I cannot do dat...dat why I call you! If I had to dis mysel, I still be sitting in the snowbang waiting for someone to come rescue me!" I told her to get out and get in the van, turn the music up and ignore the whole thing. She did as she was told.

OK, I figure all I need is a little traction to get around the bends and up the steep part and we will be golden...or not. It was "or not". She gets back in and I tell her to drive while I push. She thought I should drive and she should push because "I don't know how to dry dat way". I told her to drive anyway. We were able to rock her out a bit, just to have the car slide backwards into the snowbank again. At which point, I give up and call Eric at work. I told his secretary to go get him out of whatever meeting he was in and put him on the phone, because at this point, I hated the driveway, I hated my van, I hated that Eric would not buy the 6 bags of salt the night before because "it wasn't enough", I hated it all (but still loved Vic because she had me hysterically laughing the whole time). He gets on the phone and I tell him the scene and he says he will be home in 20 minutes. Vic and I sit and wait. But while we wait, Vic starts to tell me a story...now I am debating as whether or not to tell you in "her language" or the english equivelent...to make it easier for you to understand, I will write it in English, but her english would be far better and more amusing...

Bill (her husband) came home during a snowstorm about 3 years ago. Their house is at the top of a hill and he couldn't make it to their house. He parked at the apartments at the bottom of the hill and walked home. When the storm stopped, he bundled up and went to retrieve the car. A while later, he came home, befuttled and with no car. "Someone stole our car" he announced. Vic, not knowing what to do (and if you knew Bill you would already understand that he would have less of an idea what to do than Vic does because Vic does EVERYTHING so Bill has no need to know - and yes, he is American) calls the police. The police come and they fill out a report for the stolen car and the police, upon completion of the report asks them to take him to where the car was stolen so he can be specific and have a diagram of where the car was parked when stolen. Bill and Vic get in her van with the police close in tow. Vic said that she pulled up where Bill told her the car was parked and she saw the license plate of their car and knew at that moment that the car hadn't been stolen, it was just that Bill couldn't find it with all the snow around. She begins to laugh uncontrollably at this point. When she explained it to the cop, he assured her "not to worry, it happens to alot of people". We were screaming and howling with laughter in the car at this point, crying with tears STREAMING down our faces...neither of us able to breathe or talk or do anything except laugh. All I could see in my head was that same cop saying to every other cop he came across that day "you won't believe what some guy did today....haha...he lost his car and filled out a stolen car report...".

At about this point, Eric came home and told me he couldn't pull (or push) her out with his 4WD vehicle...why you ask? DON'T ASK ME...THAT IS WHAT I ASKED HIM! We all got in and drove up to my car at which point he looked at me and began to open his mouth and I quickly said "don't ask"...he said "do you want to back it down or do you want me to?" "I will do it" I replied, "I am master of backing up at this point". We went home, loaded the truck with sand leftover from redoing our sidewalk this summer and off we went. Success! After 2 hours of misery and .5 hours of screaming laughter, Vic was finally freed to go home.

We got home. Got out. He looked at me and said, "blog again?"...."Yup" I answered, then added, "and you KNOW who it will be about!".

So, that is why there will be a "for sale" sign in front of my driveway come spring when I may be able to get up the driveway to go see a realtor. In the meanwhile, I will hand draw one and walk it up tonight as a reminder that "I AM MOVING!!!!!!!!!"

SNOW!!!

Do I even need to say this again. Yesterday it snowed...and iced our driveway. As if that wasn't enough, my DH (d..., dear...hubby) took the truck again, leaving me with that van with the now bald tires from the last incident. Oh, and the plow - that has a broken shock and no skid plate on the right side of the plow, but hey, who am I to complain?

So, in a desperate attempt to get up the driveway, I take the van, kids and backpacks, and head up the driveway. I actually made it more than my original 200 feet to about 400 feet and almost killed us when the car spun out of control and landed in a snowbank (the one I created when I - emphasis on 'I' - last plowed). OK, plan B (not that I had a plan B)...back the car down the driveway, around the bend and down the mountain. A slip here and a slide there...made it. OK, unload kids, backpacks and move on to vehicle #2 - the plow. Now, going up the driveway it only made sense to lower the plow and plow 1/2 the driveway (width) on the way up...no problem. But when I got to the top I realized that I HAD to plow the other side down the driveway or 1/2 would ice and the other half would be pavement level. Turn around. Lower plow and down the driveway I go...kids freezing and now complaining that they are officially late for school, while my mind was screaming "DH! How can he take that truck AGAIN and leave me with the van AND the plow! - Who cares about school, we are lucky to be alive - and - you guessed it - NO GAS AGAIN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). Down to the neighbors as we live on a flaglot and we are the first of two houses, so I had to plow the B's. Back up the driveway I go and now I am ticked. I call Eric "Please tell me you are in the office today because if I have to drive this banging, clunking plow today I am going straight to orbit, and it may not be my usual route of straight there...I might stop at your office before I take off!". As God would have it, he was in the office. "I am dropping off this plow and taking your truck". OK, I unpack the kids (again) and the backpacks (again) and switch trucks. Whew!

We arrive at school and the kids are no longer complaining, rather thankful to be out of the truck and my presence.

Time to pick the kids up. Oh, btw, I carpool and of course, today is my day. Oh, that's right...I have 5 kids and 4 seats in the TRUCK!!!!!!!!!!!! Back to the van. It is still snowing. I start up the driveway and this time am determined to make it. So, I gun it...the faster the better I figure. Well, same spot, same spinning. You could smell the rubber at my neighbors house I am sure. Tach reading about 4000 RPM (that is bad, right? That yellow and red area...accoring to Eric yellow means go faster so I went faster)....More rubber burning but now the tires are about to pop from lack of rubber. I finally get up the driveway.

Pick up all the kids, drop off the Brennan's and realize that I can't go down their driveway because it hasn't been plowed (now wishing I had the plow to help them out!). Kids walk down driveway and of course one slips and falls...that's not my fault, right? I mean, afterall, it was Eric who botched the whole thing AGAIN. Now I realize we have music tonight and btw, it is still snowing. Get to music. Adam now sick with a fever. Drop Rae off and head home, just to see that driveway covered in snow again. Oh, dare I say it! Wishing I had that stupid plow again. We finally get home safe and sound. Get out, backpacks in and call it a day.

This morning I decide to make ministrone soup (that is a whole other story...I tried to make it yesterday and it turned into a debacle). I cut up all the veggies (oh, it is 3:15 am because Adam is up with fever and sick belly). Get all the seasoning in, tomatoes, beans that, this time, I soaked overnight (that is just one clue as to how the soup went yesterday), broth and in crock pot. There. Turn on high. Adam sleeping now...about 4:30 am. Off to bed I go. Get up at about 8:30 just to find that I never plugged that !@#$!! crockpot in. I can see where this day is going...

You do the math!

At a loss for what to write (boy, that is unusual actually) I decided to write something about Adam because he makes me laugh. I woke up at 3 am and my brain is toast and this doesn't require much though and still makes me laugh. When Adam was 4 we were in the car coming home from pre-school. He asked me how old I would be when he was 40. I told him to do the math himself and tell me. He first said 80, then he corrected himself. He said, "76 because I am four so I need to take 4 away from 80". I was impressed. So, I said to him, "Adam, how old will I be when you are 50?". Now, in my simple head I thought he would simply add 10 and call it a day. But, he is a thinker...and funny (and he doesn't even try to be funny, he just is). He thought a moment and then declared..."DEAD!"

So, there you have it. My math wizard...boy of numbers...driven by a need to calculate. He decides that I am not going to live to be 90 so in his little mind, I will just be dead!

Hopefully tomorrow I will have a bit more humor and something worth while to talk about.

Until then...

Potty Mouth!

Yup, that's me. Not on the toilet...just the potty mouth. Now, I do NOT make it a habit to swear. In fact, I make it a point NOT to. My kids have never heard a swear word in our house. And the words they have heard, we can thank the schools and world for that. With that said...

A friend borrowed my car for a day or two. Which is fine - especially since we had a snow/ice storm again, and we all know what happens in my driveway when that happens...and we know how graciously I deal with it. So, I was driving our jeep - 4WD with a plow on the front and a salter on the back. No big one. It is actually kind of fun driving it (and plowing when I need to). I dropped the kids off at school and looked down and saw it...the gas guage light on indicating there was no gas...of course. Now, not only does Eric always call when he leaves the house, but he also ALWAYS leaves me cars with NO gas - ALWAYS! Now, his percentage rate is not quite 98% on this one, but it isn't far behind. So, by the time I get the kids out and leave, I forgot the gas until I got to my driveway. No big one. I will get gas when I pick them up.

So, off I go. 2:30 and time to get the kids. As I am driving I know I should get gas on the way but would have been late to get them. So, I waited. By the time the kids got in the car I was stressed..."I am going to run out of gas right here and will just want to die!" But by the grace of God, I didn't. So I hurry to the gas station and pull in to get gas before the engine dies and...that is when it happened.

I took my foot off the clutch before I took it out of gear when I wanted to stop and the car lurched forward, nearly taking down the gas pump and banging so loud when the transmission suddenly stopped and the car stalled. That is when I blurted out...SH_T! My 12 year old was in the front with me and my 6 year old in the back. Raechyl (12) looked at me, startled, and grins as she says "Potty Mouth!" I have wondered since then why the grin. Could it be because she caught me (for once) doing something wrong instead of me catching her? Could it be because she wanted ammunition for another point in time? Was it simply that the whole scene was so ridiculous that it made her grin? Anyway, she called me on it IMMEDIATELY. And, once Adam heard that, he starts right in..."What did mommy say? Did she say the "S" word? (which FYI is 'stupid' ) Did she say the 'mother of all bad words' (which I should explain)...

In our home, the mother of all bad words (to a 6 year old is "FUDGE". Have you seen 'A Christmas Story'? With Ralphie who wanted a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas? He was trying to help his nutty father change a flat tire and when he dropped the lug nuts, he blurts out...well, as the narrator goes on to say, he said the 'mother of all bad words'...and says FFFFUDGE. We all know that is not what he really said, but Adam is quite literal, so from the first time he watched the movie (several years as we watch it every year!) "FUDGE" is the mother of all bad words.

So, Raechyl tells him I did not say that word, I said another naughty word. So, my blood pressure went so darn high at almost taking down the gas pump and being embarassed by my swearing and them rebuking me, that I had to check my pulse to make sure I was still alive.

We went home from there...silent. Adam asked me if I was going to say any more potty words and I told him "I can assure you I won't" at which point Raechyl piped in..."Mom, I am sure you would have said that this morning..." Touche! So I drove home with my tail between my legs...

Now as you could imagine, I was happy for the whole thing to be over. But it wasn't. Raechyl and Adam made sure that they told each person they saw (like my mom, Eric and their friends at school I am sure). "My mom has a potty mouth".

So, it is finally over. Today is Sunday - fresh start. They are over the teasing me and I am over the trauma. I have my car back and the jeep has been put away. No more clutches, no more stalling, no more naughty words...for now anyway!