I just read in the NYT that they're finally doing away with that stoopid food pyramid. Instead, they're unveiling a new rendition on Thursday -- one that is shaped like a plate. (I would argue, in this case, it's a shape more aptly known as a pie chart. Even my fourth grader knows that. Mmmm. Pie. Pie-ramid.)
Anyhoo, to confirm that Michelle Obama and I are once again on the same page, I'm unveiling my personal guide to healthy eating in the form of my very own pie chart. Later this week, we'll see how close I am. Get your wagers ready.
Please note the overlapping foods. I swear it's intentional (i.e., wine pairs well with Fritos) and not just my lack of access to sophisticated tools. (PowerPoint be damned.)
But seriously, who would want a glass of wine when you can have a slice of bread? Right mom?
Congratulations to my nephew Tim for his graduation from Brown this weekend! Congratulations to my niece Kira for her graduation from the Tilton School this weekend! Everyone is growing up. And I graduated from college 25 years ago this month. Twenty-friggin-five years. What the . . . ?
With the hope of staving off my wrinkles a little longer (and by "wrinkles" I mean the deep crevices that are mapping my face), I've joined the RoC® Challenge on shespeaks where I apply RoC® RETINOL CORREXION® Deep Wrinkle Night Cream nightly for 12 weeks and chart the difference. I'm on week two and, to date, no difference. What the . . . ?
I'm also officially on a long overdue diet that I'm logging into myfitnesspal. Two weeks into this diet, eating under 1100 calories a day, working out at least 5X/week and (drum roll please), I've gained three pounds. What the . . . ?
Instead of moping around about my wrinkles and lard ass (oh, did I mention that I'm now sporting some gray hair, too?), I've decided to take action. And by "take action" I mean laze around all weekend. So far, I've read the paper. I've relaxed in the hammock while reading magazines. I've watched two of Son #2's baseball games -- and the Pittsford Crew regatta on the canal next to the baseball field all day yesterday. I've gone to church. I've watched the boys have a super soaker fight with their friends. That's it. And that's the extent of my plans. Except the kids are now loaded into the car for go-karts and mini-golf. What the . . . ?
Is it sin to engage in such frivolity when we are supposed to be honoring those who died serving our country today? Or is it a mark of our bountiful freedom that I have the ability to do just as I please today without repercussion? Probably a bit of both.
I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking a lot about the concept of art lately -- maybe because so many of my friends are artists from painters and illustrators to musicians, dancers and tattoo artists.
Art.
So it caught me a little by surprise when meditating on the Lord's Prayer a few weeks ago that the word ART stood out in the first sentence -- transitioning in my mind from a Middle English second person singular conjugation of the verb "to be" to a somewhat verbified (yes, that's what I said) noun. As defined in dictionary.com: the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
And then I remembered this verse from Isaiah 64:8, "But now, O LORD, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand."
We went to the fifth grade band concert last night to hear Son #1 playing his saxophone in the midst of a sea of instruments. Beautiful sound. Impressive talent for a group of 10-11 year olds who just began playing together this year. Because I'm a ball of emotions and a music lover, I got all teary eyed. The rest of the audience? Not so much.
The kids played everything from a patriotic medley including America the Beautiful to the Star Wars theme. My favorite was the Duke Ellington improv to C Jam Blues. It made me appreciate even more the wonderful education my kids are receiving in the Pittsford School District. We didn't have exposure to such fabulous music at Catholic school when I was a kid unless you count my parents forcing us to watch the Lawrence Welk show every week -- gosh, thanks mom :)
As I watched their teacher, Eva Regan, skillfully conduct all of the moving parts, I wondered if it's intimidating to teach some of these kids whose parents are on the faculty of the Eastman School of Music. (How am I doing folks?) Two of our neighbors alone include a celebrated jazz studies and improvisation professor and an international conductor whose kid is in a band with Son #2. Wanna hear them (meaning the kids)? Stop by our basement any weekend.
What do Mother Teresa, Jackie O., Chrissie Hynde, Samantha Bee/Amy Sedaris, Mary Tyler Moore, Sydney Ellen Wade, Elizabeth Gilbert and Oprah have in common?
If you figure it out, please let me know.
I've decided that I want to be a combination of all of those people. God-centered. Elegant. Accomplished. Sexy. Gritty. Funny. Smart and successful yet still cute and vulnerable. A talented writer who travels the world and makes millions (!). An entertainer (in my own, small way). Someone who makes the world a better place.
I'm desperately trying to figure out what's next in my life as my boss is moving to Colorado. Do I: a) stay here and run the Rochester office or b) accept the fact that 10 years is a long run and move on? If the answer is b), the next question is: move on to what?
Thank God I have a customized CareerBuilder feed to help me answer these life-altering questions and point me in the right direction.
My mother-in-law was ill yesterday and cancelled our dinner plans so I went to Rocco again with my girlfriends. We ate dinner at the bar and laughed our heads off for hours. Would have loved to have seen the MIL but the change of plans turned out well, too.
Unfortunately, I came home to find Son #2 suffering with yet another stomach ache. He has had this illness for weeks -- at least since feeling sick at my sister's house on Easter. Maybe before. He's fine one minute; sick the next. Full of color and then as pale as a ghost. On Saturday, I took him to the docs because he was having stomach pains and I didn't want to wait and later take him to the emergency room. Thankfully it wasn't appendicitis but what was, or is, it? Worrisome. When he's sick, he needs coddling. He needs someone hugging him as he falls asleep. He needs someone sitting on the bathroom floor with him as he hovers over the toilet waiting to puke. Last night, after sitting on the bathroom floor for over an hour around 1:00 a.m., I dragged my pillow and comforter in to at least be comfortable. He fell asleep on me and together we spent a few hours napping on the bathroom floor. That's love. This morning, we went and had his blood work taken. So NOT cool to stick a needle in the arm of a nine year old boy and draw three vials of blood. To put it politely, he did not handle it well. The nurse, however, did. The poor thing. I just pray that it's some passing illness that just happens to be lingering. Nothing more.
His brother is another story. Somehow, in the course of a conversation with Son #1 as I was hugging him goodnight, we began chatting about his Tourette's disease and he asked what ADHD and OCD were. As I told him, you could see the proverbial light bulb turn on. Brighter than bright. What ensued was a hilarious, if not tragic, mad rush around the house as he showed me how he has to touch the two bumps on the bottom of the bannister, gently glide his fingers along the wall as he walks up the steps, trace the rail at the top of the stairs all the way as it curves back toward the wall, etc. And if he doesn't? Or, worse yet, if the rest of us don't (which, of course, we don't)? "It drives me crazy! I lie in bed for like four hours freaking out but there's nothing I can do about it. It's too late. I can't fall asleep." Sadly, it explains a lot.
Welcome to this crazy train called parenting. Sickness aside, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Thanks to Facebook's "People You May Know" feature, I feel so almost famous (circa 1980-something). I'm hot blooded. Unless I have double vision, or Facebook is playing head games, I have eleven friends in common with the lead singer of Foreigner. He's a juke box hero. A dirty white boy. He's probably waiting for a girl like me. It's urgent.
With my Mother's Day overnight trip with my girlfriends to the spa at Mirbeau? Waiting in line just to gorge ourselves on steamers and shrimp kebabs at Doug's Fish Fry in Skaneateles? Sipping champagne cocktails with the Daytona Beach-like Moms Gone Wild crowd at the waterfall-fireplaced-grotto-like-outdoor hot tub? Trying to relax (with a pillow over my head) in the "quiet room" while some loud-mouthed chick told the whole room about her husband's celiac disease? Enjoying a fabulous but lengthy, three-hour dinner at the inn complete with capon magro (yummy lobster, shrimp, crab and capon crostini), venison tenderloin (delicious but so not a typical choice for me) and fork-fulls of my girlfriend's hummingbird cake (i.e., a hybrid, cream cheese frosted carrot/banana cake)? Waking up to a full clay body wrap treatment with head massage? Shopping in town the next day -- where timely Christmas music, including the Little Drummer Boy, played in the antique store? Coming home to the hammock and blowing off work for the day?
Where do I end?
With a visit from my mom's much loved, best friend from childhood, Joanne, and her husband John? With the, as always, wonderful barbecue at my sister's house? Or with Joanne carrying on a tradition that my Grandpa Jack established with our families many moons ago: handing my kids $$ as we left to go home? (They were so psyched.)
I guess a few days bookmarked on either end by friends from a) my childhood and b) my mom's childhood is a few days well spent. All in all, a great week with one major sadness thrown in the mix: my favorite uncle on my father's side, Ed, passed away in California. Truly heart wrenching. Our world lost a beautiful soul with sparkling eyes, an infectious laugh and a kind heart. He will be sorely missed.
I played the board game Life with the kids on Thursday night.
At one point, Son #2 was driving around with his wife, who he named "Pink," and his two sons when he landed on the square announcing that he had a new grandchild. He was psyched.
Son #1 then asked, "Wait, how can you have a grandchild when your two boys have been stuck in the back seat this whole time?" followed by, "Oh no! Are you thinking what I'm thinking? About your wife?"
Good Lord. How can something so simple and otherwise family friendly go so horribly awry?
Blogger went down yesterday and I lost my last post. My girlfriend lost her last post. Everybody lost their last posts. And I don't even know how to begin to recreate it.
There's a ghost image of it online but if you click the link, Blogger says the post does not exist.
Son #1 turned eleven yesterday. Crazy. Celebrated over sushi at Shiki on Friday night followed by gift #1 from Uncle Kevin & Aunt Sue (huge hit!), pancakes with Grannie and the other Aunt Sue on Saturday morning and gift #2 (huge hit!), gifts from us at noon (huge hit!) and a sleepover with his friends (aka hours and hours of xbox: huge hit!). All-in-all, a successful day.
Looking forward to going to church with my mom this morning and heading to Gallea's afterward to buy some plants for her front and back porches.
Later today? Going to Skaneateles for the day to walk the little shops and then to the spa and for dinner/sleepover at Mirbeau with my girlfriends. Cannot wait. We didn't intend to go on Mother's Day specifically -- none of us realized it when we booked. Nothing says Mother's Day than a day without your kids. D'oh!
In tribute to the best mom a girl could ever have: one song, among many, that reminds me of my fabulous, soulful mom.
I went to Dunkin' Donuts on the way to work this morning. No one in the place except the two women who were stocking the donut shelves and ignoring me. So close I could reach out and touch them. Not even looking at me. Walking back and forth like I was invisible.
Finally one looked up at me with a mix of disdain and incredulity. "Can I help you?"
"I would like a large coffee with milk, please."
Sigh. Eye roll.
"I'll get it for you but we don't open until six."
"Oh no. I'm so sorry!" (Glance at watch.) "Would you like me to come back in one minute?"
For the second time this week, I began my day at 1:00 a.m. Before 8:00 a.m. today, Wednesday, I'll have already worked over 40 hours this week.
I know, I know. I didn't rappel into a gated compound, after experiencing a helicopter mechanical malfunction, and shoot Bin Laden in the eye -- but shouldn't I get some sort of pat on the back? Better yet, a raise?
Ah yes, spring ball has officially kicked off in Pittsford with the annual Little League parade where kids carry bags of candy and pelt people in the face. I got a zinger to the lip. Ouch. Son #2 got rid of his Halloween candy. Blech.
Thankfully, given the miserable state of continual rain that we're experiencing this year, we had a sunny, warm day to walk through town and, later, lie in the hammock.
