Thrifty Makes a Comeback

I realized a couple of weeks ago that I rarely use coupons anymore. I used to be so good about clipping coupons and methodically filing them away in my plastic coupon binder. I even had a membership to The Grocery Game, and prided myself on saving a minimum of 40% per trip to the grocery store. Alas, I honestly can't remember the last time I applied scissors to a coupon insert in the Sunday paper.

Well, I have a renewed sense of determination to stretch my husband's well-earned dollars as far as I can. I clipped some coupons today and even located my old "coupon organizer" from the cupboard. I must say, I'm feeling rather proud of myself. I'm saving money AND getting organized! As I was clearing out the old coupons I had so casually abandoned, I noticed the expiration dates: March and April of 2006. 2006! How can it possibly be four YEARS since I last clipped a coupon? What on earth happened in my life, so abruptly, that it has taken me FOUR YEARS to get back on that bandwagon? Hang on...it's coming to me...Adam. Adam happened. He was born in April of 2006 and instantly became my legitimate excuse for not saving money, nor for staying organized. Now he's old enough to wield his own pair of blunt-tip scissors and can help me start clipping...I sure hope he's better at "saving" than I am.

I ♥ Memories of Dad

Isn't the mind an amazing thing? The capabilities are boggling. Keep this memory...delete that one...ignore the other one for a bit until a better time. Oh, sure, the whole computation, innovation and survival stuff is cool, too. But I think, more than anything, the capacity for storing and sifting through memories is our mind's best feature.

I miss my dad. I'm positive there will never be a time when I don't miss him. It never fails to happen as I recall so many fond memories. Even not-so-fond memories crop up every once in a while...and I STILL miss him. I like that.

Baby Diet

I've been blessed with most of my dad's genes*. He had the best metabolism...he could eat anything he wanted and stayed thin as a rail. Blessedly, he passed that same "stay skinny" gene along to me. It was a curse when I was young. Imagine every time you tried on pants, they slid (yep, slid) to your ankles because you had no waist or butt to hold them up...and, back in the 70's, belts weren't cute on girls**. I had to buy boy's jeans because they actually came with waist sizes and were designed to fit my boyish figure. They also came in lengths that were long enough for my legs because, I failed to mention earlier, I also inherited my dad's "abnormally long legs" gene, too. Imagine being the tallest kid in the class, towering over the boys and wondering if I'd soon surpass the teacher...but, I digress and that's a topic for another post***.

The curse of being super skinny turned to an advantage when I hit college. Holy crow, could I pack down the beers, the pizza and the ramen noodles****. I never had to worry about my waistline because I had the "stay skinny" gene on my side. It even carried me through my 20's and right on into my first pregnancy. The only way you could tell I was pregnant was if I stood sideways...I carried all the weight out front*****...never around my waist. That's where it all ended. Not only did I give birth to my first son, it seems I also birthed that glorious "stay skinny" gene out of my body as well. I didn't know it at the time but, looking back, I'm pretty sure that's what happened.

I was able to burn off the pregnancy pounds pretty quickly...sleep deprivation, nursing and not having time to throw anything other than a Wheat Thin in my mouth during mealtimes had an amazing effect on my body. When Ben was only 6 months old, I found out I was pregnant with Colin (we'll save the "nursing is a natural contraceptive" debate for another post as well). So, when I started forcing myself to eat more than just a few Wheat Thins for the sake of the baby and suddenly started gaining weight, it all made sense. Colin was born and I had a toddler to boot. For years (and I mean years!) I spent my days running...running...running after my boys. And, I managed to keep everyone, including myself, well fed. The laundry and house cleaning suffered but that's, yet again, a topic for another post.

Then came Adam and the cycle continued, as did my delusions about my super metabolism, for a couple of years. The delusions abruptly halted about two years ago. I realized I wasn't naturally fitting into my size 4 jeans anymore...I had to spend some time on the eliptical and couldn't eat as many desserts as I'd like. I thought maybe it was just a phase and I'd get through it and back into my size 4's in no time. Well, it's been a long time since my size 4's and now I'm not sure what's going on with my size 6's.

Examining the past eight years, I've concluded that I was engaged in a Baby Diet. Having a baby meant I was guaranteed a few years of non-stop activity and could keep my weight in check. I, falsely, assumed it was my super metabolism keeping me well-proportioned. I now know it was the repetitive Baby Diet (did I mention I had three boys in the span of four years?). It's been four years since having a newborn and 2 years since having a toddler...when I do the math, that just about equates to my not-so-roomy size 6's. Either I get back on the Baby Diet or get back on the eliptical...and the treadmill...and the pilates mat. We took measures****** a couple years ago to rule out option number one, so I guess I'm stuck with exercising. Perhaps, if I run fast enough on the treadmill, I might just be able to catch that "stay skinny" gene I expelled all those years ago, and I can gulp it back down with a brownie and a glass of milk?

* except for the abnormally long arms and the flat chest, both of which looked great on him but not so great on a girl.

** I'm pretty sure I have pictures to prove this. Nor were belts effective on girls because I'm pretty sure they were located somewhere just below your chest which didn't do much for holding up pants.

*** based on my previous entry about ADHD, said post will likely never happen.

**** that's all I could afford to eat after spending all my money on beverages.

***** that's not entirely true. I also carried a couple pounds in my ankles - guess Dad didn't pass along a "super skinny ankles during pregnancy" gene.

****** now, that might be a fun post for the future!

Focus Pills

It's been nearly a year since my last blog entry. That's because I tried to solve world hunger, and it just took a little longer than I anticipated*.

My beautiful, loving, tender seven-year-old son has, among many other traits & talents, ADHD. Right before school began last year, we decided to give ADHD meds a try. We call them "Focus Pills" and, yes, they absolutely help him focus on the task at hand - his academic progress last year is a testament to the effects Ritalin can have on a child's achievement.

We knew from the time he was 2 years old that something was "up" with his brain**...and had an inkling that it might be ADHD by the time he was 4. We started having him assessed when he was 3; three or four in-depth assessments later, the therapies began at age 5***. The ADHD diagnosis came just before he turned 6 and Focus Pills started right before the school year began. My own self analysis started shortly thereafter.

There's some pretty strong theories that ADHD can be hereditary and I, for one, subscribe to the theory. Why? Because I, for one, now see my beautiful son's ADHD traits in myself. And that is why I am at peace with the fact that it's been nearly a year since my last blog entry. I'm not sure I can even tell you what's kept me so busy over the last year that would explain my absence...but, hereditary odds are pretty high, it was nothing (yet everything) all at the same time. I think I need to see a doctor about some Focus Pills for myself - the trick will be making the appointment before I get side-tracked by the million-and-one other things going on around me on my way to the phone.

* I think I just got side-tracked too many times.
** Licking the refrigerator and walking on his toes all the time was a big clue.
*** BIG fan of therapy, btw!

I Just Can't Seem to Finish A...

sentence. project. chore. thought. beer. hobby. task. Any of these words, tacked on to the title of my post, complete a sentence which accurately reflects a bit about me.

Ask my husband. He'll point you right to our Home Office and you'll immediately understand. As I sit here and look around this little room, I can identify seven distinct attempts I've made at something and then ultimately left hanging. I see scrap-booking stuff (haven't touched it in at least 2 years). Jewelry-making supplies (haven't had time in the last 2 months to do any designing). The "To Be Shredded" pile of papers sitting next to the shredder (no excuse...just don't want to do it). Clothes bin full of boys' winter clothes that need to be returned to the basement until next winter. Filing (oh. my. word.). Bills (oh crud! I should probably not leave those hanging). Interior design ideas to be filed for future reference and future expendable income.

What's my deal? I could so easily blame it on having kids. Something like "I never have time now that I'm a mom". But, honestly, I think it's more innate than that. I guess I'll have to do some more analyzing when I get the time...but I need to finish the laundry first.

Social Networking Whobie Whatie

"To tweet, or not to tweet"...that is the question. Or...is the question really "To blog, or not to blog"? Or, perhaps, "To Facebook, or not to Facebook"? I'm not even gonna pose the one about MySpace...the answer to that is most definitely "Not in my lifetime."

I've officially dabbled in all of the above - minus the MySpace. And, I have to say...huh. It's kinda weird when you think about it. Posting your thoughts, your actions, your life for people to see. But, for me, it's incredibly cathartic, and I'm fairly normal so it's not like I'll be posting anything intriguing. Since I'm not inclined to share my innermost secrets (do I have any??) via the webisphere, I think I'll keep mingling in the various networking tools to see if I find my little niche...or, until I get bored, I suppose. "When in Rome..." as they say.

A Reluctant Soccer Mom

I don't do "Social". Well...I do it, but I don't like it. Actually...I do like it, but only when it's on my terms.

My entire life, I've been an introvert. I wouldn't consider myself "shy", nor "soft-spoken"...just introverted. I like keeping my little corner of the world quaint and familiar...solid and supportive...with an occassional dash of spontaneous "whim" to keep my inner extrovert quiet and well-behaved.

I grew up in a small family in Colorado: two parents, an older brother, and a younger sister. The majority of my extended family lives on the west coast, and a few more over in Florida. There were very few trips to visit those extended family members so, for all intents and purposes, I consider myself as having grown up in a small, somewhat sheltered*, family.

It comes as no surprise, in my retroactive self-analysis, that I have grown into an introverted woman.** Don't get me wrong; I love to be outside, chatting with friends and neighbors over a beer, watching all the kiddos play in the cul-de-sac. I really enjoy going out for pedicures and/or dessert with my close girlfriends. But, that's all on my terms. I socialize when I choose (usually it depends on 2 factors: (1) the weather, and (2) whether I'm wearing anything covered in stains, which were likely put there by my boys)...and I'm happy. I'm comfortable being an introvert. But there is a little inner extrovert in me that wishes I was an outdoor-enthusiastic & sporty, yet fashionable & social, butterfly who is, in the words of my cousin-in-law "grabbing life by the ears".

If I had a choice, I'd like my boys to grow into extroverted men, with little introverted personalities who occassionally like to read a book or have a heart-to-heart chat with their sweetie. So...for fear of breeding introverted sons, I've had to make very conscious decisions to involve them in various activities with their peers***...sports, playdates, birthday parties...those kinds of things.

I really love seeing my boys making friends and experiencing things that I never did as a kid, but really wish I had. I love going to their games and chearing on them and their teammates. I happily encourage them to pick out a little gift that their buddy would love for his birthday celebration. I have a great time meeting a compatible mom and her son at the park so the kids can get together and we moms can chat. But, with that parental support & encouragement comes the risk of...unsolicited socializing...with other parents...gah. It's not on my terms, and it forces me out of my introverted comfort zone. I find I'm reluctantly pushed into socializing on someone else's terms, and I really don't care for it. The snack schedules that the "Team Mom" forces on everyone. The "End-of-Season Pot Luck" that we're expected to attend and contribute to. The "Trophy Presentations" that we have to 'oooo' and 'awww' over when each kid on the team is acknowledged for all their contributions to the team's success...even though none of the leagues are competitive, it's all recreational, there's no winning team and yet, unfailingly, every single season each one of our boys comes home with a plastic trophy that instantly gets mangled in some little tussle because they were playing Star Wars and thought they'd use their trophy as an impromptu light saber. Or, the birthday party where parents are expected to stay and mingle with the other parents of all the kids, even though the kids are old enough to know they'd really wish Mom and Dad would just leave so they can have a good time with their friends and not have to be chaperoned by so many grown-ups.

I go through the motions...with a smile on my face, and making polite small talk with the other parents. But, inside I'm reeling in discomfort. I really wish my inner extrovert would hurry up and take over.

* As my siblings and I have aged and dissected our childhood experiences, I have concluded that we were definitely sheltered. Unfortunately, as I had few close relationships with anyone outside my family, I have no gauge to estimate just how sheltered we really were.

** This is not to be confused with "reclusive". I'm not one of those OCD, animal-hording ladies that you only catch a glimpse of through the window.

*** I wish I could say my boys get to see their extended family on a regular basis, but it's interesting how history repeats itself: my brother and his family live in California; my sister and her family live in Arizona; and I'm still here with my family in Colorado. Sheltered? Nah.