You Can't Believe Everything You See on Pinterest

  So Ken is getting skinny and I'm not.  He has dropped 7 pounds since Christmas.  Putting him 2 pounds about his "Marriage Weight."  I not sure why that is... but it seems that after you get married... you constantly look back to your marriage weight.  Maybe because you see the pictures and you look so young and thin and lively.  (Kids will kinda suck all that out of you.)  My problem is I'm not sure what I weighed when I got married. (and I've been drinking a lot of pop and eating a lot of snacks and blaming it on "stress."  Which should really just be called over-eating.) I didn't have a scale back then.  But looking at before and afters... I'd say I was 25 pounds less than what I am now.
  Now.
  I have no desire to be 25 pounds lighter.  I don't want to just up and float away after all.  But I do need to get some exercise.  I think it'll help me feel better about winter.  I just hate winter.  All I do is sit down.  My whole body feels heavier.  I think my blood starts to solidify. And all my joints fill in with apathy. 
  Last weekend my sister was over and she was saying the sure fire way to lose weight would be to start a "Work Out/Lose Weight Blog."  Then you have to do it.  Your readers would be depending on you to post about it.  I think that would work for her.  Because Julie is super responsible and enjoys working out.  My blog would have 2 posts about hot I went to the gym and how sore I was... and then 15 posts about how I didn't go to the gym and all the good food I'd been eating and woe, woe, woe is me.
  Anyway, Ken was walking around yesterday and I was all, "Whoa!  You're looking skinny!"  He did the usual, "Me?  Really?  Nah."  Which is basically asking for more compliments and stroking and I obliged him.  He is my husband.
  Then we got to talking about how long you have to work out before there is a noticeable difference.  I told him about this picture I saw on Pinterest (from numbqueen.tumblr.com):

I quoted it perfectly and was all ready to start talking about motivation and the Gym and how many miles we could run if we just pushed through and reps and workout songs. And then Ken said:
"12 weeks for the rest of the world?  How would strangers notice a change?"
"By...because...if you think about it.... .... ..... You just ruined that for me."
And I went in the kitchen, popped open a Cokey, and sulked.

The X Factor

The question that's been on my mind lately is, "What makes someone cool?"
I know I'm not.  But I can't figure out why.  What part of my life is so out of line with the trend... that I will never ever be cool.
I know cool people.  But I can't find the common thread that weaves through each of their hip lives.
I thought there's gotta be a list.  A standard.  A path to achieve coolness.  Okay.  It's becoming too obvious I'm uncool.
Hmmm.  How to go about this.
People who are cool dress a certain way.  They wear certain colors in a certain way.  They layer.  They have winter coats that keep them warm even when they aren't buttoned.  They can wear hats or bandanas and not look like they are going to work outside.  They don't wear what's in the magazines or store windows... but they look so put together.
I tried applying some of these fashion items to my own life.  Scarves seem to be big so I started wearing them.  But when tied atop my chesties... I look like I have a thick woven noose around my neck.  Or a neck brace.  Not cool, Patsmo.  Both cool boys and cool girls wear skinny jeans.  And never fidget with them.  When I try to be cool and wear skinnies I am hiking them up all day and twisting the bottoms so the seams are straight.  What am I missing?  I think my skinny jeans know I am not cool and don't want to be seen with me.

Picture to demonstrate I can wear the clothes cool people wear and still.... miss:

Julie, Andi, Me

 Notice.  Me and Julie are both wearing short pants windsuits.  But Julie looks cool in hers. And I look middle-aged.  Is it the sunglasses?  She's wearing hers... I have mine fastened handily to my zipper.  Is it the color schemes? Same outfit.  Different results.  

I've thought maybe it's the gadgets.  Cool people have cool gadgets.  That makes sense.  And they are so fluid with them.  Our 2 year contract was up and when we went to renew we got phone upgrades.  I had to part with my flip phone (they aren't going to provide service to them anymore.)  It was rough.  They gave us free iPhones.  I'm not kidding.  It's the iPhone 4.  So it's two stages ago... but still.  Ken brought it home and i was like "Wuz UP!  I'm cool!  I've got an iPhone!"  And then I tried using it.  And I'm still not cool.  Because I don't know when it's ringing, or when I called someone, or when I've hung up (or not hung up), or how to change the background picture.  The texting... is supposed to be easier.  But I think only cool people get it.  I think Apple (PERIOD) is for cool people.  I should just stick with Dell and flip phones.  It's where I am comfortable.

Is it being smart?  Knowing a lot?  Reading?  The music you listen to?  Playing guitar?  Liking Star Wars or The Hobbit?  Liking Sex and the City?  Is it the people you know?  Is it the ability to comfortably tell a good joke?

I'm puzzled.  Because at some point your coolness can turn... on you.  Like you like Star Wars and that's cool.  (Right?)  And then you like it a lot and get all the movies and action figures and hang posters in your dining, living, and bed rooms.  You only wear Star Wars clothing and you redo your house to look like the Death Star.  Suddenly, you're not cool.  You're weird.
But weird people can be cool.
And it used to be dorky to read but now it's cool to read.  And I've always read but I never evolved from dorky to cool.  How did I miss the wave?

I have one really cool friend.  She just emanates coolness.  I don't know why she likes being my friend.  Could just be our kids are the same age.  But she was over and saw a picture of John Lennon hanging in Joey's room.  She asked if I was a hippie or a flower child.  I told her no.  Even though in my head I was like, "Oooo!  Am I?  They're cool?!  Maybe I am!  Maybe having that picture makes me cool?"  
She also dresses her kids in cool clothes.  Her son wears shirts that have skulls and guitars and cool phrases on them.  And Kole wears stripes.  Or a shirt with a multi-colored train.  When I tell her how cool she dresses her kids she assures me that I can go to the store and buy the same clothes.  *clears throat* Refer to above picture.  Just doesn't work.

In closing, my sister Victoria, claims that during your school years everyone is popular at least one grade.  I think that was 5th grade for me.  I remember the popular girls talking to me... but I said no when they invited me to a birthday party at the South Park Ice Skating Rink.  Could have been the wrong move.

So, I'm still stumped.  It's something to do with attitude.  And confidence.  But I've got mad pat-titude and enough confidence to send some to the poor kids in Africa.  But I consistently fall short of the cool bar.

What is it?  What is it that makes someone cool?

Feelings of Failure

When Kole doesn't do what I want him to I'm the one who feels like a failure.  Shouldn't he feel some degree of that?  And I am talking the big things.  I don't care about smiling for pictures or talking to Grannies on the phone or wearing blue jeans.  (Yeah.  Kole struggles with all 3 of those.)  I'm talking eating dinner.  Eating anything more than bread would be a step up.  I want him to treat other people nicely.  Especially those in the human race under the age of 3.  Kole struggles with that demographic.  I want him to sleep at nap time. And bed time.  We are in a horrible vortex of non-sleep right now and every day it gets worse.  Because the sleeping has yet to happen, the grumpiness compounds.  On a bi-daily basis.  After each missed nap and each shortened bed time.  I think in math I would be using exponents to explain the problem.  Or that n to the one-th.
I'm struggling because we had this issues whipped in the babies bottom.  Kole has always been a good sleeper.  He's never had trouble trying new foods.   He's so tender-hearted.  And now, all that is gone.  Hopefully, only temporary.  But it sure makes me think... what was all that work for?
I have read articles and books and talked to his pediatrician.  When he's up, I'm working to teach him how to behave, how to respond, how to survive, and how to be happy.  And I'm building train tracks, making lunch, changing his diaper, regular mom schtuff.  When he's sleeping (or in his room talking to himself hoping I'll come in) I'm thinking of new techniques to try, I'm making charts, I'm planning the next day, I'm developing new ideas for fun. 
There is no break.  It's constant. 
It's my life's work.  Well it's my last three years' work. 
And that life's work is not sleeping, eating right, or being nice.
And that is what failure feels like.

When Ken reads this post he'll say, 'Kole is such a good kid.'  And I know that.  And I know he's a Child of God and I'm so blessed to have him.  But he is such a GD brat sometimes*.

*the last 12-15 days.

The Effects of No Sleep

When Kole Doesn't Sleep

• Everything is either too hot or too cold.
• He yells loud enough to cause avalanches.  25 miles away.
• He hits. Hard.  And oddly enough, not always people.  Sometimes he'll hit the couch or the entertainment center, or the fridge.  Which I imagine hurts.
• He bites.  Me... but not Ken.  No never Ken.
• He throws things.  Mostly at Joey.  I'm guessing because me and Ken move out of the way.
• He cries about ev. er. ee. thing.
• Whines and whines and whines and whines and whines.
• Complains his clothes don't fit him.
• He won't eat anything.
• He shakes and holds his breath until he's reddish purple and then face plants onto the floor.

When I Don't Sleep

• I can no longer stay positive and upbeat.
• I can't even think happy thoughts.
• I'm mostly swearing in my head.
• I have zero ideas for things to do to teach the kids or even occupy them.
• My bones hurt.
• I grind my teeth.
• I talk higher.
• What's the word for something 10 times shorter than "short?"  THAT'S the length of my temper.
• I want to yell and hit and bite.  Instead I get really eerily quiet and raise my eyebrows.  I keep my throat real tight and just let that anger boil in there.
• I become a real life Crabby Patty.
   

When Joey Doesn't Sleep

• He's exactly the same.

Me, Being Darling Me

Yesterday we got freezing rain.  Now, call me a naive Utahan, but I thought that was strictly an East coast weather dilemma.  Everything was covered in ice.  It took Ken (riding the bus) 3 hours to get the 15 miles to work.  I set the car seat down on the driveway and it started to slip away.  I rethought my plans of going out.  The car was an ice cube anyway. I herded the Koley back in and slid Joey's seat down the path.  I'll tell him he went ice skating at 6 months.
Now.
As the day progressed out driveway which is a fairly decent hill got slicker and slicker.  At first there were a few patches that were manageable but as the hours passed our driveway became a solid piece of ice.  Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.
Me, being the sweet hearted wife I am, worried about Ken.  The bus drops him off at the top of that Death Trap.  He won't be able to tell it's all icy because it'll be dark.  What should I do?  What should I do?
I don my snow boots.  I Yukon Charlie it through the yard.  Each step breaking through a layer of ice and sinking a few inches down into safe snow.  Behind me I drag a sled.
It took about 5 minutes to get to the top of the yard.  I slipped once or twice.  But I made it.  To the mailbox.  After retrieving the mail, I looped the rope from the sled around the mailbox.  And began trudging back to the house.
I was so proud of myself.
I provided a safety sled for Kenmo!  This way he could get off the bus, and not have to worry about scootching his way down the driveway.  He could just ride down.  Problem solved.  Crisis averted.  Award completely (!) deserved.
I called Ken.
"Hey, Ken.  It's really slippy here."
"Yeah, same here."
"Well... our driveway is especially bad."
"Is it?"
"Yeah.  Like it's one solid sheet of ice.  Way bad."
"Yeah, it's bad here too."
At this point I could tell Ken wasn't grasping the severity of our driveway... nor was he looking to me for a solution I could provide.
"I bet it's worse here.  I mean.  I'm not sure how you're going to make it to the house from the bus stop."
Hint.Hint.Hint.Hint.Hint.Hint.
"I'll make it."
"I don't know, man.  It's bad."
"I'll be alright."
Playing tough.  I'll just help him help himself.
"Well, I put a sled up there for ya."
"A sled up...where?"
"At the top of the driveway.  By the mailbox."
"Why?"
"So you.  Could.  Get.  Down."
I was wondering why I had to spell this out.  
"You want me to ride down in a sled?"
"You'll kill yourself trying to walk!  It's all ice!"
"In my work clothes?  In the snow?  I'll get all snowy!"
"Don't ride in the snow, Ken.  Ride down the driveway!  It's your only option."
"I'm not riding in a sled down the driveway."
"I hooked it around the mailbox.  You'll see it no problem when you get off the bus."
"I won't be needing it."
"But I walked all the way out there.  I thought of this plan for you.  You need this.  You'll see."
"You're crazy."

Ken came home.  Carried the sled down the driveway.  Somehow he made it in one piece.
Ironman.  Superman.  Ken.  That's the holy order of it.

I just keep thinking.  Ice or no ice.  If someone set up a way for me to end my day riding a sled home... I'd say, "I love you, Patty.  You're awesome.  And thoughtful.  Have I mentioned beautiful and charismatic?"

5 Step Wonder

A couple days ago one of my neighbors called and said she had just pulled a hot loaf of bread out of the oven and wanted to bring it over.  (Ca-CHINGA!)  I obliged her.  Who am I to not let someone serve?  The call was a nice heads up and as I passed a mirror I realized the call was a necessity really.  I mean....
Patty.
Look at yourself.
For starters its 5:00 PM and you are wearing a robe.  Are you sick?  Are you drunk?  Have you totally given up?  (<--- check.) 
Under the robe was one of Ken's t-shirts that was covered in baby puke, rice cereal, applesauce, and Kole snot.  I was wearing pajama pants with holes in them, fuzzy socks that didn't match, and, you guessed it (!) no bra. 
Since Christmas I have dressed (Can I call that dressed?) this way.... oh... ?.... everyday.  And declared each day, "A Comfy Day!"  I'm the mom and can make such declarations.  But, as I saw myself in the mirror I just blushed.  I was so embarrassed.  I had let myself go.  And all this time I thought that happened sometime in my mid 30s not late 20s.  All I was missing was the bad haircut.
I instigated a new 5 Minute 5 Step Emergency Preparedness System.
I've used it multiple times since in order to get ready in less than 5 minutes.

Step 1.  Apply bra.
Step 2.  Brush teeth.
Step 3.  Get dressed.  (Nothing fancy.  But jeans and a shirt.  That's yours.  That fits.)
Step 4.  Bronzer, mascara, lip gloss or chap stick.
Step 5.  Sock bun.

If you really wanna knock 'em dead put in a pair of earrings.  Studs probably.
What I love about this:
I instantly look presentable but not overly presentable.  I don't want to look like I am going out or like I got dressed up for someone.  Even though I did.  I want to look like a mom.  Just a mom that has it put together.  The bra really does wonders.  And sometimes, when I am brushing my teeth at night before bed I have been asking myself... Is this my first time doing this today?  Usually... yes.  Gross.  Sad.  Despicable.  Putting on jeans is a big deal.  I've been saying I'm not going anywhere why get dressed?  Um.  Because you're human?  To set an example for your kids?  To feel a part of the day?  To not go overboard? Going overboard.  Meaning... when you wear sweats all day everyday... it's hard to gauge when you've had enough to eat.  Have I made myself clear on where I am there?  The bronzer, mascara, and lip gloss make me look alive and bright without looking like I tried too hard.  And the sock bun.  My new obsession.  I feel like a ballerina every time I do one.  It's elegant but it can also be saying, "I've got a lot to do today.  I can't be bothered with my hair."  Which is the message I feel I have been expressing with such hairstyle.
So.  Voila.  5 minutes.  5 steps.  And you look ready.  For unexpected visitors.  Or warm bread.

I'm in heaven.
Oh.
AND!
This reality check gave me another... and after tipping the scale at One.  Seven.  Zero.
I went to the gym for the first time since September.  I did 3.5 relatively quick miles on the elliptical and felt basically bed stricken.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't bend.  It hurt so bad.  Ken says that's good.  I'm thinking I might need another 4 month break.

Our Deary Deer

This was last week.
But get THIS!
It was Christmas Eve.  The children were nestled all snug in their beds.  Visions of plums danced in their heads.  Yeah.  Kole memorized that entire poem this year... but never got "sugar plums."  Always left it with "plums."  Artistic freedom I suppose.

Me and Ken were too excited to sleep.  We were chatting in bed when we heard all this chomping.  Now, we have a pasture right next to our house and there are horses over there.  We figured it was them.  But it sounded so close!  Ken looked out the window and there were deer right outside our window.
Wait.
It gets better.
There were 8 deer.
Outside our house.
At midnight.
On Christmas Eve.
Whoa.
Santa's out there.

These were taken a couple days ago.  These deer walk right up on my porch.  I feel bad no asking them to come it.  Or offering them a warm drink.
I've got a video of the fox too.
But I don't want to be all braggy and post it.

Christmas

Christmas break was too much fun.  Why do I call it "Christmas Break" when I am home all day every day?  Because it felt so different.  It felt p-e-r-f-e-c-t.

After Les Miserables.

   

Andi went through my closet and showed me my possibilities!

And how to do a sock bun.

 And now, everyone has gone home, Andi's not sleeping in my living room anymore, the tree is down, both boys are sick, and my calendar is just a bunch of empty squares.  For all of 2013.
I think I need to downgrade my resolution list.
"Go to the Gym" that's lofty.
How bout... "Put on a bra and real clothes."
"Do a daily project with Kole."  Psht.  I was dreaming.
How bout... "Set train up."
"Drink more water."  Why?
How bout.... "Pace yourself on that 12 pack of Coke."

We did make a milk carton bird feeder yesterday.  That was fun.
No birds are eating from it.  That is sad.
Ken went to the gym last night.  He's  really good at sticking to things.
Tonight it will be my turn to go to the gym.  I got really fat over Christmas my lifetime.
And today I just feel like staying fat.
I think this is called The Doldrums.