Date Night

Since witnessing Bob & Donna leave for their Valentine's date on Monday night, Charlie has been begging to go on a date of his own. We had a family date Tuesday night (after dropping the truck off to get new tires) with Daddy at Mustard Seed, and it was such a huge success that I decided to make tonight a Mommy-Charlie date night.

The plan was to dine at Chick-Fil-A, then spend some quality time carousing in the play area, but driving through downtown Charleston this morning I saw a zebra in Marion Square -- yes a zebra! Well, so much for Chick-Fil-A!

I drove on home, finished only my absolutely "critical" tasks for the day and picked Charlie up an hour and a half early. After a quick change into "date clothes" in the backseat, we were headed East on I-26 for our date. 

Apparently, the source of the zebra is the Southeastern Wildlife Expo, which also brought a yak, two camels, a flock of sheep, some goats, and a Scottish Highland named Landon to town for our viewing and petting pleasure! Plus, we got to ride a camel together and Charlie rode a pony all by himself, shouting "Cowboy!" as he went round and round.

We finished the evening with burgers, fries and ketchup! at Five Guys on King Street, and right before going up to bed Charlie looked at me and said, "Ready to go on a date again, Mama!" Sigh...

Yes, perhaps I am setting the bar awfully high for what qualifies as a "good date", but the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that that is exactly what we want.

I see Zebra!

I ride Camel!

Cowboy!

"Ready to go on a date again, Mama"

A Mother's Worst Enemy

Uggghhh... I should know better.  Actually, I do know better, but last night I was sucked in again.

Jason left yesterday afternoon for Daytona, so Charlie and I are having a fun-filled Mommy and Son weekend.  Well, my "fun-filled" son asked to go to bed at 6:45 last night (not too suprising since yesterday was his first day back at school post-bug), but that left me with the whole evening ahead of me.  And while I love to go to bed early, even I can't do 7:00 -- especially when both dogs need to go out around 10:00 to make it through the night.

So, like any other temporarily single mom trying to bask in her evening of no chores and full control of the remote, I poured a glass of wine, turned on the TV and browsed through the chick-channels.  I quickly came across an episode of Dr. Phil, whom I haven't watched in years -- mainly because he's condescending and annoying, but also because I don't have the time (or know when he's on).  Seeing that the episode was about child abductions and the "five things parents should do to protect their child", I settled in to learn.  Huge mistake!

Ten minutes later I was completely enthralled, tears running down my face, horrified by the idea that if I ever let Charlie out of my sight again some monster might take him, and...I can't even go on from there.  Of course, the "five tips" were at the very end of the show, by which time I was so emotionally unstable, that I can only remember number five - to get him a passport (huh?).

Realizing that this whole incident was reminiscent of my Dateline NBC addiction back in my single days (which, by the way, resulted in having to move to a much larger, more expensive apartment just to get off the first floor), I wiped my tears, scrounged a cinnamon roll out of the freezer and switched to Grey's Anatomay -- second huge mistake of the night.

One hour later, I'd suffered through way more personal drama than I want to believe my doctors and nurses are going through when I'm needing care,  a four year old child suffering endlessly in the ER waiting to be put in a a double-leg cast, and a young father dying of an exploded artery (or something) when he went to the emergency room for heartburn.  Uggghhh...  Is nothing safe?

Needless to say, I laid awake in bed bemoaning the state of the world, the dangers and uncertainties and the fact that Charlie was going to have to face all of this without my watchful eye someday.  On the bright side, I didn't worry about break-ins and power outages, but I still woke up with tremendous bags under my eyes at 5:15 -- apparently Charlie's preferrred wake up time if he goes to bed so early.   Can I say "uggghhh" one more time?

Seriously, though, my little blessing did his job this morning.  He woke up in a fabulous mood -- immediately begging me to "pull down yo seeves, mama!" when he saw my short-sleeved t-shirt, demanding to wear his gray sweatpants, spending half of the morning vacuuming and the other half playing with my shoes on the porch, and calling a very tired Daddy in Daytona to shout "I love you, Daddy" over the phone.  My Charlie Bear even out-shined this glorious, mid-February 70 degree and sunny day.

Yes, I still have to figure out how to teach him to protect himself.  Yes, I still have to do to everything possible to ensure that Jason and I live very long, very healthy lives.  No, I cannot go out today and buy a child-leash or a bubble.

But, despite this world's best intentions, the light and wonder and joy still overcomes the darkness -- I just have to be reminded of it sometimes -- thankfully, some fervent prayers and a 23 month old delight work miracles!

I am determined to outsmart the realities of the world tonight.  After Charlie's and my "date" at Chick-Fil-A (yes -- he asked me out on a date!), I'm going to settle in with a good, light-hearted chick-flick -- even if I have to call Jason in Daytona and have him walk me through the Netflix through the Blu-Ray thing.  And if that doesn't work, I'll read or play solitaire or wash my hair or something...no reality or drama for me tonight!

"I love us"

I love commercials.  I have always loved commercials.  My Grandma used to tease me for chattering away during her "stories" then staring with rapt attention during commercial breaks and shushing anyone else in the room.  My whole family used to tease me for running around the coffee table singing at the top of my lungs and trying to "wash that gray right out of my hair" at three years old.

So, it's no surprise that I adore the new Hallmark tagline -- "I love us".  Yes, I realize that Valentine's day is a silly, commercial holiday.  Yes, I realize that Hallmark's marketing folks couldn't care less whether or not people across America love and cherish each other, as long as they buy cards and candy and toys and games and everything else under the sun that can be shaped like a heart or colored pink -- but I DON'T CARE!

Hallmark commercials are right up there with Johnson's Baby Shampoo and that really old Polaroid commercial with the little kids taking pictures of all of the adults who are surprising the grandparents with the refrigerator (I think) for their 50th anniversary -- but the real gift ends up being the pictures the kids took -- sigh...

Anyway, rewind 15 to 20 years and I was your typical (slightly pathetic) teenage girl, pining for a certain boy on Valentine's day (who likely had no idea), watching "romantic" videos on MTV and reading the scrolled messages across the bottom of the screen, hoping that just maybe the boy of my dreams was also pining away for me and had called in and declared his love to MTV.  Ok, more than slightly pathetic.

Despite the fact that I was dreaming of heart-felt professions of love, candle-lit dinners, horse drawn carriages, fancy velvet dreses with puffed sleeves, perfect bangs, gourmet chocolates and roses, what I really wanted was to live happily ever after.

The South Carolina contingent spent Valentine's weekend building forts, swinging, making homemade Valentine's for Charlie's teachers, vacuuming, drinking from a big boy cup, going to church, and cooking and eating lots of simple, yummy food in our very own kitchen -- with some Sweetheart candies and Little Debbie Valentine brownies thrown in.  And for our romantic Valentine's dinner tonight?  Pork loin and Rice-a-Roni at home. 

Yep, for me, happily ever after is belly laughs, blueberry pancakes, Radio Flyer wagons, yoga pants, pony tails, drugstore candy and roses.

I wouldn't trade my "ever after" for one second of teenage Jenny's dreams.  I love us!

Fort Fun!

Louie preparing to take down the fort

Vacuuming

Roses from my boys

Parenting Pop-Quiz

This is for all the parents and future parents out there.  Can you figure out what Charlie is doing and join in before he gets frustrated??

"Aaaaaaah,"

"In-she-shoo"

"Clap hands!"

Stumped?  I certainly was.  Charlie broke into this little ditty last night while I was changing his diaper.  He was absolutely delighted with himself, and I could tell I was supposed to join in, but I was clueless. 

Thankfully, Charlie is not easily frustrated.  In fact, yesterday afternoon on our way home from school he buckled himself in his carseat after about 2 minutes of trying.  With a little encouragement (and assistance -- I had to move his shirt so he could see the buckle), he got it.  The secret was to hold the two sides of the buckle close enough to the tips to aim, but far enough back to have the necessary leverage to push it closed.

Anyway, after about 10 rounds of his new song, I took a stab and the dark and I was right!  So...do you think you've got it?

"If you're happy and you know it,"

"Then your face will surely show it!"

"If you're happy and you know it"

"Clap your hands!"

All three of us have been clapping up a storm since last night...but one word of warning, it's not a good idea to start a round of "In-she-shoo" as you're backing down the driveway, because it's impossible to clap your hands while driving.  We did move on to "Stomp your feet", but it takes considerable concentration to remember to only stomp your left foot, and the back of my drivers seat is now covered with mud and grass.

Nevertheless, it was well worth it.  I had no idea how amazing it would feel to know that a 23 month old is proud of me!

You got it, Mommy!

A Man's Job

There is a new obsession at our house, and it's just as powerful as pancakes, trucks and Big Bird -- Forts!

It started off pretty simple, we would just put Charlie's blanket over his head and tell him he was in a fort or "fork," as he prefers to call it, but over the past week our forts have grown, as has my understanding of the phenomenon.

You see, as a child I loved it when my mom mopped the kitchen floor, because Angie and I could line up the kitchen chairs and cover them with blankets to make a fort -- same basic structure each week, same blankets, same game; tons of fun.

If I were the family fort guru, I would most likely pull out the dining room chairs, or if I wanted something even simpler, scour Amazon.com for some sort of structure that I could just whip out and throw a blanket over on demand.  Tah-dah!  Kind of like manufactured housing.

Apparently, that is not how boys do forts. For boys (whether they be 23 months or 34 years), there is way more to it. The other night when Charlie begged for a fort, Jason actually mentioned that he'd been thinking about it throughout the day and had developed a few plans -- what!? Charlie was thrilled.

To date our forts have utilized the bar stools and couch (a bit risky, as Louie assumed the roof would hold him), the couch, the train and the book basket,  as well as  Jason's recliner, Charlie's recliner and the shutters (the favorite so far), but discussions have included counters, staple guns and various other contraptions.

Thankfully, Charlie was quick to realize that mom had little skill for this and saves the "fort, Fort, FORT!" mantra for Daddy.  From time to time I am invited in, but my primary job is to document the construction for posterity (and future analysis and planning, I am sure).

Old School

Boys Only

I tuck it, Daddy

Reading by the shop light

Eleven Honest Years

Today is my eleven year anniversary.  Not mine and Jason's.  Not mine at CenturyLink (nee EMBARQ, nee Sprint).  Not my mom and dad's.  Mine.

Eleven years ago today I believed me.  While I'm not likely to post any incriminating (aka embarrassing) pictures, I had a very unfortunate adolescence -- bad perms, bad skin, bad glasses, bad shape and worst of all, a bad attitude about it all.

A foodie from birth, I was a cuddly baby, a chubby child and a heavy tween -- so that by the time I started to thin out a bit in late highschool, my perception of myself was extremely skewed and at ten to fifteen pounds overweight, I felt obese.  To combat these feelings I dieted like a fiend in public and ate outrageous amounts of food in secret, and in July of 1993 I managed to make myself throw up for the first time after gorging myself at a baby shower.

It sounds crazy, but that day was something of an epiphany for me -- I thoughtI had finally figured out how to "control" my weight.  I was finally going to be thin (or so I thought) -- the most important quality in the world, the quality that would make me beautiful and charming and confident and kind.  The quality that would make people love me.

For six and a half years my weight and my moods fluctuated, but two things remained constant -- I was a liar and I was completely out of control.  I lied to everyone who knew me: my parents, my siblings, my friends, my coworkers, my classmates, my roommates, my employers, my first boyfriend and strangers on the street -- pretending to be charming, confident and kind when I was bitter, self-loathing and resentful.

I lied to myself every day saying "this time will be the last time" and every few weeks saying  "when I graduate highschool I'll stop," "when Christmas break ends I'll be better, " "when my birthday gets here I'll stop, " "when I find someone to love me I'll stop..." 

In the summer of 1998 I graduated college and jumped into adulthood, but the bulimia came right along with me.  Finally one Saturday morning after eating a dozen Mr. D's donuts, I admitted to myself that unless I fixed this I could never truly fall in love or get married or have a family or have the life I wanted, because I was a liar and I was out of control.  I opened the yellow pages and left a message for Dr. Mimi Zimmerman, an eating disorders specialist in Kansas City.

Despite the confusion of insurance, my refusal to take anti-depressants and my continued need to keep my struggle a secret, over two courses of eight weeks each, Mimi helped me see that my problem wasn't with food, but with my need to be in control of  who I was to myself and to others.  My fear wasn't of being fat, but of being alone. 

In the spring of 1999, after weeks of "incident-free" living, I binged and purged the night before my sixteenth session with Mimi.  I lied to her about my episode, and towards the end of our hour she told me that she didn't think we needed to continue, that my understanding of my motivations was obvious and my ability to deal with the stresses of life had improved.  Mimi said that I was "well", so I was.

For over 6 months I was "well" because Mimi had said so.  That fall in the midst of a painful breakup, a major career shift and other life changes, I started to binge again, and soon after, I started to purge again.  I lost the fight and my confidence.

Through that winter I learned to survive a bruised heart, I learned to play the corporate game and I learned that I could take care of myself.  Then on February 2, 2000 after my nightly binge/purge, I sat on the bed in my little studio apartment and asked myself why I could be "well" when Mimi said I was, but not on my own.  The answer?  Because I believed her.  So, on February 2, 2000 around 8:00 in the evening, I prayed to God for His strength and His guidance, I told myself I was well, and I believed me.

Someone important is obviously missing from the majority of this story-- God.  I have been a Christian since I was a small child, always believing that Jesus Christ was the Son of God, that He lived and died for my sins and that He is the only source of salvation, but for many yearsI chose to ignore God. 

I focused on my physical body and worldly concerns and pushed aside His love and His plan.  I went to church and I prayed during this time, but let's be honest, I prayed to be thin, to be loved and to be happy -- when all along God had created my body exactly how He wanted it, He loved me beyond my understanding, and His joy was right there for the taking.  He waited for me and saved me from my self-centeredness and fear when I was ready to let Him.

A few days later I perched on Jason's desk for the first time and took those very first, all important, baby steps into love.

Eleven years later I am not a liar, because I am worth honesty. I am not out of control because I don't try to be in control. I am not alone because I believe that I am worth the love that I receive from God, Jason, Charlie and everyone else who know the real me and loves her.

I regret my selfishness.  I regret my lies.  I regret all of the wasted tears and pleas and relationships, but I do not regret having suffered from bulimia, because I learned that I am worthwhile because God created me and that I can overcome anything with His help. 

I also learned that those people who seem the most "together" may be falling apart inside and may need my love and patience and prayers more than I could ever dream.

These lessons made me a better wife, daughter, sister and friend and prepared me to be Charlie's mom.