What I've learned from zucchini

It's an interesting title. It was meant to catch your eye so you don't overlook the AMAZING and emotional synopsis that I am about to tell.

So there's this 5th grade Thanksgiving play. It will be filled with talking and singing gourds and poultry. Some of those being zucchini. I, being of a pretty creative capacity, had signed up to make a few...ok, not a few, it is way too many, costumes to replace the ingenious butcher paper squash and turkeys. The old costumes were falling apart. Elmer's glue can only hold for so long. New costumes needed to be made to last for the rest of the life of the play. I had some material in my rafters. I have a sewing machine, I also have a mom and mother-in-law that have some knowledge of sewing.

My mom did interior design and professionally made quilts, coverlets, chair covers, curtains... She also made most of my wardrobe while I was in elementary school (that is, until I got too fat and had to start wearing my Dad's t-shirts to school)....I guess I was thinking that I'd have an innate ability to sew. I spent many hours in front of her sewing machine making scrunchies and odd-shaped pillows. I even had my own Cabbage Patch sewing machine when I was 10.

Here's what I first learned. As soon as I sat down to make new patterns, I quickly realized that I just didn't have the sewing knowledge to make any complicated design. The turkey costumes were put aside because they were just too difficult for me to create in my mind as well as in felt. Wings and tail feathers for 8+ turkeys...all under budget (pretty much $0) was not an easy task.

I moved onto something that looked a little less complicated. The zucchini. 2nd, I learned that a zucchini can look a lot like a pickle if you choose the wrong color and size. I didn't want people to think that I was a failure by sending pickles to the Thanksgiving play. 3rd, I learned that a zucchini is not only green. It has many other shades of white and yellow. I had to make sure to protect the integrity of the "Cucurbita pepo". I used fabric paint to recreate the natural beauty lines and spots along the deep green flesh. 4th, I re-learned that I can't sew like my mother. Maybe it was because I wasn't using her machine (I don't think that was the case) or maybe it was that I had broken the foot pad that keeps the fabric from moving around while the machine stitches (I don't think that was the case either). I think it was because I am an amateur seamstress...I was gonna write "amateur sewer", but we all know that "sewer" is also, like, the thing that our poopies go to after we flush...LOL!

Yes, that was lesson 5. Sewer and sewer (one that sews) are the same word.

I'll end with this. I greatly admire the craftiness of the person that made the construction paper costumes. I also have great respect for parents that volunteer at my boys' schools. They take on projects just like this one all of the time. A little stressful and a little frustrating at times, but I know that my kids, as well as future 5th graders, will long for the day when they can be the zucchini in the school play because the costumes are "Totally RAD" (as a boy in class yelled out when I took them in to show them off).

Parking

For some people, it comes as second nature. It is so simple. Line your vehicle up to fit inside of the lines. For me, it doesn't come so easily. I admit, I have a problem. I should NOT have passed that portion of my driver's test, but I did....somehow. (Oh yeah, I didn't have to parallel park...or even park in a parking spot for that matter...How did I get my driver's license anyway?)

For the 17ish years that I have been legally allowed to push a pedal to accelerate a 4-wheel motor vehicle (minus the 30 days that I was on probation and had to WALK home from high school...poor me!) I have been practicing my parking skills and have gotten much better. I still have days though when I need to repark because I hog 2 spots or when I am at Ikea and drive into a space crooked. Really, I don't understand how my spatial abilities could be so bad. I mean, I can understand, but refuse to admit that I am a poor driver.

Today I perfectly parallel-parked in front of the kids' school. I was an inch away from the curb and I didn't hit the car in front or behind me. PRAISE THE LORD! I have always been afraid of parallel parking. This sense of insecurity comes from many failed attempts of trying to parallel park on a hill at Pepperdine in an 80's Mercury Sable. I never hit anyone, but I remember sweating profusely as I attempted to fit into a piece of curb the size of a brontosaurus. Usually after minutes of backing into and trying to swing around, I'd give up and go down to the bottom of the hill and park in the parking lot (to which I'd still have issues with fitting inside the lines). I'd hike all 4 million steps up to campus. Either way, I was sweating the same amount.

So what do I have to say for myself? It must have something to do with self-confidence. I do a much better parking job when I don't have an audience. I go early to school so I can pick out my special spot to practice in. I can't promise that I'll get any better, but my van is highly visible so you can take extra precautions to move your car out of my way when you see it coming.

Mother Nature

WARNING: SENSITIVE WOMAN INFORMATION

I've had a bit of spare time to catch up on all of my "academic" reading material lately. It is so interesting to me how many ads there are for Tampax in Good Housekeeping, Fitness, Family Circle...... They all look a bit like this: A neatly dressed woman in a nicely pressed, green dress suit has a fancy, red bow-tied box in her hands ready to gift to a fun-loving woman. Since when did "that time of month" come in a fancy package? I don't ever remember a time when I thought to myself, "Oh, I really wish that my monthly visitor would be gifted to me in a beautiful box." What are the people at Tampax thinking? That they can glorify a woman's menstrual cycle by packaging it in a sparkly box?

I was watching the news a couple of days ago and I saw another ad from Tampax with Mother Nature (to whom is really getting on my nerves right now). The unsuspecting woman sees the green-dressed Mother of all...cramps, mood swings, hot flashes, bloating.... But the woman is one step ahead of Mother Nature. She has a "cute little transformer-like tampon" that she pulls out of her pocket. If that ain't kryptonite..... Mother Nature is angry. The woman can go on dancing!

I'd personally like to see Mother Nature and Midol go up against each other in an ad. That would be awesome! In my case, Midol really kicks butt!...more so than a collapsible pocket-sized tampon.

A Martha Stewart Kind of Day

It's funny that I think of Martha Stewart as the "Superwoman" of this century. For many years I've been reading her magazines and watching her on tv but always thought that I'd never be as creative or as passionate about my own home as she is, but today I had a Martha Stewart kind of day. I don't often have them. They are simple but packed with acomplishment. They are days that have you thinking, "I am a good homemaker!" They are days in which your "crazy" is suppressed and you can easily put your best food forward (even though I think that we all know that Martha Stewart is a little crazy herself).

It started at 4:30 this morning when I woke up for a run with a friend. I was prompt and on time. I perfectly parked my car along the side of the street less than 6 inches from the curb. That is a huge success for me! I got home and as the boys started to get up, I finished another 2 miles on the treadmill. I started my dinner....yeah, my dinner....by boiling down a fryer for some homemade chicken stock. I used some herbs from my garden outside to make it even tastier. My son loves my homemade chicken soup and dumplings. A very healthy choice and budget-friendly too.

As I waited for the fridge repair man, I weeded the vegetable garden and sprayed the plants for insects. I even planted some sunflowers against the wall and harvested carrot seeds that I planted into our planter beds.

My middle son and I made early preparations for tomorrow's start to school by taking medication to the elementary school and an immunization card to the middle school. We picked up the little guy at a friend's house and then went home so I could prune the rose bush in the front yard in my floppy straw hat.

I was so proud of myself for holding off my children from tv until 4 PM. They fought all afternoon, but I remained calm. I completed my half of the carpool to soccer practice and then finished my soup by chopping the chicken and vegetables to add to the stock. I even saved the breast (I managed to pull it out in one piece so it was in the shape of a heart) for a chicken casserole that I will make later in the week (because my meals are planned out for the next 5 days).

At a time when I usually nap, I was folding laundry and cleaning up the little boys' room. I wasn't bitter about it. I just do a better job than they do. I balanced the soccer team's check book and even cuddled a little with my little guy. (He's a little aprehensive about his first day of kindergarten).

If someone were to ask me what I did today, I really wouldn't have anything much to tell them. It was a meaningful day spent at home tending to the simple things that get lost in the hustle and bustle of life. I would tell them, though, that I brushed my teeth 5 times. I guess that's as many times as I went to the bathroom today also. I don't know why, but I felt the urge to. Maybe that isn't so Martha-Stewart-y, but I must be getting enough liquids. Hooray!

Boy CrAzY!

I had a "proud" moment a few days ago and I still think of it and it makes me laugh. I am not sure if would be considered something that makes me proud or if it just makes me feel good about my genetic gene pool, but I feel the need to share it with the world. It's kind of odd, but it is a sign of what I have to look forward to as a mother of 3 cookie-cutter boys. When I say cookie-cutter, I mean that they pretty much look like replicas of each other at different stages of life.

My oldest son, my dishwasher-unloader, white-hair picking, guitar-playing, brother-annoying, smart-as-heck-just-turned-13-year-old is out of town with his grandparents. He got to take a trip of a lifetime with the person (grandpa) that will provide him everything he's ever dreamed of because that is my dad's love language (hopefully you read the book too....very informative....love tanks....yeah...). I haven't heard from my son in a couple days because he is probably playing endless video games, watching movies-galore, and eating great food at restaurants that his own parents can't afford to take him to.

Here's the odd part of the story: He wasn't avaliable to pick up his middle school registration so his brothers and I went for him. Things went smoothly until I noticed an annoying giggling sound behind us. It got louder with some little high-pitched squealing and also some whispers and shooshing. OK. I turned around and there they were........a gaggle of girls (about 5 of them) following us around and pointing. I totally "get" the middle-school girl drama. I've been there, but Bryson wasn't even with me. He was in Albuquerque. They were following my lil guys around because they looked just like my oldest. Good grief! "He's sooo cute!....*squeek, squeek*" I couldn't understand half of what they were saying because my adult ears don't pick up on tone of that decibel.

So my oldest has a nickname now..."Bon-bon". I heard it a few times between the giggles. I vaguely remember hearing girls yell it out into the quad during Open House last year and I guess I didn't think that my son would have a bunch of girl groupies. He never talks about girls even when he is with his guy friends. I can imagine that they are as annoying to him as they were to me. One day, though, I am sure that things will change and the hormones of teenage life will mature and "girl-crazy" will hit our household like a trainwreck.

I thank God for immaturity. I thank God that my boys are late-bloomers. I thank God that they love to share with my husband and me. I pray that my boys will continue to be humble soldiers of God even when they realize that they are "cute" to the opposite sex. I pray that they know that good looks don't get them anything more than good looks. I pray that they always have the utmost respect for the opposite sex even when they act like a gaggle of geese. I pray that they strive to take the long road and do everything the "right" way even if it means that it is more difficult.

I've heard it so many times from parents that have girls..."Oh, it's so much more difficult to raise girls in this society." I don't know about that. I think that boys may have less "drama".....but they still have it. The challenge in boys is to raise them up to make mature decisions on how they will deal with girls/women. We need to provide our boys with enough wisdom and knowledge through words and actions about how to treat a woman and raise them up to be better people. We are raising our sons to be future head's-of-households and that is a very heavy weight that should not be taken lightly (oxymoron....LOL!).

Body Image

I've never been happy with the way my body looks. I get an occasional glimpse of happiness when I fit my buns into a smaller pair of pants or wear a size smaller than normal, but overall, I have very strong feelings of hatred towards my body type. I can generalize my issues as the same issues of most women.... lack of a firm tummy, cellulite on larger thighs, extra "fluff" around the hips. Why do I spend so much of my time concerned about how I look? I don't even want to look model-thin. I just want to look fit. In my mind I am fit, but my body says otherwise. Even with the 20-26 miles-a-week of running, light weights, and smaller meals, I feel like I can't get to a happy place.

I am especially critical of my small chest. I've been swimsuit shopping for months now trying to find the perfect suit. Believe me, just because it says XS it doesn't mean that it was meant for smaller-breasted women. In most cases, it was meant for stick-thin teenagers with large busts. So it's come down to me having to find a suit in the girl's department. It may fit, but I'm not too keen on sparkly stars, peace signs, hearts, and The Little Mermaid. I then tried the mature women's suits. I had bought a suit, but my husband wasn't too attracted to the amount of fabric. He was more concerned that when I get the suit wet, I'd drown in fabric. So I am in a state of disappointment with the swimsuit industry, but also with myself for not working hard enough to make my bottom half match the size of my top half. The 2-piece athletic suits are a perfect fit for my top, but I can't get my leg into the bottoms.

So this morning I spent hours running on my treadmill and eating a handful of Rice Chex here and there hoping that it will make a difference, and it will, but not where I want it to. A small honest comment made by my husband about my figure will be tattooed into my mind forever now. I can't understand why, but it will. He never said it to hurt my feelings or to make me feel bad. I must have supressed issues from my childhood. It's like the time my sister told me that I had "corndog arms". Yes, I was overly-tan from swimming and my shoulders were broad and my forearms were skinny. That was 15 years ago. I still work on my arms so they will never look like that again. I think of that comment often....almost everyday.

So how do you get to a continuous "happy place" with your body? How can you not feel down when all of the cute outfits and swimsuits weren't made for your body type? How do you get over honest comments that people close to you make about your body? I don't think that it's ok to say, "Oh well, I don't care what people think." I care. I care a lot. I care mostly that my husband remains attracted to me and that I am continuously improving the way that I look. I also care about how I behave around him and the kids and when I am spending hours on exercising and eating without enjoying what I eat, that is just a bad combination that leads to mood swings and agression.

I've seen results from my exercise and eating routines. I weigh less now than I did in high school. I feel stronger than I ever have and I am getting healthier meals on the table because my family deserves it. I guess for now, it should be the focus of my happiness. It just won't get me into a pair of size 2 jeans, a size 32A bra, or a triangle top string bikini....but maybe I should be dressing a little more age-appropriate anyways.

You know what makes me cry?

I'll tell you what makes me cry:

This entire past week was an emotional rollercoaster. I was tired. I was grumpy. It led to many moments of tears shed in my bathroom and soft sniffles as I sat at the edge of my bed.

My oldest son turned 13. We didn't have a big whoot-whoot birthday experience for him, but he did want to go out to dinner and he really enjoyed his new shoes and outfit (very practical). He hasn't gone through an obvious man-metamorphosis yet, but he has definitely outgrown that awkward pre-teen stage. (I observed it with him as his feet, teeth, arms, legs, and ego being too big for the rest of his body...the big ears, they'll never go away and I LOVE that!)

He still doesn't have armpit hair and I have yet to smell that deep robust aroma of cumin and onions coming from his armpits. He doesn't have pimples yet....Oh, wait. He had one. It made his dad teary-eyed, as if that was a sign of him becoming a man. I chalked it up to an excessive amount of french fries and other non-nutritions foods and a lack of showering.

He has man-sized discussions with us and uses man-sized vocabulary. When he questions a decision made, I have to give him a straight answer because "because I'm the mom" isn't enough. He's become much more social with people he doesn't know yet. He has shown great interest with the high school kids that he has interactions with. I don't even want to start with clothes, but they are obviously a HUGE deal.

I look forward to the teen years. I have much faith that he will travel the right path, and even with rocky roads, I pray that he will never be afraid to turn to us for help. It makes me cry because I have missed so many opportunities to enjoy him as a little boy. I cry because he makes me proud.

I also cry because I know that I still have 2 more boys that will eventually grow up and become men. They will break my heart, break my bank, break my belongings,... but I also look forward to all of the opportunities in which they will make me a proud mother too. I can't believe that I am raising boys to men. I guess I should have thought about that about 13 years ago when I started my journey...but it wasn't my plan. I really had little say in that.

I look forward to the day when I have all three of my men around me just enjoying our time together and laughing at the awkward moments of their pasts. I can't wait 'til the day when I can observe them as wonderful fathers and husbands just like their own dad and grandpas modeled for them.

But really, when it comes down to it....it's the PMS! It's the PMS that makes me want to cry ALL OF THE TIME!