Foighne

This single word is what I keep repeating to myself. When I get frustrated with Little Ms. C, think about my job (a that is a mess peeps, a mess), think about moving to a new school district (urgh, we, along with the rest of the world (I know) have lost their shirts, pants and shoes on this freaking "investment"), and losing weight.

I'm thinking about getting the Gaelic spelling of patience (foighne) or the Gaelic phrase "bíodh foighne agat" (have patience) tattooed on my inner right forearm. I'm leaning towards simply "foighne" because of space. But that costs money, and if you read my last post, you know I am trying to save that precious thing.

Those who know me (which is all of you) know I have little patience. Never have had it. Type A driver with a short fuse is how I am best described. So, five days into the new year I'm ready to go bonkers already because things aren't happening as quickly as I'd like. Nor, in many cases, are they happening the way I want. So maybe I should get my left forearm tatted with something like stay flexible. I looked that up and "ligean chugat is uait a bheith agat" seems the most accurate. (Dang we Irish like to make phrases long -- see, no patience). Solúbtha is the adjective but it's not really addressing people...

I need patience to get me through the winter. (I hate it.)
I need patience to deal with a preschooler who, like her mother, likes to exert control. (We butt heads. A lot.)
I need patience to see what happens with my job. (I have NO control here - which is itself an issue and no clear path about what my future holds. Very scary when you are the primary bread winner for your small clan.)
I need to be patient about losing weight. (I went to the doctor today and was absolutely horrified to learn how much weight I had gained since I last visited.) *I seriously expected this to already be lower. Keep in mind, I just started working out again on Monday. Monday, people. Monday. It's Wednesday. And my mind thinks I should be down three pounds by now. Not up three pounds.

Patience.

2011 Resolutions

Ok. I read about something in an article in the paper recently that I am going to begin modeling. For nearly 3.5 years (note that is roughly the age of my one and only child) I have been attempting to lose weight. More accurately, this began BEFORE I had Little Ms. C and I just gave up when I got pregnant.

The article shared the story of a woman who turned her life around by committing to exercise and blogging about it. A la an amiga of mine who shall remain linkless (you know who you are Triathalon Mama)and my rockin' chica Kate, you may find more exercise posts than I have had in the past. I need something, SOMETHING, to keep me on track. I have tried a number of things and just can't seem to keep the pounds off. So, we'll try this.

Resolution #1: My intention is to exercise 5 days a week at minimum. I have been given the approval to begin a return to run program from my PT and I swear I am going to get back on that horse.

Resolution #2: Stop stepping on the damn scale. A number of articles I have read recently tell me not to focus on a weight goal. That is very hard for me as I have the "magic number" constantly floating around in my head. I am, what you may call, an obsessive weigher. Those numbers keep me moving. But they also depress me. A lot.

Resolution #3: Stop buying clothing. (this, btw also relates to another resolution I have to stop spending so much darn $$) I get depressed when I buy clothing. Yet I shop and shop and shop. Maybe if I stopped buying the clothing and went shopping after I lost the weight I wouldn't feel like such a fat ass. And let me tell you, my ass is getting fat.

Resolution #4: Track calories. This will be the one that flies out the window first, folks. (How's that for dedication?) I just find it a pain in the ass to measure out my food and jot it down somewhere. I don't eat out of boxes as I am blessed with a husband who cooks. Therefore, most of what I eat isn't in a convenient drop down list on Spark.com. So I guess. And I get pissed and I drop it b/c for heaven's sake this is a pain in the rear. If anyone has any ideas on a better way to do this - I'd love to hear them.

I'd love to hear if anyone has any success stories to share with either a)sticking with new year resolutions or b)losing weight. I'm all ears (and flab).

The Saga Continues

Not the potty training saga. The physical therapy saga.

Finally after nearly a year (really! holy cow!) of physcial therapy I mentioned to my GP that I still didn't feel like I was fixed. That there are days with a lot of pain and what I refer to as 'the weakness'. She is a sports med doc but said that there is another bloke in her office who is even more of a sports med geek than she, so she thought it would behoove me to have a visit with him.

I did, last week, and now have an appointment with a NEW physical therapist for 6:45am on Friday (yes, that reads A.M. - what I won't do to be fixed, I tell ya). This particular PT is a myofascial dude who is, in a sense, going to deep tissue massage the heck out of three particular trouble areas that seem to be holding me back. Something isn't allowing me to stay 'balanced' or in alignment for longer than an hour or so. The new doc thinks this may be the answer.

This is going to be painful. When people hear massage they think relaxing and yoga music and all that great stuff. Now, I love massages like that but I know all too well how this one is going to work. My lovely masseuse has done one or two of these for me in the past and I walk out of there feeling like she beat the crap out of me.

But someone has to break this connection that my muscle's have to the tissue. According to my new doc this guys is a miracle worker. We'll see.

Update on our Number 2 Saga

Thank you to those who sent prayers our way.

We had success on Friday and Saturday. Interestingly, both in the potty. We were pretty excited and did our happy dances and cheered and told her how proud we were of her for her efforts.

Sunday came and went without any success. We 'held strong' and refused to let her use the diaper.

Monday we caved. Because we don't want to have the same issue we had last week. The diaper returned.

We'll see where we go from here. I'm willing to forgo the potty if it means she goes.

Prayers for Little Miss C

*ALERT* Another poop post. Seriously, if you can't deal with reading about poop. Skip this post.


I need help, universe. I need help managing my frustration and anger. I need help controlling my reactions and responses. I need help. And I need prayers for my little one.

Little Miss C is on day five. Day five of not pooping. This is typically when we have broken down and given her a suppository. But we've decided to not go that route this time. We've come to that twice in the last month or so and she does not do well. Sure, the desired effect of removing the blockage happens, but she gets pale, shaky and overall just looks like hell. It clearly has side affects that are less than desirable. Less desirable than what she is dealing with now? We'll see.

So, here we sit on day five with a little girl who had a hard time sleeping last night because her tummy was cramping. I had to put her in the diaper over night - which we've been out of for over a month - because she is seeping. When she woke this morning I had to give her a quick bath to clean her up.

And she still wouldn't poop.

So we got dressed and she ate her waffle, squirming and clenching the whole time, crying. She finally went and sat on the potty but wouldn't poop. Or even pee for that matter.

Can you imagine the pain she is in?

And I'm not helping. I see how she is hurting herself and all I can think of is how much damage she could be doing to herself. And I just don't get it. I don't. I can't get her to change her mind that it would be better if she just pooped.

People tell me that it may be because she is afraid of losing part of herself. But I don't know if I buy that. When she is pooping, we don't get a sense of that at all - in fact she is proud that she has pooped.

Other ideas are that she is scared that is will hurt. That I get. You bet it will, because we are on day five. It hurts when we're on day three. This girl needs to poop every day or we have a problem. Not kidding you.

Fiber the issue, don't think so. My girl eats her veggies and fruits all day every day. Back her off milk, already doing that. Cheese. Out. Bananas. No more.

I can't focus. I walked halfway into work this morning before realizing that I left my laptop in the car. I have no patience with anyone else. Especially if people won't listen to me. I have to figure out how to let this go.

Please send prayers her way. I know it sounds trite, but we need all the help we can get. This vicious cycle needs to stop.

Lost speed

I should be happy that I ran 2.1 miles last night and appear to be mostly pain free today. However, all I can think about it my pace. Average of nearly 12 minute miles. I've lost a lot of speed.

I know in the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter. The fact that I am running, and as the Hubby pointed out last night, should make me happy.

But I'm struggling with the fact that I've lost my speed. I look at my cottage cheese thighs and get angry. Come back muscle! Come back speed! Come back strength so I can feel the ground under me fly by at my normal 9-10 minute mile pace.

It's just softball, folks

For most of my adult life I have played softball. In the summer I play in a women's league for women 25+. This league is run by our local Catholic Athletic Association.

For the last three years I have played co-ed ball in the fall with members of our church. I've also played some co-ed ball with friends in years past. And let me just say this. I don't like playing with the men. Outside of the Hubby, who is a competitive person but not in this sport, and a handful of other men, it's very frustrating. I've been playing ball for what.... nearly 30 years now. I manage a team with a winning record in the summer league. I coached girls softball for several years. I think I know what the hell I am doing. This doesn't mean I don't make mistakes, but I don't need to be told when to cover home (as I am now relegated to catcher - which I don't actually mind) and when I need to make a tag versus having a force. Yeah. Kinda know that thanks. And if I see another man call off a woman who clearly has a bead on the ball - I'm apt to go out and kick his ass.

Last night was the first night the Hubby and I played with our team in the fall league. I was hesitant to return this year because it was somewhat trying last year. Last night put the icing on the cake for me. It was an especially intense game as we were playing our sister team, More. We, Even More, were down one female player so we played short in the field. As an aside, we were also playing on AstroTurf - quite a different playing field! Regardless, those two things had little impact on the reason I have decided I no longer want to play next year.

Each team had female players essentially mowed down by male players who are, what, I don't know, trying to make some point about how good of athletes they are? It turned into a near fight with one player on each team yelling at each other and in a nutshell, threatening to fight one another. No kidding people. There was talk about smashing someones face and all that male bull that gets thrown out when things get out of hand.

Um... did I mention we go to church with the vast majority of these people? The Hubby, being the sane male he is, stayed out of all of it. I, being the shortest player on both teams, stayed out of it. But it made my blood boil.

I deal with egos all freaking day at work. ALL day. I want to go to the field to play a fun game and enjoy myself. The reaction of these two males ruined the rest of the game for me. I wanted to speak to no one. When the More player came to the plate I wanted very much to hit him upside the head and ask him who the hell he thinks he is making this uncomfortable for the rest of us. Mind you, I wanted to do the same to the player on our team but I didn't have to - his mom was there so she took care of that matter on our behalf.

Needless to say, I'm done with co-ed ball. Unless I can find a team of guys who refuse to let their hormones (and you talk about women - yeesh! no wonder we have to many freaking wars) dictate how they will react to one another.