Tonight Megan wanted to help me pack lunches for tomorrow. After we were done, I pulled out our crock pot and began washing off all of the dust that has accumulated over the past 10-15 years.
Sadly, that is not an exaggeration.
Meg: WHAT are you DOING?
Me: Washing the dust off this crock pot.
Meg: WHY?
Me: Because I'm going to use it tomorrow morning.
Meg: For WHAT?
Me: For dinner.
Meg: Dinner WHERE?
Me: Here.
Meg: Dinner HERE?
Me: Yes.
Meg: For US?
Me: For us.
Meg: I'm confused.
And there you have it. ME cooking for my family is CONFUSING. Nice, huh?
Praying all goes well and we don't end up with food poisoning or something. I mean I've invested in a roast and everything, so my hopes are pretty high.
Time will tell ...
We received an email from Megan's elementary P.E. teacher. In it she requested that kids wear tennis shoes for the entire month of March, because she'll be preparing and testing them for physical fitness.
Makes sense to me.
Henry broke the news to Megan last night, who prefers to wear combat boots or cowboy boots every day.
This morning Meg was NOT feeling the tennis shoe vibe ...
Meg: Why do I have to wear tennis shoes?!
Me: Because you're doing physical fitness testing, and you'll do better if you wear them. Especially when you run and stuff.
Meg: I wear my boots all the time for P.E. and it's FINE.
Me: Your teacher has asked that you wear them, so I think you should wear them. Besides, you only have P.E. on Mondays and Fridays, right? So you can wear your boots the rest of the week. NOT a big deal.
Meg: Well I don't want to.
Me because it's MORNING, and I don't like to TALK let alone PARENT in the MORNING: FINE. DO WHAT YOU WANT. I REALLY DON'T CARE.
So she leaves, I finish getting ready and head out to the kitchen to grab breakfast.
The next thing I know, in walks Meg WEARING TENNIS SHOES.
Me: Uh ... what's the deal? I thought you weren't gonna wear those.
Meg: Oh, well, Dad just told me that they're lighter than my boots, so I should wear them for physical fitness testing.
Me: That's it?
Meg: What?
Me: Nothing.
OH. MY WORD. Can you EVEN?
Seriously. I give up. He officially gets to be THE parent from now on.
Well, for SURE in the morning.
No .. all the time. ALL OF THE TIMES. HE IS THE PARENT.
Ladies: Do not schedule your annual physical exam on a Friday afternoon or holiday. I've done both of these, and it's a sure-fire way to ruin your life day.
I've mentioned before that my doctor is Russian. She has zero bedside manner, and as much as I've complained about her in the past, she's actually grown on me a little. She doesn't pull any punches, but gives it to me straight. Having known her for about 8 years now, I'm at the place where I can give it right back to her, and most of the time my responses make her laugh.
My last exam, in February 2013, went pretty much like all the others before that. My blood pressure meds were doing their job, but my cholesterol was higher than it'd ever been. She told me, for the umpteenth time, to lose weight, and work on my diet and exercise to avoid the need for more medication. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
What is it about someone telling you to lose weight, that makes you want to drive directly to a Starbucks and order a venti fatty-mc-sugary-fat-fat-frozen treat? That's usually what I do after these obnoxious appointments. Terrible, I know. It's just my twisted way of showing my doctor who's boss, and at the same time proving that I have a death wish.
Now when it comes to me and my weight, I'm one of those fortunate (?) people who gains and loses proportionally. Meaning every part of me either benefits or suffers: Face, arms, boobs, tummy, tush, legs ... they all get a piece of the weight gain/loss action. The good thing about this, is that it's not totally obvious when I gain weight. The bad thing about this, is that it's not totally obvious when I lose weight either. It's like people look at me, and know something's different, but they can't put their finger on it. Sometimes I want to say, It's my cheekbones. I've lost weight and you can actually see them now.
So after last February's visit, I did come around and try to eat healthier, but the motivation wasn't what it should be. You would THINK that my risk of a heart attack or stroke would be enough motivation, but alas it was not.
In July, a couple of things happened that really bugged, and I was finally motivated to do something.
Believe it or not, I lost 20 pounds in exactly 2 months. No pills, shakes or cleanses ... just kept track of what I ate and increased my exercise from 30 to 45 minutes. Between September and December I lost another 5, which seems to come and go depending on what holiday is being celebrated. Which reminds me: Thanks for the Valentine's See's truffles, Mom.
Hmm. Not sure why I just told y'all that. The last thing I want is for a bunch of you who never noticed this weight loss, to mention it to me now. That would be lame. Besides, there are 4 people in my life who noticed and commented on it, and that's good enough for me. And yes, they are now my best friends. The rest of you are dead to me.
Wait, I know why I shared that, because after finally doing what my doctor told me to do, can you blame me for expecting her to comment on my weight loss? Me neither.
After the exam, she went over my cholesterol numbers with me, which while still being too high, had dropped 20 points!! Not that she even NOTICED that, of course. I was curious though, and compared the numbers when I got home. And yes, I DID pat myself on the back!
THEN she said, "Otay, and I would steel like to see you lose some weight."
Oh no you di'int.
Sorry, but I could NOT let that one go. So I said, in a slightly elevated voice (Actually, I'm pretty sure everyone in the hall could hear me.) "Uh, can we FIRST talk about the 20 pounds I've LOST since the last time I was here?!" She laughed and said, "Oh, oh, sotty, sotty. Yes of course, let me look at last year. Otay, my records show a 15 pound weight loss since dat time."
I wanted to say: Well you're only showing 15 pounds because you refuse to weigh me NAKED at 5:00 AM. It's 5:00 in the stinkin' PM, and I got all kinds of breakfast and lunch in me, not to mention all the liquid I've consumed. Speaking of which, why can't you have me do the urine sample BEFORE weighing me, huh? That's gotta be good for some poundage, right? Sheesh. Help a sister out.
Instead I said, completely defeated, "Fine."
I got dressed, added insult to injury by receiving a pneumonia shot, then capped off my lovely visit by having more blood drawn at the lab which had a large poster of Dracula on the door. I guess that's kinda funny, since they suck blood out of you at the lab.
But worse than all that? I didn't even get my PTSD Starbucks beverage on the way home! Serious first world problems.
On the bright side, AFLAC pays me to be violated like this annually.
Life is weird.
