Junkie

This lumpy body brought to you by Little Debbie.

When my dad died suddenly a few years ago, I finally (at the age of 31) realized that, huh, people really DO die.  Go figure.  I'd heard of this "death" thing, but damn, I thought they were kidding.  People can be so full of hyperbole! 

And I suppose upon learning that dying was something I'd have to do, I started to wonder if maybe I should, you know, DELAY such a thing for as long as possible.  This delay wasn't THAT hard, I mean, I'm not one to want to swim with sharks or jump out of airplanes.  But I WAS treating my body like it was just going to function perfectly no matter WHAT I did to it.  Or, namely, no matter what I PUT IN IT.

God, I love junk food.

And, stragely, my body has functioned on mostly junk up to this point.  Which proves that the human body IS AMAZING.  Try putting diesel in a gasoline engine and see what happens.  And yet, my body just keeps chugging along on a diet of Dr. Pepper and cookies. 

I am a walking miracle.

But you can't go anywhere these days without The Truth screaming at you.  By now, all of us know that Americans are fatter and sicker than they've ever been.  We know that the medical industry is buckling under the weight of, well, our weight.   We're told that the enemy is high fructose corn syrup and partially hydrogenated oil.  And since I'm nothing if not obedient, I promptly began reading labels and doing my best to scrub those Bad Things out of our diets.

Then? I learned that artificial colors and dairy make for a foggy brain in some children.  So, it was out with Yellow 5, Red 40, Blue 7.  Out with milk and cheese, and anything with "artificial flavorings". (You would not BELIEVE the things that contain artificial colors - it's in EVERYTHING, y'all").  And it turns out that my kid, on a diet of "uncolored" food, is actually MUCH different.  In a good way.

But can I be totally honest with you?  Reading labels and being diligent about what goes into our bodies is EXHAUSTING.  And do you know what else?  I don't really like healthy food.  No!  I eat a smoothie for breakfast made with organic fruits (and a little kale, because they say it's a superfood - how could I not eat something called a SUPERfood?), and yet, I'm all but pinching my nose while I'm drinking it. 

What I really want, even now that I know it will kill me dead, is a nice cookie.  Preferrably with a thick layer of icing. 

If I could change ONE THING about myself, I would wish for a palate that craved nothing but whole, raw, organic foods.  You know, instead of Little Debbie Snack Cakes.

*Sigh*

Monkey Masseuse

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I had an epiphany yesterday while I was driving (too fast) down the freeway on my way (late, actually) to a little swim party for William's first grade class.  I was late because I'd gotten tied up with something for work and didn't get out the door when I'd planned.  Then? Precicely BECAUSE I was running late, I forgot the towels (what IS it with me and forgetting towels?) and had to turn back (granted, I was still in my neighborhood, but still, I had to turn back). 

I realized, while my knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel in frustration, that I was missing my entire life.  Every minute of the last few weeks has been spent planning and worrying and fretting about FUTURE MOMENTS.  My head is a constant swarm of lists and to-do's and should-have-dones.  And while my head is doing this swarming, I'm missing what's right in front of my eyes.

Something's gotta give.

I *thought* my problem was lack of organization.  But I'm starting to see that some of my problems also stem, not so much from the lack organization, as the lack of automation.  I don't have a clever, easy, way to get my to-do's out of my head and onto some sort of tickler/reminder system.  In a perfect world, I would have a personal assistant sitting next to me at all times who would not only jot down my to-do's, but would then remind me at the precise moment I'd set aside to get that task done.   Do you know of such a thing?  Perhaps a trained monkey?  Because GOSH that would be cool to have a pet who also helped you accomplish things.  Also, if I had a Personal Assistsant Monkey I would TOTALLY teach it how to bring me coffee.  Oh! And how to give foot rubs!

What? Like you wouldn't train your monkey to give a nice massage.  Don't lie.

So that's my goal: figure out how to get this swarm thoughts out of my head (Ok, probably without a monkey).  That way, when I'm in the car with my children going 80mph down the highway, I can focus on, well, DRIVING. 

New. Year.

My birthday is coming up soon.  July 1st I'll be 38 years old.  Emphasis on the word OLD.  Yipe!

I've always loved having a birthday precisely 6 months from New Year's Day.  Because I have two chances each year to start anew.  I know everyone balks at resolutions, but sometimes I like taking time to reflect on how things have been and dream a little about how what I'd still like to become.

What about you?  Do birthdays feel like a fresh start, or do you wallow in the sad passage of time?

Crabtastic

My kid turned 8 years old last week.  And for his birthday, I convinced the boys father that he needed his very own pet.  Not a dog, or a cat.  Nothing that needs to be potty trained (because I've done enough potty training in the last few years thankyouverymuch).  No, after MUCH discussion, I finally talked Dave into letting William have a hamster. 

William was THRILLED.  So a few weeks before his birthday, the entire family loaded up in the car and headed to PetsMart to investigate hamsters.  We looked at various cages and cedar bedding, and then we stared for a while at the little fluffy rodents playing in the display area.  It was all going well.  Tralala.

But then something happened.  Something awful. 

William spotted the hermit crabs. 

In an instant, he scrapped the whole idea of a hamster and began insisting he needed A VERY LARGE SPIDER-Y LOOKING ANIMAL.

And let me just pause here and tell you that I am not what you'd call "afraid" of spiders.  I have a true phobia.  I can't even look at photos of spiders.  My heart rate starts to increase at the mere THOUGHT of a spider.  Cartoon spiders: still scared.  Stuffed animal spiders that look kind and friendly? FREAK ME OUT.  Charlotte's Web? HATED IT.

Are you spotting the problem here?  Hermit crabs belong to the arachnid family. And hey! I HAVE ARACHNOPHOBIA HOW CONVENIENT.  Before I knew what was happening, Dave and Will had wandered off to price SPIDER "crab" cages and learn about SPIDER "crab" care.  I still can't pinpoint exactly when this hamster plan derailed, but it happened.  And there was no going back.  

By the day of his birthday, William had already named his yet-to-be-purchased hermit crab: "hermie" or as I like to call him "haunter of my dreams".  Oh, but then there was another twist: Dave learned that hermit crabs do not thrive as solitary animals.  Nooooo.  It's best TO HAVE AT LEAST TWO.

Pardon me while I clutch my chest and wheeze prayers to Jesus and all the wise men.

Yes, friends, we are the proud owners of not one, but TWO spawns of Satan himself hermit crabs.

Dave swore up and down that it would be HE who manages the care and maintenance of the crabs and their "crabitat" (as it is called on, and I'm not making this up, "hermitcrabs.com".  yes.  I know.).  So Dave put the aquarium together and placed the little darlings in their new home and everything was a-ok.

Until Friday.

Friday, while Dave was safely at work 30 miles away,  William managed to LOSE ONE OF THE CRABS SOMEWHERE IN THE HOUSE.  IN THE HOUSE WHERE I SLEEP. 

Obviously I had to burn the house down.*

*Not really.  We found him. 

*Can I come live with you?

Eight

I rolled over this morning and told Dave "eight years ago at this moment I was being hooked up to pitocin".  Ten hours later I became a mother.

Eight years.  I can't believe it.

Happy Birthday my firstborn gift.  You are my sunshine.



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It's Coffee-O'Clock Over Here

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My eyes popped open at 3:30am today and for the LIFE of me I couldn't go back to sleep.  I tried everything.  But eventually, I crawled out of bed and  made my coffee.  By the time the kids woke up at 7am I'd done my budget, cleaned out my playroom, and purged my email inbox. 

So at 7:45a we left the house for donuts.  Because, why not? I'd been awake half the night and 8am felt like lunchtime.

My head is swimming with to-do's.  William turns 8 years old on Thursday and we're having a tiny party for him (William can't have a big party - all that hubbub freaks him out).   Although the party is small, I still have a zillion details to iron out.  Party favors, a little activity for the guests, and then there's the matter of what to feed everyone (I say order pizza and be done with it, Dave says we should do something more.).  So this morning after donuts we went to Walmart, then the bank, then the post office, then the dollar store.

And now we're home and I just glanced at the clock and IT'S 9:45!  Dude.  It's gonna be a long day.

I have back-to-back conference calls this afternoon that will likely take THREE HOURS STRAIGHT.  I have no idea what I'm going to do with my children.  Thank goodness for the mute button (On the phone, I mean.  Although a kid with a mute button would be mighty handy!)  After conference calls, it will be time to make dinner.  Then baths.  Then bed (For everyone.  Preferably by 8pm!).

And then I'll start all over again tomorrow.  Hey! I'm tired!

This pace, this working and mothering thing is exhausting.  And I'm only doing it part-time!  How does ANYONE do this full time?  I'm serious.  HOW?  It seems to me if I were any busier or preoccupied I'd be risking my health.  Truly. 

It makes me realize why Americans are so addicted to Red Bull and sugar.  Or in my case, coffee and donuts.  Yeesh.

You Never Get a Second Chance.

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I'm a frazzled wreck these days, and never was it more apparent than last Friday when I met a group of moms - only one of which I'd ever met before - for a swimming playdate.  These moms are new to my son's school, and this was an opportunity for all of us (moms and kids) to get to know each other. 

Folks, I made a STELLAR first impression.

First of all, I was late.  And I HAAAATE being late.  It totally stresses me out.  I'm one of those people who is always ALWAYS at least 5 minutes early to everything.  Which is how I like it.  I never want YOU to wait on ME.  Ever.  It gives me a rash.

So there's that, I was late.  But then?  Then I realized as we were approaching the pool that I'd forgotten Paige's swim floaties.  Which meant that I was going to have to stand like a hawk and watch her without so much as blinking the entire time.  Problem is, sister THINKS she is an excellent swimmer.  And she can keep herself afloat for periods of time.  But inevitably she ends up stranded in the deep end flailing about because she's so exhausted.  So, instead of talking to those new moms, I knew I'd be over on the edge of the pool wringing my hands and grinding my teeth to dust. 

Floaties would have been much easier on everyone involved. 

And then? Oh y'all, I'm ashamed to even admit this: I FORGOT TOWELS. 

Yes I totally did.  I took my kids to a pool without towels.  Some other mother (who was forming her first impression of me) had to sacrifice one of her towels for the sake of my wet children.  I wanted to die.

And the final blow was when everyone decided to go as a group to a fast-food place for lunch.  And hey!  They'd all packed nice dry clothes for their kids.  GUESS WHAT MY KIDS WORE?

Yep.  Wet swimsuits.  (with tee-shirts over, but STILL).

Some days I think I might be pulling off this whole working, homeschooling, mothering thing and then life jumps up and slaps me with reality.  It seems everything is suffering.  I have no pace.  No rhythm.  I haven't figured out how to juggle everything. 

And it's killing me softly - a little bit every day.

I've never been That Mom - the put-together perfect one - but I've never been That Other Mom either.  The one who is such a disaster you wonder if she regularly bathes and feeds her children. 

But that' is totally who I was on Friday.  I was That Other Mom - the disaster one.  And all those women saw me at my very worst the very first time they'd met me. 

The only consolation is: it can only go up from here, right?

Padre

Happy Father's Day to my love.  Seeing you with these children makes my heart swoon.

A Tour of My iPhone Photos

I love this silly photo of me and Paige making dinner.  I don't know why. 

At one point yesterday I was babysitting all these kids while simultaneously hosting a webinar on my computer.  I am Wonderwoman!

Last week my husband grew a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard and I died a little from the handsomeness.

Being a hamburger maniac, I thought it would be nice to take William on a little date to the new Five Guys.  It was just "ok".  Hrmph

My brother is very handsome.  And charming.  It's a dangerous combination.

I got to hang at the pool last week with Rachel and Susan.  It was awesome.

And finally: cute couple! 

A Blog By Any Other Name

Ok, here's the deal.  I need help.   Erin and Susan and Rachel have been giving me grief about my Blogger Blog.  And they're right.  It's time for me to move my blog to an easier platform.  Which means it will be easier on me to do posts, and easier on you to comment and interact with other readers. 

Win:Win, right?

Right.  Except for one thing.  I think I need to rename my blog.  "Me and My Shortloffs" is hard to explain to someone who's just meeting me.  I end up saying "Er, um, you see, my name is ORTLOFF and my kids are SHORT, so get it? Shortloff? No?  You don't get it?  You can't spell my name? 

And then I shuffle away in humiliation.

Oh look! There's a Shortloff now.

So I think I'd like to start a new blog with a new name (I will import all of this here Me&My Shortloffs content, don't you worry!).  BUT OMG I CAN'T THINK OF A NAME.  Heeeelp me!

Something about my red hair maybe?  Freckles?  Or maybe funny? FUNNYFRECKLESDOTCOM?  Har!  No seriously, I need help!  I've been calling Susan randomly for weeks and saying things like "How about "www.motherhoodismycardio.com'?  And she always says "meh".   And then I call her a name and hang up on her.*

*not really.

So, dear readers, do you have any brilliant ideas?  I swear if you come up with a winner I will drive to your house and kiss you square on the lips.

Cold Water Freezer

Last weekend Dave returned from The Wilderness where he spent 3 nights and 4 days at Boyscout camp with William and a passel of other 7-year-old boys.  As you might imagine, by Saturday my husband was spent.  Both physically and mentally.   Which is why he groaned when I admitted I'd been showering upstairs for the past couple of days while he was gone because we had no hot water downstairs. 

And before I go any further, yes, I DO know how to light a pilot light.  At least I *think* I do.  And I'm certain if Dave were to die tomorrow I would be able to figure out how to light a pilot light.  But c'mon, isn't this one of the perks of marriage?  Lawn car, vehicle maintenance, pilot-lighting. 

Yes they are.  Shut up.

So Dave grumbled at me and then proceeded to fail at lighting the pilot light.  HAR!  See? I wouldnt' have been able to do it if I'd tried!  I was WISE to wait until Dave returned.  WISE I tell you!

Turns out the water heater had "dun busted" (BTW, I call it the "hot water heater" which gets Dave's goat every. single. time "Because it's redundant. It's like saying "the cold water freezer".) So instead of spending his time recuperating from The Wilderness, Dave spent Saturday replacing the hot water heater.  God bless him.

The good news is, the kids got an awesome box to play in!  See how I made a thimble full of lemonade out of a dump truck full of lemons?  I know!  Dang I'm good.

They're both still in their pajamas.  Don't judge.

The kids decided the box was to be a rocket. Behold the "emergenSy" button.  Later William added a green button labeled "go", and a long skinny lever labeled "laser".  What more does a rocket need, really?

Paige just slopped as much paint as she could on the box, herself, her brother, and the sidewalk. 

A good time was had by all. 

Well, except for Dave.  Dave would have preferred a cold beer and a nap. 

Wee Tea

Do you know about the American Girl store?  No? Well then clearly you are ignorant as I was until a few days ago. 

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Allow me to explain.  If you are a little girl who is lucky enough to be born into a family where it is feasible to spend a RIDICULOUS sum on a DOLL, then you can order yourself an American Girl doll.  And your American Girl doll will be specially made to look exactly like you!  Yes!  She will have your exact haircut and eye color and skin tone! 

And then? THEN? You can visit the American Girl store where you can buy accessories.  Like a wee little bed for your doll, or perhaps a tiny bathtub complete with tiny shampoo and tiny soap and fake bubbles.  Or! You can buy tiny braces for your doll with a wee tiny doll-sized toothbrush.

Or perhaps a tiny salon chair!

Doesn't this sound totally ridiculous?  I know!  And yet, if you are anything like me, you will go a little crazy falling in love with all of these expensive dolls and their teeny clothes and matching teeny shoes and WEE TINY PETS for the wee tiny dolls (OMGSQEEEE!)

I found myself being just as excited as Paige in this store.  Running from display to display squealing over the doll-sized reading glasses AND WRISTWATCHES!   Wristwatches!  For dolls!  Have you ever heard of anything so silly in all your life?  But GOSH it's so CUTE! 

And as if that wasn't enough, inside the American Girl store is a bistro and cafe where you may dine WITH YOUR DOLL.  Yes.  You heard me.  Your doll is given a special doll-sized chair.  And her own doll-sized cup and saucer for tea!

Tea, m'lady?

And?  If you don't happen to own a doll, but would like to dine in the cafe, THEY GIVE YOU A LOANER DOLL.  Yes!  You can borrow a doll so you can have tea!

As crazy as these dolls are, I must admit, going to the American Girl store and having tea is maybe the most girly-girl fun I've had in a while.

Oh, and I suppose Paige had fun too. 

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**Special thanks to Gramma Pam for treating us to a day of dollies!

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Six Decades

So, my mother celebrated a birthday this weekend.  She would be delighted (not delighted) for me to tell you that she turned SIXTY years old.

Dude.  Sixty.  That is a lot of birthdays.

And yet, would you LOOK at this woman?  No WAY is she sixty.

Y'all *I* have more wrinkles than she does. 

I'm just going to try to say "sixty" as many times as I can in one post.  Because I just know every time I type it my mother flinches.  So far I've said it 4 times.  Go me!

Sixty sixty sixty sixty sixty.

(I was her problem child.  Can you tell?)

Mother had a big 'ol party at her house this weekend where we ate barbeque and drank frozen bellinis and blew out oodles (sixtysixtysixty!) of candles. 

*Ok, we didn't actually put sixty (SIXTYSIXTYSIXTY) candles on the cake, because we did not have a permit from the fire department. 

We kids were at a loss as to what to get mom for her birthday.  Such pressure to give a memorable gift!  I mean you only turn sixty (SIXTY!) once.  We finally decided on a portrait of the kids and grandkids.  Because nothing says "you are special here is a nice gift" like a picture of YOURSELF.

I totally photoshopped my arm to make it look skinnier.  So much easier than dieting.

But hey, the portrait, coupled with a book of hand-written memories from all of her guests made momma go straight into The Ugly Cry.  I suppose this means she liked it (?). 

It was a great weekend.  How about you?  Do anything fun?

Uncle Stevie's Campout Wisdom

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William returned from his first Boyscout Campout today.  He's slightly sunburned, and he smells like a cross between a billy goat and a sewer rat.  However, he claims he had an awesome time. 

I'm off to dip him in a vat of bleach and set his sleeping bag on fire.  While we're de-lousing, please enjoy this letter, mailed to William at camp from his Uncle Stevie (my husband's big brother).

Hi William!

I really hope you're having a GREAT campout!  Some of my best memories from when I was a kid were from campouts.  Your dad and I went on a lot of them.

Here are a few camping rules that you probably already know:

1. Don't spit into the wind.  (Also, don't pee into the wind!)
2. Toasted marshmallows are very, very sticky.
3. Don't pitch your tent with the door uphill. (The rain water will run right in and you'll be floating in your sleeping bag.  I know from experience.)
4. If the campfire smoke is blowing your direction, you might as well stay there because it will follow you if you move to the other side of the fire.
5. Don't bring an electric blanket to a campout
6. Always bring plenty of AP (all purpose) paper.  It's toilet paper, but it's very important when you need it.
7. Never touch the top of a gas lantern.  Even when it's off, it might still be lava hot.
8. When you wake up in a tent, it's almost always earlier than you think it is.

That's all the wisdom I can share right now.  Have lots of fun and you can tell me all about it when I see you next time.

Love, Uncle Stevie

 

Not a Happy Camper

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My boy has gone off to his first camp.  He is currently sleeping in a tent under the stars with a bunch of other 8 year old boys and some very brave fathers (can you imagine corralling all of those little boys in the wilderness? You couldn't pay me enough to do it.  Srsly).

Meanwhile I am back here at home trying to figure out how to entertain my VERY NEEDY OH MY GOODNESS 4 year old girl.  It seems that I greatly underestimated William's role in occupying his sister.  I had NO IDEA.

The child talks nonstop. All the time. Every minute of the day.  Also? She must MUST MUST be in my company at all times.  She travels with me from room to room.  And if I get lucky enough to get her occupied with a craft, she shuffles in multiple times to ask that I come and "see how pretty" her craft is becoming. 

Folks, I can only be enthusiastic about 4 year old art for so long.

I'm tired, is what I'm trying to tell you.  Physically, yes, but mostly I'm just mentally wiped out from all the crafting and talking.

Gosh I'll be glad when William gets home.

Queen for a Day

Have you ever seen one of those made-for-tv movies where a lowly, common girl gets made over by a team of stylists? And after a flurry of activity the lowly, common girl emerges looking like a princess?  Haven't you always secretly desired to BE that girl?

I know! 

So you can imagine my GLEEEE when my mother-in-law invited me and my sister-in-law to come with her to Nordstrom's where her personal stylist would outfit us in new duds.  Why would my mother-in-law do such a thing?  I HAVE NO IDEA other than SHE IS CRAZY (and extremely generous, obviously).

So I spent two of the most glorious hours of my life on Monday in a HUGE dressing room (like the size of my BEDROOM, y'all!) with my MIL and SIL.  When we arrived the stylist (who had been informed of our sizes and personal tastes) had pulled ZILLIONS of outfits and accessories for us to try.  All of which were displayed along the dressing room walls LIKE A MAGAZINE LAYOUT. 

I tried on clothes until I was sweating.  SWEATING in the name of fashion is the very best KIND of sweating.

I left there with FOUR new dresses (FOUR!).  Which is four more dresses than I've purchased in the last four years.  I left that store 1) inventing places to go so I could wear my new clothes, 2) wanting to diet so I would look even prettier in my new dresses, 3) wanting to get a manicure so my NAILS would be as pretty as my dresses.

I'm telling you, those dresses make me want to be a better girl! I want to cure cancer and feed starving children IN MY NEW DRESSES.

I'm pretty excited, in case you hadn't noticed.

oh, and we took our little girls with us. they were shopping troupers.

Oh Flock

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So Paige insisted on having a "Rio Bird" birthday party.

Which is fine except that the movie "Rio" came out long ago.  Too long ago.  Which means that momma couldn't find plates and napkins and balloons with the characters from the movie. 

Grrrr.

I *was* able to find movie-themed cupcake toppers from Ebay (New! Because USED cupcake toppers are just "eeeww".)  But I was forced to improvise for everything else.  I used her (very old, pilled, dirty) stuffed animal as a centerpiece, and then covered the table WITH FEATHERS.

I know! I'm a party planning genius!

At least I *thought* it was a rather brilliant idea until Dave came home, took one look at the table, and said it looked like a cat had slaughtered a flock of birds in our dining room.

*Sigh* It totally looked like a cat had slaughtered a flock of birds. 

the scene of the attack

Four

Did I ever tell you about the day Paige was born?  It was 3 weeks before my due date and my doctor decided to induce labor because, well, I was roughly the size of a Ford F150 pickup truck.  She feared if I waited any longer that I would deliver a baby the size of a high school freshman.

Turns out, the baby was big - 8lbs 11oz. 

Oddly enough, there was a freak storm the night of Paige's birth.  All of the television stations were reporting the weather without commercial breaks.  Something about a strong storm front capable of producing 90mph straight-line winds.  Our recovery room was situated against an outside wall of the hospital, and I will never forget the wind howling outside the room that night.  I distinctly remember how odd it felt to to have the whole world falling down outside while I sat there in that room in utter peace.

I didn't give a hoot about the rest of humanity, that baby girl was all I needed.  We took to each other, she and I.  Right from the beginning. Nursing was a breeze.  Even the sleepless nights were somehow peaceful.  I felt like I was in a cocoon for the first few months.  Just me and that little baby girl. 

I will always be grateful to my firstborn for giving me the title of "mother", but I will always also be grateful to my baby girl, who came along and showed me that second borns are second chances for first time mothers to learn  just how far they've come with that title "mother".

Happy 4th Birthday to my girl, Paige Elizabeth.



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