Adventures in Gardening

Three weeks ago, my friend Judith offered me a few seedlings from her vast garden beginnings. She has the touch with green things that I could only dream of having. She offered me several varieties, but I only took a small collection of cilantro, cucumbers, and peppers.

Oh, I wanted more – I have grand dreams of a big garden, providing my family with fresh vegetables, all grown by me. I did it one year, and while the yield was disappointing and I did kill, well…many of the plants, I felt like I learned a lot from the experience and knew I could probably do a lot better the next time.

But I also know that I can’t even keep my grass growing.

Still, trying again seemed like a good idea. So I brought home the little cups of seedlings, planning to give them all the love I could until any threat of frost had passed and they were ready to be placed in a well-tended bed of fresh soil and fertilizer.

It was warm that first week, so I set them outside during the day, placing them on our patio table to soak up some sunlight.

Mistake #1: I didn’t plan for him.

who, me?

Cosmo, the dog who never climbs or jumps, apparently has quite a taste for herbs and veggies and can use magic to extend his reach to the patio table. On day one, I glanced out the back door and saw him chomping down on a plastic cup. I raced outside to take it away from him, but it was too late – he’d already eaten the tiny sweet pepper plant entirely.

I moved the cups closer to the center of the patio table, far away from his reach. Later that day, after letting him out in the backyard again, I walked past the door and saw him with another cup between his paws. This plant had not been fully eaten, but sadly it’s injuries were more than it could handle and it passed away two days later.

Realizing I had a cow for a dog, I brought the others back inside and placed them on a table next to the kitchen window. I blamed Cosmo for the two early deaths, but I was committed to saving the others. It can’t be that hard to keep plants alive, right?

Mistake #2: turns out, watering a plant is harder than it looks.

Too little OR too much water will kill plants. They’re like Goldilocks – everything has to be just right. The cucumbers quickly gave up and opted for a quick reincarnation in some better person’s garden. One cilantro plant also curled up and died.

However, despite all that, I STILL have three cilantro plants and one sweet pepper seedling that made it through the early days. And on Sunday they were given their reward: they were moved to a planter.

moving day

I even gave them potting soil that states it helps prevent damage from under- or over-watering. It’s like the soil people knew I wanted to garden again this year. I’m still waiting on the Plants for Dummies line of gardening products. (Dummies brand, feel free to use me as your spokesperson. Or at least give me credit for the idea.)

The larger garden may still happen this summer, although I’ll likely have to build fencing around it until we can train the dog to not eat the garden. But for now my four little survivors are hanging out in a single planter that will remain in our front yard, safe from Cosmo the bovine-canine. Now they only have to endure me.

I never would have guessed that raising plants is harder than raising children. It’s a good thing my kids weren’t born green.



Geeky Pursuits

It’s no secret that we’re a family of geeks. Aaron and I met many years ago when performing at the Ohio Renaissance Festival. At our wedding, the music we used for the entrance to our reception was the Throne Room music from Star Wars. Aaron still reads comics. A lot. We love Doctor Who and several other sci-fi dramas. Our daughters have dressed up as superheroes more than once and can recognize many of the great figures in nerddom.

You get the point.

Lately, my darling husband has developed a new hobby: superhero costuming. As in, he is making costumes so he can dress up like superheroes at sci-fi or comic conventions. 

 this is him as Spiderman
featured on MTV’s website from C2E2 this past weekend (he’s the Batman on the left)
posing with a kid as Superman

I said we were a geeky family, folks. You’re suddenly viewing us in a WHOLE new light now, aren’t you?

When I say hobby, what I really mean is obsession. For the past six months, this subject has consumed him more than any other. He’s spent much of his free time on costuming websites, message boards, and now Facebook groups. His Facebook friends have grown dramatically, and suddenly his friends list contains more strangers to me than people I know. He’s even working to form a local chapter of a non-profit group that sends out members dressed as superheros to visit sick kids in hospitals, participate in charity events, etc.

There are some upsides. His costumes look very good, and it’s motivated him to work out more to look good in them, too. Spandex is unforgiving. He gets lots of praise and attention for the costumes, which I’m sure is a self-esteem boost. Choosing to do charity events to bring a smile to sick kids makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and love him even more for his generous heart.

So what in the world am I getting at in this post?

As geeky as we are as a family, this costuming thing is driving me nuts.

I fully supported him when he started it. He’s always been a comic fan, so it was a natural extension of his interests. But as it developed into an obsession, well, I’ve felt left behind. As he sits on the couch each night, his eyes are glued to message board and his costuming Facebook groups. His Facebook page is almost entirely about costuming now.

When he’s working on a new costume, he’s consumed with wanting to get it done and anything that gets in the way leaves him grumpy and irritable. And then there are the women who are really into costuming, too, who get a little too touchy, close or clingy with him at conventions. I try not to get jealous, however I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it puts a stress on our relationship.

But there’s also this: he wants me to join in and dress up with him.

Many years ago, I used to design and make costumes. I used much of my graduation money from college to purchase a very fancy computerized sewing machine that can do everything except make you coffee and sew the damn thing for you. I made renaissance costumes for friends and for myself. I was good enough that people even bough some from me. At one time I was working on a Master’s degree in costume design.

(Another surprise for you? Yeah, this onion has LOTS of layers. It’s like you never knew me, right? And hey, I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up!)

After having kids, though, sewing dropped off the radar. It was a hobby I no longer had time for and since we no longer performed at the renaissance festival, there wasn’t a need to make new costumes. Work and a screaming, colicky baby who turned into a grumpy, tantrum-prone toddler kept me away from scissors, needles and thread. Probably good to keep me away from pointy things, considering my mood at the time.

I haven’t used that fancy sewing machine in six years. So when Aaron asked me to help in making his costumes, I resisted due to forgetting many skills. Also: I’m busy. Work, kids, getting this house decluttered – when do I have time for sewing?

But asking me to dress up, too? I’m just not sure what to do. I know he really, really wants me to do it. He thinks it would be a fun hobby to do together (he’d love to get the kids dressed up, too) and continually suggests characters I could become. He’s even enlisted the help of his Facebook friends to brainstorm ideas for me of characters I’ve never even heard of.

I feel pressured, though. I’m not nearly as into this idea as him, and I’m already annoyed at how much time (and money) he sinks into it. As it is, we have so many other things that need to get done first that I don’t have time to think about hobbies. And I don’t want to spend all of my free time going to conventions in costumes – I want us to do a lot of different activities as a family. Maybe even see the sunshine once in awhile. I also am a little more shy and don’t necessarily like everyone looking at me.

We’ve discussed the issue already, and Aaron concedes he’s been a little obsessed and needs to cut back on his hobby. It can’t take up all of his spare time, and beyond hobbies there are still a lot more responsibilities we need to devote more time to as well. He’s agreed to cut back and try to give more focus to the home and other family activities.

But he’d still like me to join him when he does dress up. I don’t know what to do at this point. My irrational mind worries that if I don’t meet him halfway and participate that he’ll continue down that path without me and eventually we’ll be two people with drastically different interests who have nothing in common. (Can I follow an idea to the dramatic, extreme end or what?)

I’m not against the idea…I’m just not excited about it, probably because I already resent how much time and energy this hobby has absorbed. I’m not going to ask him to stop entirely, either – that’s just silly, and I do support the charity work he wants to do with it. There just needs to be balance. And boundaries.

I don’t know if participating only to support my husband and his interests would possibly lead to having a lot of fun in the process, or if my lack of passion would only make me resent it?

They don’t cover these kinds of issues in the imaginary marriage handbook. If your spouse has a hobby he’s passionate about and wants you to get involved so you can share it together, do you go along with it even if you’re not as interested? What do you think?



Perception vs Reality

(Note: this post includes photos of me in a sports bra.  Just giving fair warning.)

Last week, while at dinner with extended family, one family member who hadn’t seen me in awhile remarked on how good I looked. Well, specifically she said, “Are you still trying to lose weight? You need to stop that, you don’t need to lose any more weight.” (Jewish grandmothers for the win.)

At first I convinced myself that she was just trying to be nice, but I also know her well enough to understand that she rarely hides what she’s really thinking. Beyond the Jewish grandmother desire to make sure kids and grandkids (and in my case, the wife of a step-grandson) are eating well, she really thought I looked good and didn’t need to lose any more weight.

Of course, I immediately wrote off her comments in my head and told myself, it’s just the outfit making me look slimmer, ’cause there’s NO WAY I look like someone who doesn’t need to lose weight. I’m still overweight, I’m still huge!

And then the logical part of my brain gave me a swift kick and said I needed a perception check.

It’s no wonder that some people who lose a large amount of weight have trouble with body image. I was obese for so long that when I look in the mirror I still see myself at my largest. I occasionally notice some positive changes, but much of the time I still see myself as large.

Before I started actively trying to lose weight, I looked like this:

Not sure of the weight, but it wasn’t my highest. Few photos exist of my highest weight.

This was me when I started blogging about my weight loss efforts:

I was 212 lbs here.

And this was me this weekend:

This is 163 lbs.

Yes, obviously there are some differences, but when I look at the two photos I don’t see much of a difference. I stare at the new photo and have trouble looking beyond the continuation of flaws. Some parts may be smaller, but they’re still large.

Losing weight is hard enough, but the mental game that goes with it makes it even more difficult. I don’t want to think of myself as fat. I’d rather be proud of all I’ve accomplished. But instead the little voice in my head looks at photos and whispers So much for all that work – you don’t look any different. Your belly still hangs over your waistband, your thighs still rub together, your hips are huge. Why keep going through all that pain?

I hate that little voice. I hate how it tears me down and makes me doubt everything. It strips me of any self-esteem. I wear a medium shirt size now, and still find myself baffled every time I put one on. Why is this fitting me? Are they vanity sizing shirts now? I can’t even believe that this body could possibly wear a medium, when I’m sure I’m still an XL.

I’m five pounds from the goal I set for myself years ago, and now I’m already doubting that it will be enough. How much more will I need to lose to feel fit and healthy? Will I set a new goal and then continue to feel fat if I reach that new goal? I worry that I may never be happy with my weight, but have no idea how to find that happiness.

This post is full of questions with few answers. I know it’s my own mind blocking me from seeing the changes to myself, but I don’t know how to change that. There are diets and exercises to change the body, but now I need to find the right program to change the mind. Otherwise any transformation I make will never be complete, because while I may eventually be seen as fit by those looking from the outside, I will still be fat when looking from the inside.

I never intended this post to be such a downer. It’s a shame that so often we condition ourselves to see only the fat, the wrinkles, the imperfections in ourselves. Photoshop and the worship of the impossibly “perfect” (and too-thin) body probably doesn’t help with this. The media promotes the impossible body, and we are constantly bombarded with the message that the polished, re-touched images we see are what we should strive to be, while advertisers also encourage us to eat high-calorie junk food with abandon.

There are women out there doing fantastic work in the area of body acceptance, and I probably should be paying more attention to them. This isn’t how I feel all the time – just some of the time. I considered not posting this at all, but I also want to be completely honest. Not discussing the mental battle would give only a partial image of what it’s like to lose weight, and I know I’m not the only one who has looked in the mirror and felt like I’ve accomplished so little.

So yeah, here I am. I feel fat. And I know I shouldn’t.

My brain needs new glasses, because the current ones are out of focus.



Nothing Says Vacation Like Hard Labor

The end of spring break is in sight, but oh it’s been a rough week. While we did get out of the house one day, I couldn’t sacrifice more of my work schedule for further outings. Besides, my odds for losing a child had already proven to be high, so I didn’t want to risk it again.

So by Wednesday at exactly 8:32am, the rounds of “I’m bored!” started, along with constant chatter directed at me while I was trying to focus on the computer. I offered them snacks, games, and whatever movies we owned or Netflix had online that they wanted to watch if they would just let me have a little time without needing me. And they took me up on all of them, and then still continued to express their boredom.

By 10am, I was desperate. So (with suggestions from others) I invented a new game: clean the house! Some families go to a beach for spring break; we do hard labor.

Amazingly, the kids seemed excited by it.

Both Cordy and Mira have chores they’re expected to do, but the tasks are limited. Turn off your bedroom lights, put your clothing away, clear your dishes off the table, let the dog out, etc. But neither have really participated in routine cleaning around the house.

I wrote up a quick list of what they could do with limited supervision from me. It was a surprisingly short list. Ah well, even 30 minutes would be a help for me.

And then? I put them to work.

They scrubbed the lower kitchen cabinets:

They took out the recycling. Mira dusted around the TV. They picked up toys and books in their rooms. I even showed Cordy how to mop:

Excuse the blurry photo and messy kitchen.

Surprisingly, the best time-waster chore was asking Mira to take the laundry out of the dryer and put it on my bed. She took one or two items out at a time, so she had to make a lot of trips back and forth. Best. idea. ever.

Cordy did exclaim at one point that she felt like Cinderella, being forced to scrub and mop. She tried to say she felt like a slave, too, but I shut down that direction of thought. For a kid who has very few responsibilities, she has no right to claim we’re treating her like a slave.

Did they do a fantastic job cleaning? Not really. Sure, everything is a little bit cleaner, but the point was to keep them busy and get them interested in helping out more around the house. And I still had to oversee a lot more than I had planned, but hopefully that means I won’t have to oversee as much in the future.

Despite the Cinderella comparisons (which actually just made them sing Cinderella songs while they scrubbed), I think they did enjoy helping out. Mira asked for more to do on Thursday and I had to scramble to think of more chores.

I think I’d still prefer to have a cleaning service if I could ever have it, but I have to admit these two are much cheaper. They work for beans. Jelly beans.



Spring Break Madness

If you’ve noticed how quiet I’ve been this week, I have two words for you: spring break. I used to think that working night shift and sleeping during the day while the kids were home was difficult, but it turns out trying to work from home during the day while they’re home is even harder. Like, near impossible.

Monday was filled with “I’m bored” as I silently cursed that school has to give them a full week off at a time. As I tried to get work done, I reached new lows in bribing the kids to entertain themselves. They were given full control of the TV, they were allowed extra computer time, and I nearly gave in to every food demand just to buy some peace and quiet.

Yesterday I cried uncle, put in a few intense hours of work that morning, and then ordered the girls into the car to meet up with friends in Dayton. Our friends were on spring break, too, so we met halfway and went to the Boonshoft Museum of Discovery. Cordy and Mira have been once before, but this was my first time. It’s a very cool children’s museum that focuses on science and nature, with a lot of fun thrown in, too.

My one complaint with the museum is that it is two floors with a very open floor plan, meaning kids can easily run from one area to another, but with plenty of walls and nooks to lose sight of your children in an instant. If you’re a parent who has to always have your child in view, I’d highly recommend taking any anxiety meds before you go.

There’s also a playground area with a climbing net that goes from first to second floors, and a giant twisty slide that goes back down to the first floor.

 The net – I saw some brave parents trying to climb this thing, too.

The stairs are nearby, which means when you see your child climb to the second floor, then lose sight of them, you climb the stairs to find them only to get to the top, look everywhere, and then peer over the rail to see them back downstairs. By the time you get down the stairs – they’re up again. No amount of waiting for them to return to one level will make it happen, but a trip up or down the stairs will magically change their position to the other floor. It’s exercise for the adults.

It only took five minutes after arrival for me to lose one of my kids. We met with friends, Mira had to use the bathroom, so I left Cordy with our friends at the exhibit right inside the door, telling her to stay with them and I’d be right back. When I came back, I quickly found my friend and her kids, but couldn’t find Cordy. The exhibit only had one way in or out, and she was nowhere to be found.

There was a Staff Only door at the other end of the exhibit and for a moment I worried Cordy had decided to ignore the sign. But just then a voice came over the intercom, “Would Christina please come meet Cordy at the Admissions desk?” I looked at everyone in the exhibit, sighed, “That would be for me.” and went out to the desk. Not 20 feet away from where I was, on the other side of a wall, was Cordy, smiling and waving at me.

“I thought you were gone forever so I asked for help!” she said. I thanked the museum staff and gathered my child, completely embarrassed.

The remainder of the day was less exciting. My two kids made sure to never play together to keep me on my toes, constantly checking to make sure no one had wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. Cordy mostly played by herself, while Mira made friends with every other kid and developed elaborate games with them.

Heeey, itza me, Cordy the plumber!
Mira as judge. The scariest photo you may ever witness.

At the end of the day we had one final moment of drama. I was in the little-kids area chatting with my friends, and thanks to a wall hiding me from the main view, Cordy couldn’t find me again. It was nearly time to go home, so I went looking for her and found her near tears in the playground area. She hugged me and cried, “I couldn’t find you anywhere! I thought you’d left me!I was trying to find my way back to the front to ask for help again.” Apparently she’s really convinced I’m trying to get rid of her.

Note to self: keep an eye on this kid everywhere you go, or you will always be that parent being announced over the intercom.

(Mira, of course, hadn’t seen me in over half an hour and had no concerns whatsoever. I could have left her there until the end of the day and come back to find her still playing and complaining that I was interrupting time with her new friends.)

Overall it was a lot of fun, and succeeded in tiring them out enough for me to get some work done when we got back home. Although I was pretty tired, too.

Unfortunately, I can’t do that every day this week, so today we’re back to creative endeavors at home. Maybe I’ll teach them to clean the house today?

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