Riding Shotgun with the Devil

I joined the Biggest Loser competition at my school a few weeks ago, and the plan is to lose 20 pounds even if I don't win the big ole' pot-o-money.

My goal is to get down to the size I was when Zack and I first began dating- the pre-baby weight I should be for someone my height. That magic number is 125.

Now, I know that this number and my current weight (which you have probably calculated) is something that wouldn't concern a lot of people, but my growing "out" is a potential problem.

The way the Biggest Loser game works is that we do the best we can with eating right and working out to lose weight, and then we weigh in with the school nurse every first day of the week.

I had been consistently losing the weight (a whopping 2 pounds), but this Monday, my had work had been derailed due to me backsliding. I ate all kids of crap over the weekend... cake, Moe's, hamburgers, hot wings... all kinds of garbage (but yummy garbage).

Well, after weighing in and finding out that I'd gained my 2 pounds back and while walking back to my classroom, I bumped into a co-worker. She stopped me and said that she'd been looking for me. I instantly know why...

She had been trying to give me the Girl Scout cookies I'd ordered almost two months earlier.

I had ordered a diabetic coma...

Five... FIVE.... boxes of cookies.

I smiled and wrote a check for the cookies and thought about how I'd manage to eat them all without gaining a pound... I'd give them all to Zack and maybe take a few for myself.

This all happened on the day that I had to drive to Smyrna for class which is supposed to let out at 10pm. Well, on the way to class, I get stuck in traffic behind a six car pile-up that derails my plans to get a healthy dinner at Subway.

While sitting in the traffic, I hear my name being called.

"Steph!!!"

I turned up the volume on my ipod.

"Hey! Steph!!! I know you hear me!"

I cut my eyes to the passenger seat.

"Steph, I just wanted you to know that I'm here if you're hungry."

Those darned Samoas were talking to me- trying to work themselves into my renewed (since right before I wrote the check for them) diet.

They kept right on yelling in my ear, and it only took the cookies calling my name once more for me to rip open the box, tear through the plastic wrapping, pull out two cookies, and stuff them in my mouth.

I was instantly satisfied by those 150 empty calories. I actually salivate just thinking about them right now.

I'm going to hide them deep... really deep in the back of the freezer. They'll be a treat when I find them in the summer time!

Watch What You Eat (in)

I'll tell you what sucks... The job blocking the blog webpages so I can't blog from work. I had really gotten into a grove by getting my blogging done right before the kids came to class. It helped me clear my mind and calm down before my day. I have now filled those 15 minted of planning time with absolutely nothing- or maybe running to the copier to make last minute prints. But anywho...

Since my last post, Zack has found out about BPA. The acronym stands for some super long scientific name for harmful chemicals found in plastic ware. We always knew that those little plastic containers that hold our leftovers were bad for us, but The Doctors confirmed that knowledge for us last week.

The informed us that not only does BPA contribute to some cancers, it also increases sterility or kills eggs or something like that. Zack demanded that we no longer use our plastic bowls in the microwave. So... I had to go to the store to purchase glass storage containers for our food.

On Saturday, I went through of cabinet of a million plastic bowls and tops to throw away the extremely useless ones... You know, the ones with spaghetti sauce stains that you are embassased to pull out and let other people see. I also stacked my mom's Tupperware in a neat pile so that I can return them to her (or not because i'm sure I'll forget).

Silly things is that I already had corningware and pyrex from the wedding, and I only use it when we have company. The corningware is especially for special occasions because I don't want to get the pieces dingy. I'll just use the Pyrex for regular leftovers.

How lame must I be to blog about kitchen stuff? I'm blogging about freaking Pyrex! Who would've ever thought?!

Bad Dreams

The other night I had the craziest dream... well, it wasn't any crazier than all the other dreams I have, but it was one of those that stood out. I usually have vivid dreams and/or nightmares, and I always remember them. I think it might be genetic because my mother also has cinema type dreams. It was a regular thing in my home growing up that we'd wake up and tell stories of what we dreamt that night.

Well, Friday night I dreamed that I went to the doctor after trying for so long to get pregnant. The doctor ran tests and told me that the fluid in my ovaries was nonexistant and that my eggs were deteriating because of it. I remembered being like, "What the heck are you talking about 'fluid in my ovaries'"?!?!?

The doctor was adamant that I would never be able to conceive because my eggs had shriveled up and were rotting. Graphic, hunh?

In the dream, I drove home to tell Zack and his response was one of optimism.

"Steph, don't worry what that doctor says. God can make anything happen! There were women in the Bible having children when they were elderly."

I met his response with anger. "OBVIOUSLY you didn't hear what I just said! Doctors take tests. Those tests yield results. And the results suggest that my eggs are dead! I can't have children!!!"

I can't remember much of the dream after that. I'm sure it just transitioned into something totally random like me vacuuming a hardwood floor or sitting on top of a power line.

It was definitely one of those dream moments like in "Devil's Advocate" where Charlize Theron dreams that the baby is playing with her uterus and ovaries in the spare bedroom. She believes that the devil has taken her reproductive organs and that should wouldn't be able to conceive. She wakes up screaming and tells her husband who says that nothing was wrong and that he was sure her ovaries and uterus were fine.

Ever since I had this dream, I've been googling "ovaries" to see if there is actually some sort of fluid in them that protects the eggs... no luck yet, so I'll assume that a dream is just a dream.

I'm planning to set up a doctor's appointment for this month just for general purpose.

And I also plan on getting my eyes checked because I can't see squat!!!!

Rumbly in my Tumbly

*My parents house in 2006; Bathroom; Early morning.*

Me: (in the bathroom, yelling) Daddy! Come here!
Daddy: (in his room) What is it?
Me: Daddy! Come here now! There's something in the vent!
Daddy: Wait a minute. Here I come. (Sloshes in his houseshoes to the bathroom)
Me: (Ear to vent) Do you hear that?!
Daddy: (trying to wake up) I don't hear nothing!
Me: Lean closer to the vent! I think its a frog!!! You can't hear that?!?!
Daddy: (leaning closer to vent) Well... (obviously hearing something)
Me: See! You heard it!
Daddy: Yeah... but its not coming from the vent. (standing straight and looks at me)
Me: It is!!!
Daddy: No. Its coming from your stomach. (smirks and sloshes back out the bathroom)
Me: Wha...??? (listening)
(background: Daddy talking junk about me to mama)

My stomach is the LOUDEST mofo around. It literally screamed out in the middle of a Chemistry test (with 100 students) when I was a sophmore in college. When everyone looked around at me, I asked the girl sitting two seats away if she'd heard it. She started laughing. I wrote my name on my test, walked down the stairs of the lecture hall, turned in my test, and went back to my dorm room. Shortly after that, I dropped the the class and my major and never became a pediatrician... but thats another story.

I can't even say its because I'm hungry because I can be a number of reasons why my stomach speaks. It can be hungry; It can be full.

It can be the dairy, the iceberg lettuce, the red tomato sauce, the ground turkey, or anything in between.

It speaks now... What does it say???

"gabbeubuelnebbles!!!!!"

I think my stomach chants! or maybe not.

I wonder how my stomach will react when there's a baby chilling a few doors down in Mrs. Uterus. Will it calm down? or will it be jealous and act up?

Beginning of a Season

I'm a teacher. Everyone knows that, but not everyone knows I'm an exceptional education teacher (read: special ed).

We just had the meeting that begins what can be considered the world series of special education... IEP season!

Its fun and stressful and all the things in between. Last year was my first IEP season, and I met it with all the fervor in my being! Being sure to know what my students needed in order to be successful the following year.

I began the paperwork early and set an example for my other co-workers in grabbing the bull by the horns (well, not really... but I tend to be my own cheerleader).

Then... I stalled slightly but got right back on track. My supervisor, SK, sent my emailed drafts back with red ink - and lots of it. I was taken aback but dug right into the corrections making sure to learn from my mistakes. I felt great! I was getting the hang of it!

A few days later during my lunch break, I walked into SK's office, handed her my documents, sat down, and began sobbing hysterically (hyperventilating and all!). She looked at me and asked the others to close the door. I cried... and cried then said, "I don't know how to do this!"

She took the papers and asked to know what I needed help with. I hung my head and answered her with a shake of my head and more wild tears. I stayed there and cried for 30 minutes reverting to a 2 year, and I was only consoled by breathing deeply into SK's menthol scented Kleenex.

This year... I plan on buying my own box of menthol Kleenex and getting started even earlier with my drafts. I was a rookie last year, but this year, I'm a second year veteran. Bring it on!

Please

I was at the grocery store the other day when I heard a mother trying to get her young (I'm talking 3 or 4) daughter to stop messing with old coffee beans left over near the coffee grinder. The little girl just so happens to find a little neon colored ball (tempting to a four year old, I'm sure) in the coffee grinds and machine and begins to play with it in the isle... All the while, the mother is telling her to "stop" and "put it down".

Then she says something that I NEVER heard my mom say to me when giving directions...

This mother walks over to her cute little girl, reaches for the ball, and says (please brace yourself for this)...

She says, "Please"!!!!!!

A mother... talking to her kid... uses "please"... in giving directions... (wait...) ... ORDERS!!!!!

And guess what happens. That little girl kept right on playing with that ball covered in ground coffee.

I literally wanted to stop in my tracks (from picking up yet another box of cinnamon graham crackers) and ask the mother what she'd just said, but I didn't.

I continued to pick up two boxes for my graham cracker fix and walk away in amazement.

My mother, as sweet (and I mean sweet) as she is, never ever ever begged me to do anything. It was "Nikki, do this" or " Nikki, don't do that", and I did this or didn't do that... immediately.

Why???

Because I knew I only had one additional warning, which was simply a cutting of her eyes at me, before some sort of corporal punishment was handed down (pun intended).

For example, my parents have an audio recording of me around the age of 3 walking around the house messing with my dad's record/tape player. At one point, you hear me messing with it, and my mother calls my name and tells me to leave it alone because daddy wouldn't be happy if I messed something up. I mumble some kiddie gibberish and continue mashing buttons. Shortly afterwards, you can hear her spank my hand and say "Stop" then I cry... you don't hear me touch that tape player anymore throughout the next hour of the recording... however, you do hear me adamantly say that "I don't wanna sammich; I want cake!"... but thats another story.

If that little girl had been mine, I guarantee that "please" wouldn't have been an option.. because I don't bargain with children.