I've had a really crummy day.
I did (or rather didn't do) something shitty this morning and I can't stop thinking about it.
It reminds me of one of Melanie's recent posts over at Adventures of the Reluctant Housewife, which you can read here. And by the way, follow her!
I was on my way to drop the girls off at school. We were approximately 3-4 blocks away when I spied a young woman sitting alone on the sidewalk across from the hospital (the girls' school is affiliated with the hospital where Hubby works, and is basically around the corner from it). I thought it was interesting that she was sitting, but as I got closer I realized she was crying. Meanwhile, a construction worker was walking towards her (there is construction going on at the hospital). I could see he was facing the same dilemma as I: to stop and try to help her, or not? My windows were open and I could hear her pleading, "Please help me,"and something about her boyfriend leaving her there without her inhaler. She was crying and gasping/gagging and she wailed, "Please help me, I can't breathe!" The man in the car directly in front of me pulled over, too.
I was conflicted because my kids were in the car with me. My gut was telling me this was a normal woman in an unfortunate predicament and she just needed some help. On the other hand, I didn't know her, she could have been mentally unstable or something, and my kids were in the car and I was reluctant to potentially traumatize them.
Melanie's story differs from this in that she was confronted with a child in trouble, and I wouldn't have worried about stepping in there. But this was a grown woman.
In the end, I kept driving. I dropped the girls off at school. On my way back, there was an ambulance parked in the spot where the woman had been.
My heart sank. I felt horribly. I should have stopped. I should have shown some compassion and human decency; after all, the hospital was right there and obviously they came to her aid quickly. Thank goodness those nice men stopped and called 911.
I kept thinking: if it had been me on the side of the road in some kind of trouble, wouldn't I want someone to help me? Clearly the answer is yes.
To the young woman in trouble on 43rd Street this morning: I am truly very sorry. I should have stopped to help you, but I was scared. I hope you're alright and that they were able to help you at the hospital.
What would you have done?
Showing posts with label vent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vent. Show all posts
Monday, October 19, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
To Jazzercise or not to Jazzercise? That is the question.
So I've fallen off the Jazzercise wagon lately, what with my handicapped husband, family in town last week, and the Alzheimer's Memory Walk (which I brilliantly decided to run and then suffered several days of soreness afterwards). I reluctantly got back to it this week, but since so many of you are unfamiliar with the ritual, I thought I should take a few minutes to describe it to you.
DISCLAIMER: This is NOT how Jazzercise patrons dress. I must emphasize that the stereotypical image of Olivia Newton John in her "Let's Get Physical" video is not how we roll (I usually sport a tank top and capri pants). So please permanently remove this mental picture from your brains:
It all begins with the yawns. I'm too tired to go. I don't really want to go. Can I think of a good reason (or two) to skip out? Will one of the Anorexic Girls be there today (while I know they are struggling with their demons and they are not healthy, I always feel like they must look at me and think, "Now there's a FATTY!")? And then I have to consider who's teaching...because if it's Miss Red Head With Perfect Piggy Tails I'm A Size Zero, then I can't go. If it's Miss I'm Gonna Give You All A Pep Talk For The Next Hour with, "C'mon, you can do it!" or "Don't you want to work off all the nachos & fries you inhaled over the weekend?" who smiles the entire time, rockets all over the stage like my girls' bouncy balls, all the while maintaining her precious, perfect little hairdo---then I don't wanna go.
There are at least four main types of women at Jazzercise: the obsessive Anorexic Girls who probably go to class 2x/day, 7 days/week; the super-fit & muscled-not-an-ounce-of-fat-on-me girls; the real/average American girls, and the heavier girls. While I definitely appreciate the variety of body shapes & sizes, I don't appreciate the supersized posters of Judy Jazzercise all over the walls. Her eyes follow me while I work out, kinda like the Mona Lisa. Which is not a good thing when I'm huffing and puffing and sweating buckets. I have to wonder: does Judy Jazzercise even eat? Look at her. She's also much too happy. Is anyone truly happy while working out? I'm only happy when I'm done.
I usually opt for a potty break when I hear that seven-minute-long Jazon Mraz song come on. Because that's a good way to shave a few minutes off the really rough ab workout. As I lay the toilet paper out prettily over the toilet seat, I admire myself in the mirror--I love the way my workout pants accent my muffin top. And my calves are so white everyone has to wear shades. While I'm in the bathroom I notice that someone has left quite a mess at the sink. So I take an extra minute to wipe that up, and then I put a new roll of paper towels on the rack. Voila! I've wasted enough time that once I come back out, it's silly to start when the crunches are nearly over!
As a general rule, I always stand in the back row. Then there are significantly fewer opportunities for people to be faced by my fanny. I can also do my daily comparisons and belittle myself, admire others' super cute workout gear, and ogle the perfect girls. It's also a safe way to ensure that I do each routine correctly; it's far easier to watch the people directly in front of me & imitate them rather than to squint at the instructor way up in front. This isn't foolproof, however. I routinely go left when I should be going right, bang into my neighbor and shout "Sorry!" over the pulsing music. Or I'm doing a plié when everyone else is doing a jete. But I'm in the back row, so it's not glaringly obvious. Except to the instructor in the front of the room.
My favorite instructor is Sally. Sally happens to be a real/average American girl like myself. She isn't a pep talk person and she knows how to make the workout more fun. She'll talk about all the crap she ate over the weekend, all the beer she drank, and rant about her husband's latest antics (including a recent debacle with a homemade aquarium that leaked everywhere). She is real. She is not tiny. She sweats buckets like me. She gets tired during the workout like me. I appreciate that sort of thing because it makes me feel more normal. And because she helps me feel that way, I'm more inclined to go, and to seek out the classes she's teaching.
What do you like to do for exercise & how often do you do it? How do you stay motivated & realistic with your goals?
DISCLAIMER: This is NOT how Jazzercise patrons dress. I must emphasize that the stereotypical image of Olivia Newton John in her "Let's Get Physical" video is not how we roll (I usually sport a tank top and capri pants). So please permanently remove this mental picture from your brains:
It all begins with the yawns. I'm too tired to go. I don't really want to go. Can I think of a good reason (or two) to skip out? Will one of the Anorexic Girls be there today (while I know they are struggling with their demons and they are not healthy, I always feel like they must look at me and think, "Now there's a FATTY!")? And then I have to consider who's teaching...because if it's Miss Red Head With Perfect Piggy Tails I'm A Size Zero, then I can't go. If it's Miss I'm Gonna Give You All A Pep Talk For The Next Hour with, "C'mon, you can do it!" or "Don't you want to work off all the nachos & fries you inhaled over the weekend?" who smiles the entire time, rockets all over the stage like my girls' bouncy balls, all the while maintaining her precious, perfect little hairdo---then I don't wanna go.
There are at least four main types of women at Jazzercise: the obsessive Anorexic Girls who probably go to class 2x/day, 7 days/week; the super-fit & muscled-not-an-ounce-of-fat-on-me girls; the real/average American girls, and the heavier girls. While I definitely appreciate the variety of body shapes & sizes, I don't appreciate the supersized posters of Judy Jazzercise all over the walls. Her eyes follow me while I work out, kinda like the Mona Lisa. Which is not a good thing when I'm huffing and puffing and sweating buckets. I have to wonder: does Judy Jazzercise even eat? Look at her. She's also much too happy. Is anyone truly happy while working out? I'm only happy when I'm done.
I usually opt for a potty break when I hear that seven-minute-long Jazon Mraz song come on. Because that's a good way to shave a few minutes off the really rough ab workout. As I lay the toilet paper out prettily over the toilet seat, I admire myself in the mirror--I love the way my workout pants accent my muffin top. And my calves are so white everyone has to wear shades. While I'm in the bathroom I notice that someone has left quite a mess at the sink. So I take an extra minute to wipe that up, and then I put a new roll of paper towels on the rack. Voila! I've wasted enough time that once I come back out, it's silly to start when the crunches are nearly over!
As a general rule, I always stand in the back row. Then there are significantly fewer opportunities for people to be faced by my fanny. I can also do my daily comparisons and belittle myself, admire others' super cute workout gear, and ogle the perfect girls. It's also a safe way to ensure that I do each routine correctly; it's far easier to watch the people directly in front of me & imitate them rather than to squint at the instructor way up in front. This isn't foolproof, however. I routinely go left when I should be going right, bang into my neighbor and shout "Sorry!" over the pulsing music. Or I'm doing a plié when everyone else is doing a jete. But I'm in the back row, so it's not glaringly obvious. Except to the instructor in the front of the room.
My favorite instructor is Sally. Sally happens to be a real/average American girl like myself. She isn't a pep talk person and she knows how to make the workout more fun. She'll talk about all the crap she ate over the weekend, all the beer she drank, and rant about her husband's latest antics (including a recent debacle with a homemade aquarium that leaked everywhere). She is real. She is not tiny. She sweats buckets like me. She gets tired during the workout like me. I appreciate that sort of thing because it makes me feel more normal. And because she helps me feel that way, I'm more inclined to go, and to seek out the classes she's teaching.
What do you like to do for exercise & how often do you do it? How do you stay motivated & realistic with your goals?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Outraged over this Filippa Hamilton shiggedy--size 4 is fat?
I read this article on model Filippa Hamilton today and immediately flew into a frenzy. Hamilton is 5' 10" and weighs in at a mere 120 pounds (she's a size 4), certainly waif-like by modern standards. She's been fired for being too fat and Ralph Lauren went so far as to alter her appearance in ads---making her head out to be the largest part of her:
It sickens me that women are held up to such impossibly high standards. Why is an anorexic body considered ideal and desirable? More importantly, when was the last time you heard of a male model being airbrushed? And what was Ralph Lauren thinking by tinkering with the photo to this extreme? I think she looks sick and emaciated. It saddens me because these are the ads our young girls see as they flip through the pages of their magazines. They learn that this is the way they are supposed to look.
It's no wonder girls are growing up with Anorexia and Bulimia. It's no wonder that fourth graders are counting calories. It's no surprise that they look in the mirror and feel ashamed of their bodies, which are supposed to have curves. REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES!
I should follow my own advice because I never like what I see in the mirror. But I'm trying. I confess I'm probably just as susceptible to what I see in magazines...even though I know it's not reality and it's not healthy.
I am trying to focus on my overall strength, health, and what I put into my body, rather than numbers on the scale. I try to go to Jazzercise four times per week, but that doesn't always happen (like this week). I am reading more labels while I'm doing my grocery shopping, and I'm also making an effort to shop the perimeter of the store, rather than the processed junk in the middle. I'm shunning most things with high fructose corn syrup--I used to think I was a rock star for eating Yoplait yogurt. But guess what? It's loaded with artificial junk (including high fructose corn syrup). Not good for you. Did you also know your whole wheat bread probably has high fructose corn syrup in it? For a few days, I challenge you to read the labels on things you like to eat, things your kids like to eat. It's scary when we realize we can't pronounce half the things going into our mouths. I challenge you to make some changes, however small, so that you're taking better care of yourself and your family. Be realistic. Be kind to yourself.
So, shame on you, Ralph Lauren. You are an asshat. You don't get it, and you're as pompous and pig-headed as they come.
As a nation we need to focus more on our health. Surely it's more important that models be healthy and strong instead of scrawny and starving.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
stress
We got into it this morning.
Apparently I'm not showing enough sympathy.
Also, Hubby suddenly wants to read my blog when he's never shown an interest before. I panicked and removed the URL from my Facebook page (otherwise I'm not sure he knows how to find it). I was going to delete some posts, but I don't really want to. This is me and this is what I'm feeling.
We need to talk it all out. And it's not going to be pretty. He still can't accept responsibility for his actions, and until he does, I'm not sure I can move forward. I don't know.
I think it's ironic that of all the times to want to read my blog (for the first time, mind you), he picks now. When I've been venting and not writing very pretty things about it.
Some of you are saying "I told you so," because you don't post personal things like this on your blogs. But I need an outlet sometimes. I don't divulge horrid secrets here or anything like that. But this had to be discussed. I had to get it off my chest.
We are trying to get a sitter for a little while tonight so we can grab a bite alone and talk about everything. I'm not looking forward to it, but I know it has to be done.
Argh.
Apparently I'm not showing enough sympathy.
Also, Hubby suddenly wants to read my blog when he's never shown an interest before. I panicked and removed the URL from my Facebook page (otherwise I'm not sure he knows how to find it). I was going to delete some posts, but I don't really want to. This is me and this is what I'm feeling.
We need to talk it all out. And it's not going to be pretty. He still can't accept responsibility for his actions, and until he does, I'm not sure I can move forward. I don't know.
I think it's ironic that of all the times to want to read my blog (for the first time, mind you), he picks now. When I've been venting and not writing very pretty things about it.
Some of you are saying "I told you so," because you don't post personal things like this on your blogs. But I need an outlet sometimes. I don't divulge horrid secrets here or anything like that. But this had to be discussed. I had to get it off my chest.
We are trying to get a sitter for a little while tonight so we can grab a bite alone and talk about everything. I'm not looking forward to it, but I know it has to be done.
Argh.
update
I haven't had an awful lot to say, at least anything that is appropriate for sharing with the public. I am having a really rough time saying anything that isn't riddled with a ridiculous amount of profanity, and I definitely don't want to offend any of my new followers (I LOVE YOU!!). On the other hand, this is me, and if you don't like it, then you probably won't like my blog, either!
My husband is unable to do much. He can't help bathe the kids, he can't help them tie their shoes or put their socks on. He can't even put his OWN socks on, much to my chagrin. Thank G-d he can wipe his own tush, because if not we'd be in serious trouble. That is where I draw the line!! He can't serve himself a meal without making a total mess. He can't wash dishes, he can't put his own sling on.
The orthopedist he saw yesterday said at least two full weeks without operating on anyone, but in the interim he's seeing patients in the office for follow ups or to schedule surgeries for later on. Frankly I was incredulous when the doc said two weeks. He has to have repeat x-rays next week and then he'll begin physical therapy. If the bones have shifted any further this could change the prognosis...
I was able to escape for a Girls' Night Out Monday night (it had been on the books for a few weeks, so I wasn't about to cancel), but my mother-in-law had to come over to help him out with the kids while I was gone. I felt a little guilty, but I pushed it aside and went anyway.
My two good friends and I went out for sushi and had some wine. I got a text message from him during dinner that said, "Will you please get me some Milk of Magnesia on your way home?" A silver lining! He's constipated from all the pain meds. Serves him right I say. So I played the good wife and stopped at the grocery store at 9:30 on my way home. I got home and he was upstairs in bed. I started to pour him some of it and he said, "Nah, I don't want to take it tonight. I'll just wait til tomorrow morning."
I was LIVID. I wouldn't have even bothered. Get your own goddamn Milk of Magnesia next time. I had to stand in line and they had to do a price check and everything---I was mortified. And it wasn't even medicine for me. I made sure to complain loudly about my husband while I was waiting. I'm sure everyone thought I was a loon or just plain lying.
My husband is unable to do much. He can't help bathe the kids, he can't help them tie their shoes or put their socks on. He can't even put his OWN socks on, much to my chagrin. Thank G-d he can wipe his own tush, because if not we'd be in serious trouble. That is where I draw the line!! He can't serve himself a meal without making a total mess. He can't wash dishes, he can't put his own sling on.
The orthopedist he saw yesterday said at least two full weeks without operating on anyone, but in the interim he's seeing patients in the office for follow ups or to schedule surgeries for later on. Frankly I was incredulous when the doc said two weeks. He has to have repeat x-rays next week and then he'll begin physical therapy. If the bones have shifted any further this could change the prognosis...
I was able to escape for a Girls' Night Out Monday night (it had been on the books for a few weeks, so I wasn't about to cancel), but my mother-in-law had to come over to help him out with the kids while I was gone. I felt a little guilty, but I pushed it aside and went anyway.
My two good friends and I went out for sushi and had some wine. I got a text message from him during dinner that said, "Will you please get me some Milk of Magnesia on your way home?" A silver lining! He's constipated from all the pain meds. Serves him right I say. So I played the good wife and stopped at the grocery store at 9:30 on my way home. I got home and he was upstairs in bed. I started to pour him some of it and he said, "Nah, I don't want to take it tonight. I'll just wait til tomorrow morning."
I was LIVID. I wouldn't have even bothered. Get your own goddamn Milk of Magnesia next time. I had to stand in line and they had to do a price check and everything---I was mortified. And it wasn't even medicine for me. I made sure to complain loudly about my husband while I was waiting. I'm sure everyone thought I was a loon or just plain lying.
Monday, September 1, 2008
confession
i have a bad mommy confession to make. i feel awful. i know i can't un-do it. i've been really anxious/stressed out about Hurricane Gustav. not that that is an excuse for what I did, but maybe it puts my mood into perspective.
i took the girls to the grocery store this morning (right after water started coming over the tops of the levees in new orleans), and they wouldn't ride in the cart. not a regular cart, and not a car/fire truck/police car inspired cart (these days even when we do get one of those kiddie carts, they rarely stay in it long). i told them they had to stick with mommy if they wanted a treat. well, that lasted for about 5 minutes, and then they were off and running. all over the store. it started when i was at the meat counter waiting for my ground turkey. they took off. it's monkey see-monkey do all the time with the girls. endlessly frustrating. again, not an excuse.
so i chase them down TWICE, and TWICE warn them that if it happens again and they refuse to stick with mommy, they're going to get a spanking. no one likes to spank their kids. and part of my problem is that i am constantly threatening, and often without any follow through, so they think they can do whatever they like most of the time. well, today i proved them wrong. i have only spanked in public one or two other times, and it wasn't the same as today, and i don't think it was both of them at once, either.
i was furious with them. i spanked them each and izzy promptly plopped down on the floor in the middle of the aisle and started wailing as a result. i guess when she sat down (or when i spanked her), she bit her lip, and it started bleeding. so here i am with two crying kids in the middle of the grocery store (and it wasn't a big/long shopping trip, either----i needed maybe 6 or 7 things and we were gone less than 30 minutes), one with a bleeding lip, and i'm sure people wanted to call child protection services on me. i was just at my wit's end. that's no excuse, either, but sometimes i think i need to quit taking them to the grocery/target/etc. because i cannot control them. once the manager almost had to shut down target because abby ran off and was hiding and wouldn't respond when i was calling her name up and down each aisle. she thought it was really funny. i, however, was not laughing.
i need a solution. i need to be able to go to the store like a normal person and not have to go running around after my kids. i need to calm down and not get so bent out of shape and take things out on them----although, in my defense, even in retrospect, they deserved it today and were being completely wicked. the terrible twos are getting me down. i really don't feel like i have the upper hand here, and i should. i'm the mommy. but it's two against one most of the time. my fear is, if i leave them to their own devices, especially in the grocery store, there will be broken jars of spaghetti sauce and packages of M & M's torn open all over the floor.
i am sorry for being such a shitty mom.
i took the girls to the grocery store this morning (right after water started coming over the tops of the levees in new orleans), and they wouldn't ride in the cart. not a regular cart, and not a car/fire truck/police car inspired cart (these days even when we do get one of those kiddie carts, they rarely stay in it long). i told them they had to stick with mommy if they wanted a treat. well, that lasted for about 5 minutes, and then they were off and running. all over the store. it started when i was at the meat counter waiting for my ground turkey. they took off. it's monkey see-monkey do all the time with the girls. endlessly frustrating. again, not an excuse.
so i chase them down TWICE, and TWICE warn them that if it happens again and they refuse to stick with mommy, they're going to get a spanking. no one likes to spank their kids. and part of my problem is that i am constantly threatening, and often without any follow through, so they think they can do whatever they like most of the time. well, today i proved them wrong. i have only spanked in public one or two other times, and it wasn't the same as today, and i don't think it was both of them at once, either.
i was furious with them. i spanked them each and izzy promptly plopped down on the floor in the middle of the aisle and started wailing as a result. i guess when she sat down (or when i spanked her), she bit her lip, and it started bleeding. so here i am with two crying kids in the middle of the grocery store (and it wasn't a big/long shopping trip, either----i needed maybe 6 or 7 things and we were gone less than 30 minutes), one with a bleeding lip, and i'm sure people wanted to call child protection services on me. i was just at my wit's end. that's no excuse, either, but sometimes i think i need to quit taking them to the grocery/target/etc. because i cannot control them. once the manager almost had to shut down target because abby ran off and was hiding and wouldn't respond when i was calling her name up and down each aisle. she thought it was really funny. i, however, was not laughing.
i need a solution. i need to be able to go to the store like a normal person and not have to go running around after my kids. i need to calm down and not get so bent out of shape and take things out on them----although, in my defense, even in retrospect, they deserved it today and were being completely wicked. the terrible twos are getting me down. i really don't feel like i have the upper hand here, and i should. i'm the mommy. but it's two against one most of the time. my fear is, if i leave them to their own devices, especially in the grocery store, there will be broken jars of spaghetti sauce and packages of M & M's torn open all over the floor.
i am sorry for being such a shitty mom.
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