In Which I Pretend To Be One Of Those Good At Picture Posts Bloggers

(Look, I even centered the text.)

(I KNOW. It's like I don't even know who I am anymore.)

On Saturday, after three soccer games in two hours...

...we decided to bag the housework...

...and head over to Ye Olden Medieval Times Parke...

Otherwise known as the Pleasant Grove Discovery Park

...where we overbundled our protesting baby...

...slid down a few poles...

...and made beautiful music together.

Not yet ready to call it a day, because LOOK:

...we headed over to Highland Glen park, where we did NOT fish (this time)...

...but threw rocks in the river...

...and danced down a trail...

On Sunday we drove down to the Spanish Fork River Park...

...but the park gates were still locked, and we couldn't get in.

Bummer.

We ended up at the Canyon View park in Provo Canyon, where we stopped for a picnic...

...and then went for a walk...

...and climbed up and down a mountain...

(at a Sunday approved pace, of course)

...and, as ever, posed for pictures.

It was a busy weekend, and by the time we got home we were tired

and I will admit to doing a little of this:

and a little of this:

It was a perfect antidote

for our buckets 'o stress

and now, knee-deep in lots of things I would prefer not to be knee-deep in
if I had the choice
(which, it appears, I do NOT)

I keep wishing it was Saturday all over again.

How was your weekend?

PS: The winner of the ring giveaway was Andrea. Congrats! Thanks to Codi and her husband for the fun ring giveaway.


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Did They Like It? Wild West Veteran's Memorial Park, West Jordan, Utah

(I'm going to start occasionally posting about fun, free stuff I do with my kids here in Utah. If you've posted on your blog about fun things to do locally, PLEASE feel free to leave a link in the comments. I'm always on the look-out for fun stuff to do and it's almost impossible to find useful info via google. My apologies to those who aren't local.)

I took Jake and Josh to this park last week, when I was temporarily unemployed and reveling in full-time mommydom. (Fortunately - or maybe UNfortunately - that lasted for about two days.)

I love this park. LOVE IT.

The park itself is enormous (99 acres), but we didn't explore it - we just concentrated on the kids area.

This park has fun wild west structures, equipment in GOOD WORKING CONDITION (EUREKA), and it's clean with lots of different places to play and structures to play on - including a castle/jailhouse, a sand-pit area with "diggers," plenty of swings and tons of places for hide and seek. (If you're in Utah county, the Cedar Hills Discovery park on Canyon Road is very similar.)

My only complaints?  The bathrooms are conveniently located next to the play area, but unfortunately the bathrooms are LOCKED. They've been locked each time we visit and each time I am flabbergasted.  (Apparently I have a short memory.)  I was complaining about this on Twitter and a few people reminded me that it's kind of early in the season and the bathrooms will probably be open soon.  (Let us pray.)

Also, the curb by the park was about two feet tall.  Seriously.  It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen. While I was there I saw two different kids plunge over the edge of the curb into the parking lot and come up bloody and sobbing. So that was kind of bizarre.  And fun with a stroller.  (I'm sure there was a ramp somewhere nearby, I just didn't see it and wasn't feeling industrious enough to go looking for it.)

Still, those are minor issues and the park is pretty amazing. It's a fun place for pretending, it's free, and my kids are always sad when it's time to leave.  I give it an 8 out of 10.

Address:
Veterans Memorial Park
1985 W. 7800 South
West Jordan, UT
West Jordan Parks Dept.

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The One About My Weight

The other day I ran into a friend at the neighborhood park.  We were chatting about this and that and the other and then she asked me how my 5K training was coming along.

I hesitated for a second, trying to decide what to tell her about it and she rolled her eyes and said, "It's o.k. Sue. Not everyone is meant to be an athlete.  You don't have to pretend you're training for a marathon just because everyone else in the neighborhood is. Nobody's going to think any less of you."

I didn't really respond, just sort of hemmed and hawed and changed the subject, but I've been thinking about it for days now, and here is what I wish I would've told her:

When I was a young teen, I was chubby.  Not tremendously fat, but chubby, as you can see in my picture on the last post.

When I was 14, I discovered the magic of vomiting up my over-indulgence.

I'd never really heard about "bulimia" other than in movies-of-the-week, and I didn't self-identify as a bulimic, mostly because in my mind what I had wasn't a disorder but rather a Magical Cure.  (Besides, everyone else was doing it - why should I be the only girl not benefiting from the beauty of the binge-and-purge?) (Seriously, interview ten mormon women and I bet you'll find that half of them have had an eating disorder at some point in their lives.  We don't drink, smoke or have sex before marriage, but MAN do we ever love a brownie.  Mine is not a unique story.)

Once I got the hang of the whole vomiting-on-demand deal, I chucked my tiny bottle of ipecac syrup (I cannot eat anything butterscotch flavored to this day) and enthusiastically embraced my new weight loss solution - only instead of getting skinnier, I got FATTER, because I would just eat MORE, thinking I would toss it up later.

Unfortunately (or fortunately?) I didn't really LIKE doing that, so I would procrastinate, and procrastinate and procrastinate until I'd digested most of it anyway and was basically throwing up remnants and bile.  (I KNOW - GROSS.  ALSO TMI.  Sorry.)  I was a lazy bulimic, in other words.  An underachiever in the eating disorder world.

It would go in waves and cycles - I would get serious about bulimia, throw up several times a day, lose 20 pounds, start to get attention from boys (who were, after all, the only valid reason to feel good about yourself) and then as soon as I felt happy and secure and accepted, I would stop throwing up and promptly gain it all back. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I worked in a yogurt shop and I would eat and eat and eat all of the frozen yogurt I wanted, periodically running to the employee bathroom to throw it all up.  I would drag home after a long shift, exhausted and sick, feeling like I was out of control but not sure how to stop it or if I even wanted to stop it.

When I met my husband I stopped, not because I got therapy or got over it, but because I didn't want him to know about my disgusting little problem. I promptly gained about seven billion pounds - but he did too - so yes, we were letting ourselves go - but we were doing it TOGETHER.

Like bonding, but grosser.

I eventually told him about it, about how at my worst I was throwing up four or five times per day. About how I was scared I would end up like Terri Schiavo. He was supportive and understanding and from then on I could tell he was sort of monitoring my time in the bathroom to make sure all was well, and in some weird way this was comforting to me.

I haven't been an active bulimic in almost fifteen years. I've managed to stay mostly away from those behaviors, although whenever I start dieting I start getting a little crazy-town in my attitude toward food and the temptation rears it's ugly head again.  I'll go through phases where I'll lose thirty or forty pounds and feel myself sliding back into eating disorder insanity. "Sure, I only ate 1200 calories today, but if I throw up it'll be like I only ate 600."  After a while I get completely freaked out about it and start feeling so out of control that I just give up the dieting efforts and resume eating whatever I want. (And resume gaining weight, usually at an even faster pace than before.)

I'm lucky that my husband has never pressured me about my weight, even during the times (like now) when he is physically fit and healthy, running miles every day and shrinking down to this skinny man I hardly recognize.  He's always understood how hard it is for me, how strict dieting and the inevitable cheating spells that come with it trigger urges to become one with the toilet.

Even now, whenever I find myself alone in the house, my first instinct is to run for the cupboard to see what I can snarf down before everyone gets back home - as though I'm doing something naughty - as though I'm GETTING AWAY with something, just because nobody can see me eating.  I realize this makes no logical sense - I'm sure people who have normal relationships with food will never in a million years understand it. I used to dream about figuring out how to permanently damage my taste buds so that nothing would taste good - that sounded like freedom to me. (Still does.)

What I need to do is stop worrying so much about food and dedicate myself to lots and lots of physical activity. I used to ski and rollerblade and walk all over the place.  I was running until I started the migraine inducing HCG diet, and now I'm trying to ease back into it, but running a mile-and-a-half every other day doesn't exactly peel off the weight - or make my issues disappear.

I know a lot of people who are dieting in prep for CBC and BlogHer, who want to look like Themselves But Better, and I will probably do it too.  But I also know that I probably won't be all that successful, that I will probably always struggle with this issue, that the odds of me showing up to BlogHer in a size ten are something approaching nil.

The fat acceptance people (and maybe even some of my friends) would have me stop trying, so that I would stop making what surely seem like fruitless efforts. They would have me try to be at peace with my current size and appearance - but I just can't do that.  I can't give up.  I'm NOT o.k. with how I look and feel physically.  I'm NOT o.k. with setting this example for my kids. I DO like myself, I think I'm pretty nifty in a lot of ways, but  - not this part.  What else can I do but continue to try?

So if you see me out somewhere, and I mention that I'm (STILL) working on running a 5K, please try not to roll your eyes. You may not see the results written on my frame yet, but that doesn't mean I'm not trying.

I am trying.  And I'll keep trying.

Just watch.

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I Now Present: Tragic Things That Have Happened To My Hair

I was writing a post about My Weight Loss Journey Through The Years, but kept getting distracted by MY HAIR MY HAIR THE HUMANITY!

This is from my sophmore year of high school. I'm the one on the lower left who looks about 10 years old.  I'd chopped my hair from waist length to this - this - this - whatever this is right here.

I LOVED IT.

(See my friend on the right there?  She had naturally curly hair and OH how I envied it.  (Although looking at this picture, I'm not sure why. She looks completely insane.)

Next followed several years of longer hair with sticky-uppy bangs but unfortunately I can't find that photo album.  Rest assured that my hair was a fine testament to the combined power of Aquanet and a blow dryer.

I then went with The Bob for a while before switching enthusiastically to The Mushroom (aka The Salad Bowl).

This is one of my engagement photos. I believe it is probably the most literal interpretation of The Salad Bowl that has ever been seen - before or since. (I am not entirely sure WHY we are standing in a tree, and YET THE FACT REMAINS.  We are standing in a tree. Our photographer was a GENIUS.)  

Here's another one. Love how I'm rockin' the white sport socks and black shoes. (I have always been incredibly stylish, tis true.)

Here's a snapshot from my wedding day.  Notice the wedding veil comb thingy sticking out from my veil?  In every single picture taken that day, the clip is prominently featured.  I don't know why someone didn't tuck the dang thing in already. But I suppose it is sort of apt, considering my penchant for walking around with tags hanging off of my clothing, zippers undone, and mismatched shoes.  It would've been sort of fraudulent to appear totally together in my wedding pictures, don't you think?

I should note that it didn't even occur to me that I should have someone do my hair or make-up for me on My Special Day.  I just woke up an hour before we were supposed to be there, brushed it a few times and figured - hey - it would be covered up by my veil anyway. (See?  You see the many levels of fashion and beauty obliviousness we're talking about here?) 

The mushroom cut in Technicolor.  I'm not sure why I thought this was attractive.  I look like a thirteen year old boy.  (As does my husband.)

I like to call this one Vampires Having Fun With Barrettes.

(Good grief.  I am practically translucent.)

I have bajillions more, but I think have reached my Traumatic Hair Disclosure Limit for the day.

Have I helped you to feel better about yourself today?  Comparatively at least?  I HOPE SO.

And now I will go, but before I do, I will leave you with this uncomfortable little gem from last year.

I like to call it THE RETURN OF THE MUSHROOM.

ALL HAIL.

(You're welcome.)

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How To Look Like You Know What You're Doing On Twitter

(This is the second installment in my new series Sometimes on Wednesdays I Like To Talk About Blogging.  Except I'm not actually talking about blogging this time.)(LASH ME WITH NOODLES) 

(Part 1, This Is Me, Taking Back All Of That Stuff I Said About Twitter, can be found here.)

(Oh, and if you're on Twitter, feel free to leave your twitter name in the comments so we can all follow each other.)

If you decide to Tweet...

So you've decided to tweet, you have an account, and you understand the basics (put an "@" before someone's twitter name to talk directly to them, put a "d " before someone's twitter name to send them a private (direct) message, and start your tweet with "RT" to re-post something someone else has already said.).  

Now what?

First, upload a picture
There is nothing worse than talking back and forth with the Evil Faceless Bluebird icon.  I'm sure you are a very nice person underneath your pastel birdy mask, but HOW DO WE KNOW?  You could be a serial killer or a robot.  Make yourself seem more like a person and less like a spam-bot by uploading a profile picture so that others have a smiling face to remember you by, instead of the default twitter bluebird pic. And make sure your twitter handle is something that makes sense in conjunction with your blog name/handle, and is something easy to remember, not just 42TWEETIE9388.

Follow a bunch of people
If the point of Twitter is to network and connect with other bloggers (and your mileage may vary on that point), then you need people to connect WITH, including brand spanking new bloggers who you'd like to get to know.

Not sure who to follow?  Find someone you like on Twitter, and check out who THEY follow.  Some of them have whole lists of people you can follow, like "funny bloggers" or "clever tweeps."

Oh, and by the way - you don't have to know someone to follow them. If someone is on Twitter and they're not protecting their tweets from non-approved followers, then they expect (and often even hope) that people will follow them and respond to their tweets.

Use hashtags when appropriate
If you're tweeting about a particular topic, you can include a hashtag (#) to make sure your tweet is seen by people who share your interests and who might be searching for related items.

For example, when I tweet a giveaway, I include the hashtag #giveaway, and subsequently, any Twitter user who searches for "giveaway" will see my tweet. You don't have to use hashtags every time (I rarely do), but when it's appropriate, using a hashtag will make sure interested eyes see your tweets. You can also use hashtags to find people who are interested in the same things you are (like #LOST or #ROLLERBLADING or #HORRIBLEWAYSTODIE) and follow them. 

Hashtags are also used in Twitter "parties" - where scads of people "meet" at a particular time to tweet about a particular subject, using a specific hashtag.  I tried my first party last night, and frankly, it was sort of like a bad high school flashback - the room was full of people I didn't know, nobody talked to me, and I had no idea what to say to get invested in the conversation. AWKWARD.  (But I probably need to try it again once or twice before calling it.)


Do As I Say, Not As I Do...

I may or may not have broken each and every one of these guidelines at various points in my very short Twitter career.  And some of them I still ignore. Sue me.

Don't use Twitter exclusively to spam people with your personal links
I made this mistake at first, only jumping on Twitter to post links to my latest post or links to my giveaways, and the result was a collective yawn. Nobody cared. 

It's like walking into a stranger's living room and announcing that you'd like to read them a little something from your blog. If you're a virtual stranger, the reception will probably be extremely awkward silence and/or the twitter equivalent of a police escort - UNFOLLOW. But if your followers see you now and then, if they're used to seeing your smiling face, used to seeing you participate, have seen a few thoughtful/useful/silly tweets from you in the past - well then sure, they might take a look at your blog link.

Be sure to occasionally RT other people's tweets, and to tweet other people's blog content
If you are using Twitter solely to self-promote, people catch on pretty quick.  Twitter is a community, so contribute to the community as a whole and not just to yourself - by retweeting items you think are of value. 

Try not to monopolize the conversation...
(...she said, blushing.) Sometimes I get on twitter and my friends are there, and I start jabbering away, tweety-tweet-tweet.  I forget that not everyone who follows me wants to see The Sue Show complete with 500 Tweets O' Nonsense, all in a 60 second period, so that it is impossible to see anything else in their tweet stream. I may be chortling to myself on my end of the keyboard, but other people - maybe not so much.

Sometimes those conversations are best taken to DM (direct message - a way to privately tweet back and forth).  I also try to remember to use a DM when all I have to say in my reply is something that doesn't really stand alone as a tweet, like "thanks!"

(Oh, and by the way, you can only Direct Message people who are following you. Try not to be offended if you find out they aren't. Sometimes they don't even realize they aren't following you, especially if you've just been chatting.) 

Some people frown on using Twitter as a chat room
Not ME, but Some People. Those folks would probably also tell you to TRY not to tweet something in pieces - first 140 characters of your thought, next 140 characters of your thought.  They feel each thought/tweet should be stand-alone and separate, so that someone doesn't have to scroll back through the entire conversation to understand what you're talking about. Personally? I think These People should probably relax.

Keep in mind that it isn't email
People don't always read every tweet sent in their direction, and people don't respond to every tweet.  YOU don’t have to read every tweet. If I tweet at someone and they don't respond, I just assume they're not online.  Or they're online but otherwise occupied. No biggie. If I really need to talk to them, I send them an email.  Twitter isn't like with blogs, where there is all of this assumed reciprocal commenting obligation. Jump on Twitter when you feel like it, and jump OFF Twitter when you feel like it. No need to say "Good night Twitter."  Although many of us (yes, that includes me) just CANNOT HELP OURSELVES. See?

Lastly...
No one asked me to write this, no one paid me to write this. Twitter is my shiny new toy, so I feel like bringing it out for Show and Tell, even though I'm still learning to use it.  That said, I don't particularly care if you use Twitter or not (other than being happy to have new tweeps). Use Twitter, don't use Twitter - that's your deal - so please, no comments about whether or not I've convinced you.  I'm not trying to convince you.  I'm writing this mostly because I wish someone would've pulled ME aside a few months ago, and really explained Twitter to me back when I was all Scoffity McScofferson.

I often hear people explain Twitter by saying it's for giving status updates that are too short for your blog, and sure, that's a possible use, but that is NOT THE POINT OF TWITTER.  Twitter is a great networking tool. People talk on Twitter.  People plan things on Twitter.  People get introduced to each other on Twitter. It's starting to heavily influence what goes on in the blog world - it's even starting to replace comments (someone posts a link to their post, people on Twitter read it and they respond ON TWITTER).

Put simply, I'll quote Gigamom: "If you're not tweeting, you're missing half the conversation."  Whether or not you care about that? Is totally up to you.

OK more experienced Twitter friends - what did I leave out?  

PS:  Don't forget to leave your Twitter name in the comments, if you have one, so that I (and others) can follow you.  Mine is @suelikestoblog
PPS:  My blogroll is temporarily down but will be up again in a few days, all re-jiggered-like.

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Why It's Impossible To Take Me Seriously

When I got up yesterday I was thinking about work things I needed to do that day despite being sitter-less (usually a gal comes for 4 hours while I work), and I was pretty flustered and distracted and rushed.  It was most definitely a sweats and sneakers kind of a day.  I spent most of the day running errands - taking Jake to preschool, the girls to school, going to the library, running to the gas station and to the grocery store.

EVERYONE I talked to yesterday was in such a good mood!  It was amazing!  The preschool secretary found everything I said incredibly funny, the gas station guy gave me a wide smile, and the librarian kept giggling over my cute baby.

At the grocery store I ran into a friend and we chatted for a few minutes. I told her she looked like a rock star, because she did, and she shot me an amused look and mumbled something about having to go get pedialyte for her daughter.

I then spent a few minute standing in front of a row of awfully cheerful looking girl-scout cookie moms while I successfully veered my kids away from the Thin Mints and towards the Samoas. 

When my husband got home he took one look at me and said, "You know your shirt is on inside out, right?"

OH.

Right.

ACTUALLY I DID NOT.

{facepalm}

PS:  Honestly, don't you think someone should've said something?  Wouldn't YOU say something?  If not, WHY?????!

PPS:  Don't forget to enter this.

PPPS: This is not the first time this has happened to me.  Clothing obliviousness doesn't just HAPPEN.  For example...

I Think Fernando Is Back

(The Hubs and I make pretty cute babies, I know. Weird genetic fluke.)

I love this picture. He's so adorable and pink and delicious in that picture, but that is not my favorite thing about it.

My favorite thing about this picture is that it's a PICTURE and that he is MUTE.

(BLESSED BLESSED SILENCE.)

Remember how after he was born he would scream and scream and scream and scream?

Yes.

Well.

APPARENTLY THAT WAS NOT A PHASE.

Here is what I get to listen to ALL. DAY. LONG:

He makes this noise CONSTANTLY.

He is not hungry.

He is not tired.

He is not wet.

There are no tears in his eyes.

He is just EXTREMELY FOND of hearing his own voice.

OH, bonus! Here's one with growling:

(And for the record, after quite a bit of growling and fussing and acting like he was starving to death he would not eat ONE BIT OF HIS FOOD, but instead decided that the thought of eating was DISGUSTING TO HIM, IT WAS DISGUSTING, HOW DARE YOU ATTEMPT TO FEED FERNANDO GREEN BEANS?!! I DEMAND APPLESAUCE! Squawk squawk peevish squawk!)

I'm starting to think he is... ...a little bit spoiled.

I blame this ENTIRELY on the children, because I can't put him down for even a second without one of the kids swooping in to rescue him from his hellish life of Playing On A Blanket With A Toy.

What I say: "Don't pick him up. He's changed, fed and happy - let him play."

What Megan hears: "The baby will die of a broken heart unless I pick him up in 3.5 seconds."

What I say: "GUYS. FOR THE LOVE. Leave him be. He's content. He needs to practice sitting. DO NOT PICK HIM UP."

What Emma hears: "Pick up your brother and play rocketship with him. HURRY before he is completely traumatized by all of the sitting."

What I say: "I want to get the noises the baby is making on tape, EVERYONE LEAVE HIM ALONE for a second so I can get him in his natural state."

What Jake hears: "Surely five seconds is far too long for a baby to be left to his own devices. I MUST PROVIDE HIM WITH ENTERTAINMENT IMMEDIATELY."

And what is the result? A baby who is COMPLETELY INCAPABLE of entertaining himself for even ten second increments.

The baby is kind of a little con artist already, which makes me wonder what exactly we are in for in over the next few years.

"What, you want me to play by myself down here? Seriously?"

"What if I make the sad face? Will someone pick me up if I make the sad face? No?"

"Oh, FINE, I ADMIT IT, I'm HAPPY."

(heaven help us)

PS: (Don't even get me started on his nightly 3AM social hour. After he's eaten and back in his crib, he likes to stay up for a good 45 minutes, yelling joyfully and squealing. "HELLOOO? MOTHER?? I'M JUST CHECKING IN TO SEE IF YOU ARE HAVING A GOOD EVENING? HELLOOO? FATHER? FATHER? PERHAPS IT IS TIME FOR SOME BABY NINJA WRESTLING? YES? NO? HELLOOO?")

PPS: Did I mention that this Friday's giveaway, among other things, will include tickets to A CERTAIN EVENT that some of you might want to attend, with the intials C. B. and C.?  Did I mention that?  BECAUSE IT WILL. Wheeee!

PPPS: My friend Kristina is doing something pretty awesome this month. Go check it out.

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