Losing 32 pounds and earning money doing it
Sound like a dream come true, doesn’t it?
Well. This has been happening to me. These last five months I’ve lost 32 pounds while earning money doing it. It’s been hard. Very hard. I’ve felt like a 100 years old when dragging my body out of bed every morning to do it. But still. I did. I had to.
Sometimes it pays off in ways you don’t expect, being a RN in a new job. 
I go to work, earn money and then the weight just keeps coming off.
Just call me Mrs. Walk-a-lot.
Loading ...Oh, the suffering!
I guess it’s just one of life’s cruel rules. You get to have 8 weeks of vacation each summer when you’re a kid. And you’re not even appreciating it fully. How can you when you haven’t experienced anything else your whole life?
And then you grow up. To 3 weeks vacation time instead.
IT’S JUST NOT FAIR!
If you knew me in RL you’d probably be quite sick of hearing me whine about this. Because, honestly, that’s what I do. Getting up in the morning just seems to have become a cruel unjustice done to me every morning.
Not because it’s that hard all the time. Because, actually, it’s a bit easier to get out of bed on a sunny day.
It’s just the fact that the rest of the family is sleeping and have another whole day off to look forward to. I’m telling you, during the summer months I’d love to be a teacher if I could. But then again, they do work really hard during the rest of the year.
I’m not sure why I haven’t gotten this before. Maybe because I’m a daughter of two teachers and that 8 week long summer holiday for the whole family was just something I took for granted. I don’t anymore.
So these days, I drag myself out of bed. Muttering about this cruel unjustice that life has brought me. (Did I mention that I tend to be dramatic at that time of the day? Well, I do. Big time. ) And I just count down each workday I have left until it’s my turn to have some time off. All while dreaming of those nice millions that I’d love to win in the lottery one day. If only I remembered to buy a ticket.
Maybe it should be the other way around. 3 weeks vacation for kids and 8 for grown ups. I mean; 3 weeks was a really long time back then. And I’d appreciate 8 weeks much more if I’d experienced 3 weeks first.
But I do doubt that the kids would want to make that switch. They’re to busy sleeping when I suffer, having fun, playing outside and simply just having a good time.
The nerve… *mumble*
Sunday night and no bread
Coming home late on a Sunday night and finding out that we’re out of bread could be a problem. But since I was lucky enough to marry DH, it isn’t.
I think I’ll keep him.
Who am I kidding? I need to keep him or else I’d starve in front of the kitchen cabinets. Or going broke ordering out. Or just losing weight because my food don’t taste half as good as the home made food he makes… Hm. Losing weight actually doesn’t sound that bad.
Oh well. The kids needs to eat, so I’ll keep him for their sake.
I know. I’m a saint.
There isn’t anything you couldn’t find in my blog. Not one thing!
At least if you ask me sometime before I’m really awake in the morning after being up way to late, writing blog posts in one of my blogs. (I do have a couple i norwegian.)
According to DH, this conversation took place early one morning last week when he was trying to ask me the most important question of them all: Where’s the money.
I was sleeping when he tried to ask me after searching for the wallet with no luck.
DH: “Lin, where’s the wallet? I need gas for the car and I can’t find it.”
Me: “mumble, mumble…the blog”
DH: “What?”
Me: “It’s in the blog.”
DH: “Hello! Where’s the w-a-l-l-e-t?”
Me: “It’s. In. The. B-L-O-G!” *rather annoyed*
DH: “Lin! Wake up!”
Me: *sits up in bed with a grumpy sigh*
DH: “I need the wallet. The wallet is NOT in the blog.”
Me: “Then it’s in the drafts.” *annoyed sigh before I fall back on the pillow and continue to sleep*
And those are the days of our lives.
Do dogs get ADHD?
Just wondering…
Trying to take a good picture of Ludvig during playtime was a challenge. But finally he decided to be still for a second or two.
No spanking here
Kidzmama has tagged me for a meme about spanking.
For me, this is an easy question to answer. Maybe because I live in a country where spanking is considered illegal. But also because I firmly believe that this is not the way I want or should raise my children. Yes, it might “work” right there and then, but I believe that this also comes with side effects that I don’t want.
So what do we do instead?
We use time out and we use consequences like taking away some of the things the kids enjoy. Tv-time, computer-time and stuff like that. But mostly, we try to catch the children doing positive things and reward that. They earn points for doing chores, being well behaved and so on. Those points can then be traded into things they like to do. Like some extra time to play at the computer or maybe renting a movie.
Since we have a child with ADHD, we use the methods taught to us by a parenting class for parents with children with that and similar diagnosis. The methods are described in Russel Barkleys book “Your Defiant Child: Eight Steps to Better Behavior
I don’t know that many english blogs yet, but if you read this and want to come join in on the meme, feel free to do so.
Other blogs who has participated:
Jo-N wants to be her children’s best friend.
Tot’s Mom spares the rod and believes in patience.
Huckdoll spares the rod and believes there are more effective yet gentle ways to discipline than spanking.
OhMommy has spanked and never will again.
The Sports Mama found it depended on the individual child and the situation.
Kidzmama will never spank.
Christmas shopping
Christmas shopping is not one of my favourite things to do. Not at all.
Yet, I have one special memory from just that situation.
It was december and I was pregnant with my third child. The store was packed with people. Stressed out mothers, impatient babies crying and suffering men holding bags. All while the same old christmas songs were played in the background. Just another day in christmas shopping hell, in other words.
It was warm, I had to wait in line for everything and my legs hurt. But I had to buy some clothes for my two sons, who were 1 and 2 years old at that time.
That’s when I saw it. The most beautiful christmas dress for little baby girls. It was dark blue velvet with little sparkling stones spread out it like a starry night. Beautiful. And while I stood there, admiring it, I felt the presens of the forbidden dream. A dream about a daughter. But there I was. Mother of two beatiful boys, expecting the third. And longing for a daughter.
Feeling guilty and being afraid that the little boy in my belly had noticed his mothers thoughts and that silly wish for a daughter, I sent him a secret message. “It’s you that I want. It’s you that I love. I want you.” And I really did. I’d gotten to know this child. I loved this child no matter what.
Every year, in the middle of december, I go back. To what might be called christmas shopping hell. It’s still warm, the lines seem even longer and that christmas music on repeat is almost driving me nuts.
But still. It has become a tradition that I love. So in a long line of grumpy, warm and impatient people, you’ll find me standing there. Warm, sweaty and smiling.
Every year when I go back to buy a christmas dress for the daughter I gave birth to the night after that very special day 11 years ago.
Brothers
It might look just like an ordinary toilet, but…
What’s the deal with kids and toilets? Who appointed them to be mentors with the responsibility to turn the light on and off so that their mother could enjoy a disco-like environment while she’s doing whatever she’s in there to do?
Our toilet might look like any other ordinary toilet to most people, but the children of this house knows better.
The reminder
I’m beginning to suspect that our toiletseat has a sensor or something hidden in it. As soon as someone sits down, the door flies open and there’s a child needing to go RIGHT NOW. You might think that it would help to ask the smallest kids if they need to go to the toilet before you go, but they always say no. They don’t need to go before it’s almost too late. It’s much more fun to play with Lego as long as you possible can before running to the bathroom.
The throne
Whenever the queen of the house sits down on the toilet seat/throne, it’s a signal to everyone that the queen is now ready to solve all of the kingdoms little disputes.
The info desk
When someone’s there, it must be a perfect time for all the “Mom, do you know where **** is?”, “Mom, is it true that..?” etc.
The ATM
Yes, that’s right. It seems like the kids believes that there’s somehow money involved when I’m sitting on the toilet. I have no idea why. It seems like that’s the perfect timing for asking the “mom, can I have?”-questions if they have one.
This whole toilet mentoring thing was cute when my oldest child had just learned to crawl and followed me everywhere. It stopped being cute when the kids got older. Luckily they seem to get the point as they grow older.
I try to remember how it was in my childfree years. Going to the bathroom. Alone. Taking my time. Alone. Without having to say things like: “Get out”, “Can you wait a minute?”, “Ask your father” etc. But I can’ remember.
After all. Disco lights are more memorable.
Don’t you think?
Nitrous oxide and me
For some women, having a baby is something they prefer to do without any pain medication at all. For me, not so much. When I’m in labor I tend to beg the midwife for drugs. If I was given the opportunity to choose, I might have asked for general anaesthesia the moment I set foot in the hospital lobby. I have also been known to try to cancel the whole thing when the contractions got bad. “Stop! I’ve changed my mind. I want to go home and watch tv instead.”
For some reason, neither the midwife or my body seems to listen.
During those moments, I’ve found great comfort in a great invention called Nitrous oxide. Or laughing gas, as you might call it. The hospital offered it to me during my first birth, and I loved it. It reduced both pain and fear. Which was good, since I was really scared and struggled with some not so nice flashbacks from painful experiences in my life. Re-living an experience like rape when giving birth to your first born child is tough. The laughing gas helped.
It also gave me a sense of control during a rather chaotic experience. I couldn’t control the contractions (if I could, I’d still be pregnant for the first time today, I think), but I could control my breath. I could control when to get pain relief and I stopped hyperventilating.
On top of it all, I had a great time. At least in the beginning, before the cervix was fully dilated. I crawled all over the hospital bed, made jokes and couldn’t stop laughing.
Everything would have been perfect, hadn’t it not been for the contractions getting stronger and sobering me up. And the stupid people in the room who didn’t seem to listen to what I had to say. They just smiled and nodded.
A few years later, the hospital stopped offering the laughing gas in the delivery rooms. It was a leakage problem and the midwives complained about getting headaches etc. from it.
I din’t like it. I didn’t like it at all. Of course, the hospital could offer other kinds of pain medications, but none that gave me the same feeling of at least having control over something. None that made me take deep breaths and relax while the anxiety loosened its grip.
On the other hand, I discovered that something must have happened to the intelligence of the other people around me. They didn’t just nod and smile at me when I said something. They actually understood what I said. Go figure.